ON THE ROAD AGAIN

A couple of months ago, BC and I decided we needed to get out of the house for a bit.  Fortunately, Prescott was hosting a western art show on their Courthouse Square (always a prime location), so we decided to brave the Memorial Weekend traffic and head north.  Prescott is about an hour and half (or so) from Phoenix...easily accessible from the I-17 if you know where to turn left.  It was actually Arizona's first capital, so it reeks of history and cowboys...sort of like an upscale Dodge City with trees.  Actually, Virgil Earp and Doc Holliday spent some time here between stints in Dodge City and Tombstone and, much to my surprise and glee, so did Doc's sometime paramour, Big Nose Kate Elder. 

Prescott's elevation is about 5,400 feet, so it enjoys at least a brief visit by each of the four seasons.  Generally, summer temps will be 15-20 degrees cooler than Phoenix, so we have a few friends who summer here.  It's very close for our friends' inevitable doctor appointments in Phoenix (always a consideration at this stage of life), but far enough away for cool mornings and evenings...a highly desired rarity here in the metro area.

We found a handy parking spot and wandered for a few hours admiring some really nice art work.  This particular show was heavy on large bronzes and other sculptures, but we do enjoy those...and I'm always fascinated by the detail.  Years ago, BC was involved in commissioning a huge bronze steer (El Capitan) for display near Dodge City's Boot Hill.   Since then, he's very comfortable visiting with artists...although, come to think of it, he's comfortable visiting with anyone who will stand still long enough and listen.  The artist who did the piece above was from northwest Colorado, so they talked like old friends.  We, however, didn't buy...no matter how nice the fellow was. 

  By mid-afternoon as the temps began climbing a bit, a few people simply had to give up and rest.

We, however, were still going strong and taking it all in.  Even though he does have a cute personality, he's not going to fit in the back of the car and, as I mentioned once before a few months ago, our Homeowners Association would not be happy.

Good Lord, BC, they're dropping like flies.  I think it's time for us to mosey on over to the Long Branch...or wherever the appropriate Prescott watering hole might be.

Ah...I think we found it!

FIRST WEDNESDAYS

Of the many clubs and organizations with which I'm over-involved, the one closest to my heart would have to be my book club.  I love book club so much, I really want to capitalize it...Book Club...but that's probably going overboard.  I don't even remember for sure when we formed our book club, but I think it must have been 2007.  I do remember our very first book.  It was Nora Ephron's I Feel Bad About My Neck, which was a perfect choice for our age group as well as, quite frankly, the state of most of our necks.  It was also my "real" introduction to Nora Ephron.  "Oh," I exclaimed.  "That's who Nora Ephron is!"  I had loved her movies, watching them over and over.  I had read her pieces in the New Yorker, envied that she lived in the Apthorp, and thought she was wonderfully dead on in all her writing.  People like me need a Nora Ephron so we can be reassured it really will be OK and we really are all right.  I miss her. 

We all seem to like historical fiction and that's where we've been most of this year.  Alice generally takes us to the Cape Cod area while Claudia likes to place us in her beloved South Carolina.  There isn't a plethora of books set in Kansas, so I have to venture farther afield with my choices.

Our 2012 book list looks like this:
The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje   (Good Lord, this is tedious.  Just watch the movie.)
Folly Beach by Dorthea Benton Frank  (Charleston, South Carolina.  The Gershwins play a role.)
The Hangman's Daughter by Oliver Potzsch  (Medieval Germany with all it's nastiness)
The Hand That First Held Mine by Maggie O'Farrell  (The '50s entertwined with today)
The Soldier's Wife by Margaret LeRoy  (WWII...Germans occupy the island of Guernsey)
The Hotel at the Corner of Bitter & Sweet by Jamie Ford  (WWII...Seattle & the Japanese internment)
The House at Tyneford by Natasha Solomons  (WWII...Southern England Manor House...One Jewish Refugee)
Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand  (WWII...Pacific War, B 24's, Japanese Prison Camps)
Killing Lincoln by Bill O'Reilly
The Lost Wife by Alyson Richman

Our club began with Alice, who invited Pam and Carroll, who invited Judy, who invited Scottie.  I was Alice's co-founder, and I invited Kathy, who invited Jan, who invited Claudia, who invited Mariane, who invited Lillian.  We've grown slowly and carefully, holding fast to the special comfort that is "us".  We care for each other in a way only book clubs can create. We can share a secret, lay out a feeling or whisper a prejudice without fear of recrimination, but a firm expectation of acceptance.  We are who we are here.  We come from different backgrounds and different cultures.  We see things differently and we grow with the sharing.   We rejoice together when it's good and we hurt together when it's not.  We hate that Scottie is now in Assisted Care and we rejoice that Pam, confined to a high-tech wheelchair, is spending this week in San Francisco.  We'll be traveling vicariously when Jan and Kathy sail the Rhine, Mein and Danube next month, and can't wait to hear Judy's stories of Viet Nam when she completes her dream tour.  We've grown to be family when, for most of us, actual family is very far away.  We're sharing our '60s and '70s, and just beginning to touch the '80s mark.  I'm all for pushing on..we have strong, good-looking women showing us the way.

