As an early Valentine’s Day dinner and a movie date, Terry and I dined at Red Lobster Sunday afternoon and visited the AMC Barrywoods movie theater to watch Red Tails on a ‘big’ screen. Neither of us had been to this particular theater in years, since we prefer to watch the few movies we see each year on the biggest screen in the Kansas City metro area, #7 at the Legends 14 Phoenix Theater. We enjoyed the close proximity of the handicapped parking though, something not readily available at the Legends. We bypassed the concession stand, having just stuffed ourselves on seafood, and saved our pocket books from the incredibly overpriced snack items for sale (especially as compared to the prices at the Phoenix theater).
While I had heard of the Tuskegee Airmen, I knew next to nothing about their service during World War II. So I cannot verify the authenticity of the film with respect to historical facts. I can affirm a well told tale with fantastic visuals, heart-thumping aerial dogfights and a bit of romance that overcomes race and language barriers.
Terry and I watched this over a week ago, on a Monday evening. We were interrupted a couple of times by telephone calls from our children, so the flow of the movie suffered a bit. I believe we also paused the DVD while we made dinner.
As with all of Woody Allen‘s films, I take time to absorb his presentation and vision. In the case of Midnight in Paris, however, additional time did not endear me to the film. I guess I felt it a bit too obvious.
If I had not read a recent FilmCritic blog post on the past year’s mediocre scifi Academy Award scarcity by John Scalzi, I doubt I would have ever watched this film. Since Scalzi claimed Midnight in Paris actually masqueraded as a time travel tale, it intrigued me enough to place it at the top my Netflix queue.
As stated at the Wikipedia article, “the movie explores themes of nostalgia and modernism.” Woody Allen tapped into the ‘Golden Age’ vibe for each succeeding character, leading us down the path of impending disillusionment, liberally laced with nearly every famous author or artist of the late 19th and early 20th centuries who conveniently converged at midnight in Paris (insert appropriate year here … and there’s the beauty of time travel as a plot device). But not all this famous name dropping could elevate this film to greatness, at least for me.
Monday started out innocently enough. I spent Sunday afternoon whipping up a batch of my favorite cookies (Chocolate Crinkles) for a cookie exchange and farewell party for a coworker Monday afternoon. January was ending on mixed notes for me. Unseasonably warm weather permeated the entire month and into the first few days of February. Yet, on the very last day of the month, I needed to ‘let go’ of a person who I have relied upon and shared more workdays with than any other person on this planet.
As I drove south from Crown Center Monday morning, the sunrise kept teasing me with highlights of pink and orange among the scattered wisps of clouds. I predicted I would miss the prettiest photo opportunities in the ten to fifteen minutes it takes me to drive to the Plaza. Some of the former glory shines through the photo (above) I took with my cell phone as I walked up the outside staircase of the parking garage.
Bon Voyage Marge (click photo for rest of album)
During the noon hour, with the assistance of our department secretary, we decorated our conference room for the cookie exchange and farewell party. Most of the department and many others stopped by to wish Marge well in her retirement and her planned travels around the country to visit her far flung family. Many cookies were consumed and even a speech from our illustrious leader extolling Marge’s sixteen years with the company. We sent her home with several dozen cookies.
Tuesday dawned much the same as Monday did, and doubled as Marge’s final day of work. Our team (well, most of our team), including our manager, planned to take Marge out to lunch at Gram & Dun on the Country Club Plaza. I began to get nervous when our boss failed to show up for work that morning. He did eventually call me, as he was leaving his physician’s office and rushing to the pharmacy to purchase the prescriptions to ease his sinus infection or bronchitis (or both … I didn’t quite catch the entire diagnosis). He called asking me to take Marge to the restaurant, where he would meet us at noon. While Marge and I could have walked to the restaurant, it would have taken at least fifteen minutes to do so, and neither of us wanted to add an additional thirty minutes to our lunch hour, especially when we had so many things to juggle at work. I drove us over in the van.
We enjoyed a pleasant lunch, starting with the Shishito Peppers appetizer. Marge ordered the Seared Ahi Tuna salad with a side of butternut squash (which we all tried). I ordered the quail and our manager had their prime burger and the Brunswick stew. While we waited on our food, I presented Marge with my gift (a giraffe pin – see photo at left) and card as well as the Southwest Airlines gift cards and retirement card signed by coworkers. The food was good, the company better but the memory will be bittersweet for me.
Marge and I returned to the office while our manager rushed to an appointment on the Kansas side. The afternoon flew by and before I knew it my time had come to leave the office. Marge happened to be on the phone doing what she did best when I needed to leave, so I did not get to say much beyond ‘keep in touch’ and ‘goodbye.’
Wednesday brought a new month and a new dynamic at work. Our team had lost a third of its resources. The two of us left had to temporarily bear the burden of the missing third. Even though I went to bed early (around eight thirty Tuesday night), I work up a couple of hours later and tossed and turned the rest of the night. Stress and worry does that to me. Not the most auspicious way to start a day, especially one that could potentially explode with problems.
Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, my day imploded with each passing hour. I had every confidence I could wrestle any issues that arose, I just did not anticipate the avalanche that crashed down upon my desk. I worked through my lunch and several hours from home that evening. By ten o’clock, I passed out and thankfully got a full night’s sleep.
Oh, and as if I didn’t have enough to worry about at work, I received a disturbing call from a very congested coughing daughter asking me to find her an urgent care facility near her. I looked up some likely prospects within five miles of her apartment. She managed to get into her doctor and received a prescription for antibiotics to combat the bronchitis she contracted. The timing couldn’t have been worse since her graduate school auditions were scheduled for Friday.
Thursday morning became a mirror image of Wednesday, only worse. A system I administer (since late Fall 2011) decided to freak out and lock up. Calls to tech support went unanswered (or unresponded to) for nearly two hours, during which time I tried a few measures to kick the servers and services back into line. Desperate to get people back into the system, I restarted all the servers, even though I could find no errors in any of the usual logs. Miraculously (or not if you have any experience with this product), the system came back online and hummed happily along, oblivious to the havoc it left in it’s wake. At least the afternoon calmed down a bit and let me catchup on items from the previous day and projects that needed updating.
Thursday evening, Terry and I had a few errands to run, so we grabbed a quick dinner at a local sub shop. Just as I parked the van, I spied a spectacular sunset in progress and snapped a quick photo with my cell phone. A far cry from last year’s Groundhog Day blizzard if I don’t say so myself.
Friday morning, I woke up about fifteen minutes early (roughly 4:45 a.m.). Just as I was rubbing the sleep from my eyes and stretching, Terry came up to tell me he was heading to the hospital emergency room with chest pains. I followed him a few minutes later. I did the paperwork while the emergency room nurses and doctors ran a battery of tests. I sat with him, monitoring his vitals (which looked fairly normal to me) until six o’clock, when I left to pickup my vanpool riders for the commute into Kansas City (I recounted some of this in an earlier blog post). Thanks to an unseasonable thunderstorm that produced torrential downpours, the drive to work couldn’t have been more stressful. By the time I dropped off the last two riders, Terry had called to let me know the hospital was releasing him on his own recognizance to followup with his physician at his first opportunity.
Work at least settled into something a bit more normal (or at least not a flash flood of problems). I even escaped for a lunch at my favorite local sub shop, taking advantage of a free sandwich courtesy of my full punch card. I almost laughed out loud, though, when my order ‘number’ came up the Queen of Spades. What a way to cap off this week! I did really enjoy starting Archangel by Sharon Shinn, one of the two selections for February at the Beyond Reality book club. For more information about the group and the great books we read and discuss, stop by the one of the group moderator’s blogs: Far Beyond Reality.
I didn’t get any exercising done Friday. By the time I made it home Friday evening, after a quick side trip to the local liquor store for a bottle of wine, all I wanted to do was collapse. I scrounged up enough energy to chop some celery and onions to combine with sweet relish, albacore tuna and mayonaise for a couple of tuna salad sandwiches for supper.