So, perhaps capitalizing BOOK CLUB isn't really over the top, after all. 

     

Oh...did I mention we serve wine?  And it's in the afternoon!  Tee Hee... 

 .

BUT SHE WAS FROM CHICAGO

I don't know about you, but this election year is bringing me down.  Nearly every commercial presents Mitt Romney, with measured tone and intense eyes, flailing away at Barack Obama and the lackluster economic recovery, followed within a few minutes by Barack Obama, still polling "more likable" than Mitt Romney, beating the Bain Capital experience into the ground.  Move on, guys.  Give us specific ideas to solve the country's problems.  Really, what is your solution?  Throw us some meat!

On top of that, Arizona has a particularly nasty Republican Senate race that pits a young fresh-faced multi-millionaire Subway Sandwich Czar against a sitting US Congressman.  Impossible as it may sound, the Czar has purchased more commercial time than Romney's Super PACS, and has proceeded to lash his competitor with a tightly twisted rope woven from selected votes the Congressman has made.  Even the two Johns--McCain and Kyle--have purchased time to say "ENOUGH!"  You've got it right, John and John.  ENOUGH!

So this morning, as I picked up the Arizona Republic from the driveway, I noticed a headline shouting that a County Supervisor hopeful had just quit the race.  Being a sucker for all the torture out there, I began to read.  Here we go:
"A ----- County supervisor candidate has withdrawn from the race in the wake of voter-fraud allegations involving a former companion who, records show, has continued to vote by absentee ballot in the five years since her death." 

This County Supervisor hopeful shared a home with the absentee voter, but is completely mystified as to how five years worth of ballots were requested, voted, and mailed to the County Recorder by his dear, dead companion.  I mean, she certainly was absent, and these were absentee ballots.  She, quite apparently, was a die-hard voter...never missed an election.  Don't we consider that a virtue?  And, (cue the Twilight Zone theme) their home is located quite close to the Superstition Mountains. 

Thank you, Lord.  Sometimes we need a little giggle with our morning coffee and newspaper.  Especially this year! 

BON VOYAGE & ALL THAT JAZZ

Bonjour!

We really hadn't planned to travel this year.  Nope--no big trip this year.  Until...

...a couple of months ago, when we opened the mailbox and found a lovely cruise brochure offering travel discounts on a late September cruise up (down?) the St. Lawrence River and points beyond.  Despite deciding a few years ago that we would save cruising until we were old(er) and more decrepit, we reached for our credit card, and booked the deal.  We'll fly to Quebec City, Canada, trek to the ship and, for ten carefree days, explore eastern Canada and the northeastern United States, all while letting Holland America pilot the ship, produce fabulous meals, deliver glasses of wine and, by our simply mentioning our cabin number whenever asked, wipe out our bank account.  We can't wait.

Once we were totally into the spirit of the adventure, we decided to add two days before the trip in order to allow extra time in Quebec City.  A bed and breakfast, I thought, located in Vieux Quebec would be perfect.  So perfect, in fact, that hundreds of other people had already thought of it and booked all the rooms. I was shocked, not to mention a little taken aback.  I had booked airline tickets for the 22nd, but we didn't board the ship until the 24th.  That could be a long wait on the dock.  Fortunately, salvation arrived late yesterday afternoon when, after yet another "so sorry, but we don't have a vacancy", continued with a recommendation that we try their daughter's B&B just down the street, and "mon dieu!", Victoria had an opening.  That was my cue for immediate and official excitement.  BC is being a bit reserved about the bonjour's, merci's, and mon dieu's, but he'll be OK soon.

And so, we begin.  During this planning process, we're open to suggestions from those of you who have passed this way before.  We'll welcome both your "do this" and "don't do that" with careful listening ears.

In anticipation of your advice...
Merci beaucoup

 

WHAT? KANSAS BORING?? REDUX...

Hello, Alex and Leo!  Welcome to our World...

I-I-It's still front and center in our Memory Book, Leo!

OF SPRING AND GRADUATIONS

I think I remember that on my last day of Kindergarten, I quietly gathered up my stubby fat pencils and crayons, my dried-up bottle of glue, along with the super safe scissors that never cut anything cleanly, walked down the hall, out the door and home...crossing two streets in the process.  It was rather anti-climactic, but then again, it was 1950.  Lots of things were anti-climactic in 1950.