I spent Saturday not thinking about work. I made two loaves of bread, one of which came out of the oven looking and smelling completely awesome. I immediately took a photo of my fabulous Honey Wheat bread with my cell phone and uploaded it via Twitpic to make everyone jealous. The first loaf of White Sandwich bread was still in the oven when my father stopped by for a surprise visit. While the bread cooled on the rack, we chatted away on various and sundry subjects. I sent him home with one loaf and one cookie (the last of the chocolate crinkles) about an hour and half later.
Since the weather had turned decidedly more wintery (or at least early springish), with a thick cloud cover and constant drizzle, I filled the crockpot with a savory beef stew. The aroma caused our mouths to water whenever we walked through the kitchen. By five o’clock, we each had a bowl of stew and a couple of freshly warmed Hawaiian honey wheat rolls.
We topped off the evening my braving the drizzle (which rapidly morphed into spitting snow) and driving to the Moose Lodge 1999 for the early V.D. show performed by Phyllis Killer. (V.D. meaning Valentine’s Day). Finding that particular lodge proved interesting. Have you ever seen a driveway that actually connects to an exit ramp from a highway? Yep, we drove right by it the first time. Well, it was sleeting and it was dark. After we turned around on 65th street, we found the large arrowed sign pointing the way back down the exit/entrance ramp to Turner Drive. Against all logic, I followed the sign and surprisingly, back along the curve towards the highway, I spied the driveway that literally falls off the backside of the curve embankment for the exit.
We sat through the first set of music, most of which I somewhat recognized (Terry knew more of them than I did) and one original song. We introduced ourselves to the bass player, who happens to be the husband of one of my vanpool drivers. We said our goodbyes (not wanting to stay out too late in case the weather turned even nastier) and headed back north, past the blazing Speedway lights (wasting electricity to celebrate the ‘grand opening’ of the Hollywood Casino I assume).
Never have I been so glad to put a week behind me. I will miss Marge sitting in the cube next to me, but I will not miss all the extra stress (in and out of work). I pray this next week (and all the ones that follow it) will continue to improve. I look forward to getting back together with Marge in early March for dinner and a jazz concert at the Unity Temple on the Plaza. I do plan to keep in touch with her, as much as she will allow me to.
My day started out in the emergency room with chest pains. Ironically, I was not the person experiencing the chest pains … my husband was.
Terry woke me up ten minutes before my alarm went off to let me know he was heading to the hospital. I followed in a separate vehicle once I threw some clothes on.
I spent the next hour with him in the emergency room, monitoring his vitals (which appeared normal for the most part). I left him in the capable hands of the hospital’s health care providers and proceeded to pickup my vanpool riders for the Friday work commute. While my stress level kept spiking towards a red line as a result of my husband’s situation, I also had to drove through an unseasonable thunderstorm and torrential downpour for the next hour and a half with a van full of people. Just as I dropped off the last two riders, my husband called me to let me know the hospital planned to release him soon.
I drove the rest of the way to my work, thankful that I had slipped on jeans, rather than deal with the rain in my regular work attire. I had already planned to wear jeans and support my employer’s jeans day charity (Go Red for Women) and participation in the National Wear Red Day (which coincidentally is today, Friday, February 3, 2012). I just wished I’d had time to find a red shirt in my rush out the door this morning. I had to settle for a pink and black plaid shirt instead.
I wanted to give this four stars, and I leaned heavily toward a 3.5 star rating, but ultimately, I settled for three stars. I liked it, but I did not love it. Bright gems gleamed amid the offal, but not enough of them to dazzle my mind’s eye with the gleam of the White City.