But, today!  Oh, today it's a technicolor world, filled with balloons and celebrations, and pizza, and sandbuckets, and slideshows, and proud young parents.  In today's world, it's Kindergarten Graduation...in this case, sans caps or gowns.  (After all, this is California!)

Collin attended Kindergarten with seventeen other boys and girls, all of whom had to test into the class.  Today, they can write sentences, recite bible verses, tell stories, understand fractions, keep a journal and count in Chinese.  Oh, wait.  That last one was just Collin.  In retrospect...perhaps these kids deserve a graduation!

Thanks to two energetic room-mothers, this celebration will last much of the day.  The kids planned a pizza party after the graduation, so this morning they have made pizza dough, spread pizza dough, topped the pizza with a variety of interesting selections, and cooked the pizza...enough to feed the eighteen students, their younger brothers and sisters, their parents, a sizable contingent of grandparents, aunts and uncles, not to mention the occasional passer-by. 

Not only did each child graduate, each child was singled out by one of the two teachers who told a little story about that child and highlighted his/her particular strengths or unique attributes..  One little boy, for example, was congratulated for being the funniest kid in class.  Another was praised for his math proficiency.  He loved math and he excelled in math.  A little girl had come into the school in September and struggled with reading.  But, she worked very hard and tried very hard, and today, because of her efforts, she's a great reader.  And, on and on.  Collin?  I couldn't be more proud.  He was given an award for being kind.  Whether on the playground or in the classroom, Collin is known for being kind to everyone*.        

Even the roommothers were given awards, thanking them for their great efforts co-ordinating parties, field-trips, special activities and, not least, this particular knock-out graduation!.

Congratulations, Collin!  We know you've worked really hard and you deserve a wonderful day of graduation!

Love, GG

*His little sister would like it known that she has taken some exception to the wording on that award certificate.  I think they're just talking about school, Lauren.

FLEETING FANCIES

During our recent Midwest Odyssey, I was thrilled when Mickie reminded me that an Outlet Mall had recently popped up near Oklahoma City.  I sometimes find such malls to be a bit of a hit or miss, but the mood was right and I had a wonderful time.

We shopped store after store, picking up a little here and a little there, until I spotted the Coach store.  Now, I've never purchased a "luxury" purse...oh, excuse me...a "luxury" bag, but this was a different day and I was extremely eager to become a classic and timeless sort of person, so I entered the doors with purpose and began to browse with intent.

Within minutes, I'd found the inner sanctum where everything was marked down 15%, and huge signs advertised an additional 50% off the already 15%.   Mickie was waving an additional 20% off coupon. At this point, I became even more intent, and homed in on a black & gray backpack style bag.  I'm a sucker for backpacks, and as I quickly figured the 15% plus the 50% then added on the 20%...I knew it was MY bag.  I showed it to Mickie.  She liked it.  I liked it.  The sales girl liked it.  The cashier liked it.  I handed over my credit card, quickly grabbed the shopping bag and raced to the car, where I cleared out my shabby Target straw purse, loaded up the Coach backpack bag, slung it over my shoulder and immediately became a self-confident, fun-loving person, exuding class and wealth to everyone in the parking lot.  If only I'd had a better haircut, I would have been unstoppable.

This morning, a mere three weeks later, I was slumped over the breakfast bar eating low-calorie peanut butter on low-calorie toast when I opened the "Personal Journal" section of the Wall Street Journal.  The Page 3 headline jumped out at me:  "Coach Comes Around to Reclaim Its Iconic Look."  Hmm, what's this about?  "Coach is calling its Legacy Collection a shot at reinventing old Coach...burnished cowhide...turnlock closures...one small logo..."  Wait!  One...small...logo.  One SMALL logo?  ONE small logo?!?  Suddenly, my confidence, my class, my newly found fun-loving self melted right off my body, slid over the edge of the counter and splashed onto the floor.  This was not going to be a good morning.

Paragraph by paragraph it got worse:  "After a 15-year..." (15 years?  Where was I!) "...affair with lightweight PVC bags covered in Cs...  (Well, that solves my not-so-slight concern when, after some examination, I feared I had bought a plastic Coach bag.  I had!) "...Coach is bringing back the styles that made it...one of the most beloved bag makers in the world."  Well, damn!   

Just FYI..."Legacy" will be Coach's primary collection, but, please, don't confuse it with "Classic" (available on the website but not marketed), or "Vintage" (available at flea markets nationwide but at ever-increasing prices).  Bloomingdales will begin displaying the new Legacy collection within weeks and find it to be "...very fashion-forward and very fashion-right for right now..."

I know this isn't pleasant, but you need to know that during the recent financial crisis, "trendy" young women "turned up their noses at new Coach."   And, "Coach executives watched their sales of logo bags fall..."    Now really, could they have texted and let us know?  Or, that Jessie Holeva (budget-ista fashion blogger) "loves" Legacy because it's "not all logo-ed up".  Well, thanks for sharing that with all of us, Jessie!

 Fortunately or not, the final paragraph provided some shred of hope when Coach's Creative Director told us that this may simply be a cycle, and he's hedging his bets.  Legacy bags emblazoned with logos will be sold at "select" stores where women "retain" a preference for logos.  Now, I don't mean to be excessively sensitive, but after half a page of very small print, I have a feeling that women who "retain" a preference for logos might live in neighborhoods we wouldn't even  drive into. "Select" stores, my foot!        

WHAT? KANSAS BORING??

I have learned, since moving to Arizona, that most people are not familiar with Kansas.  "Oh, yes, Kansas.  We drove through there once."  "Kansas has those storms...now, what do you call them?" "I think my father was born in Kansas City, but my grandparents moved when he was a baby."  I expect those comments now when people ask where we're from.  I've also begun to notice a certain amount of desperation in their voices as they try frantically to remember exactly where Kansas is.  It is still there, isn't it?

Yep, it's still there where it always was.  Right smack dab in the middle.  It's the rectangle with the crooked top right corner...kind of squished between Colorado, Nebraska, Missouri and Oklahoma.  That's it.  That's the one!  Actually, being right smack dab in the middle has brought the little town of Kinsley, Kansas, a certain modicum of fame.  From the middle of town you only have to drive 1,561 miles farther west to reach San Francisco, or 1,561 miles farther east to reach New York City...and there, find salvation if you're of the urban sort.

Just a couple of weeks ago, we were in Kansas visiting family and friends, all while celebrating graduations, anniversaries and reunions, when it was time to move on from the eastern part of the state to the western part of the state.  That can be accomplished by driving Highway 24, a rather nicely constructed roadway that runs through the more verdant northerliness of the state.  Well, verdant in times of less heat and more rain than we've experienced the last few years but, oh well.

As we approached yet another small farming community, BC announced, "I think this is where the ball of string is."

"The Ball of String!" I screeched.  "You mean the BIG Ball of String?"  Yes, he meant the Big Ball of String.  He thought it would be on our left.  And...there it was!  On our left!  Exactly as he had predicted!  "STOP!"  I shouted.  "I've never seen the Big Ball of String."

I had even begun to doubt there really was a Big Ball of String but, Dorothy, there is.  How big is it?  Well, in 1988 the Big Ball of SISAL String (as opposed to possible nefarious imitations) boasted a circumference of 40' 3" and a weight of 14,576 pounds.  A mere 18 years later, it had grown to 17,886 pounds  and rather mysteriously, I thought, a different type of measurement--7,801,766 feet.  Now that is hard to top!  And, no doubt it was sisal, because it smelled exactly like the sisal rug I ordered from Pottery Barn for our breakfast room that arrived carefully rolled, neatly tied, and still damp from the sisal forest/factory from whence it came.

How, you may be asking, was this feat accomplished?  The Biggest Ball of String in the world in not to be sneezed at unless, of course, you might be allergic to sisal.  Here is the answer, posted for all to see and take to heart:

That's right.  Thrift and Patience.  The  basis of all successful ventures.  Good Job, Frank!

OF LITTLE BOYS & BASEBALL

Nothing says summer quite as convincingly...besides the 115 degree temperature, of course...as summer league baseball in a small Kansas community.  Parents, grandparents, bored older sisters and energetic younger brothers gather at the ball field for a double-header.  A double-header?!?  Good grief...didn't I just say it's 115 out there?

Baseball teams need accommodating dads and moms to serve as coaches.  These are the hometown team's good guys.  They give up precious evenings in front of the TV in order to shout encouraging words and uplifting advice...all while carefully choking down epithets, criticisms and threats.  They should be highly praised and fervently thanked. 

Our pitcher, second and third basemen, are showing good form and careful attention despite the fact that this has become a rather lopsided game...not in our favor.  The competing team from a neighboring town appears to be made up of short professionals.

As the sun slides lower in the west, the last game is  over. (Thank-you, Lord!)  I see a few little boys on the home team hanging their heads in defeat, but they recover quickly as the Snack Mom rushes out with tonight's treats.  And just two days from now, in freshly washed uniforms and clean socks, they'll be here again, enthusiastic and eager for another opportunity to pitch that strike, catch that fly, and hit that magic home run.  BATTER UP!