I enjoyed the writing style of Erik Larson, which made it easier for me to read a non-fiction book. Granted, I do enjoy a well written history, but Larson included elements common to a mystery or crime fiction novel that kept me turning pages. That being said, however, the two halves of this book (the history of the Worlds Colombian Exhibition of 1893 and the escapades of Dr. H.H. Holmes (and his many aliases)) interspersed with seemingly irrelevant trivia did not a cohesive whole make. And even though I found some of the trivial excerpts jarring, they nonetheless touched me to the quick. Two or three examples come readily to mind:
Chance encounters led to magic. Frank Haven Hall, superintendent of the Illinois Institution of the Blind, unveiled a new device that made plates for printing books in Braille. Previously Hall had invented a machine capable of typing in Braille, the Hall Braille Writer, which he never patented because he felt profit should not sully the cause of serving the blind. As he stood by his newest machine, a blind girl and her escort approached him. Upon learning that Hall was the man who had invented the typewriter she used so often, the girl put her arms around his neck and gave him a huge hug and kiss. Forever afterward, whenever Hall told this story of how he met Helen Keller, tears would fill his eyes. (p. 285)
(Buffalo Bill) Cody upstaged the fair again in July, when exposition officials rejected a request from Mayor Carter Harrison that the fair dedicate one day to the poor children of Chicago and admit them at no charge. The directors that this was too much to ask, given their struggle to boost the rate of paid admission. Every ticket, even half-price children’s tickets, matter. Buffalo Bill promptly declared Waif’s Day at the Wild West and offered any kid in Chicago a free train ticket, free admission to the show and free access to the whole Wild West encampment, plus all the candy and ice cream the children could eat. Fifteen thousand showed up. Buffalo Bill’s Wild West may indeed have been an ‘incongruity,’ as the directors had declared in rejecting his request for a concession within Jackson Park, but the citizens of Chicago had fallen in love. (p. 251)
No one saw Twain. He came to Chicago to see the fair but got sick and spent eleven days in his hotel room, then left without ever seeing the White City. Of all people. (p. 285)
Another passage (pp. 285-286) recounted a passing of the torch from the pioneers of the west (in the person of Buffalo Bill Cody) and those of the future (in the person of Susan B. Anthony). This encounter, on a Sunday morning at his Wild West Show, “brought the audience to its feet in a thunder of applause and cheers. The frontier may indeed have closed at last, … but for that moment it stood there glittering in the sun like the track of a spent tear.”
I did not find the relation of Holmes’ psychopathic serial killings overly horrifying (and what does that say about me and/or our times?). But neither did I feel compelled to ferret out his motivations or worry whether justice would be served. Larson had to take some artistic license in recreating some of the murders, but nothing modern journalists or other ‘true crime’ authors haven’t done as well. Perhaps the suspense became ‘suspended’ for me since many of the quotes from Holmes referred to his Confession, which implies his capture, conviction and sentence execution.
I finished reading this book a bare two hours before attending the Common Grounds Book Group discussion sponsored by the Kansas City Public Library and featured in the Winter 2012 Adult Reading Program “Destination: Anywhere.” Librarian Katie Stover hosted the discussion in a corner of the Nine Muses Cafe’ at the Central branch. About ten of us (nine women and one brave young man named Alberto) joined in the discussion. The following are some of the questions and answers we tossed on the table among the tea and coffee.
Why is this such a popular book? A look at the behind-the-scenes of this Exhibition and how it came about on such a tight schedule (less than two years) and overcame calamities and catastrophes. Larson’s detailed research made you feel as if you were there, present, at the events occurring in Chicago in the 1890s. He accomplished this without the use of any dialog (beyond quotes from diaries and journals).
Why write these two stories together? And do you believe Holmes committed two hundred murders? Holmes creating his personal ‘deathatorium’ by designing and building his mansion and keeping everyone, including the construction workers, from realizing his real plans.
What happened to his first wife and child? In this respect, the author left us in the dark, never circling back to tie up those loose ends. Perhaps, no record existed to relate their fate.
Why did Holmes do it? Did he believe himself evil? Was he compelled by some physiological imbalance? Holmes was ambitious and driven (contrastingly, so was the lead architect for the White City, Burnham). Yet Holmes held no remorse for his action. He knew he was doing wrong, otherwise why would he have gone to such lengths to cover his tracks and conceal or destroy evidence? We all agreed that being a devil reflected a figure of speech, not a true personification of evil, because if you don’t believe in God, how can you truly believe in the Devil?
We moved on to lighter topics, pondering the ‘cool’ things that were introduced at the Exhibition (some of which still exist today), including: A Ferris wheel, hot dogs, shredded wheat, Cracker Jacks, alternating current electricity, inspiration for Walt Disney’s Magic Kingdom (his father was one of the carpenters who built the White City).
I mentioned the research I planned to do based on a couple of sentences found on p. 29: “Three years later a hotel they (Burnham and Root) had designed in Kansas City collapsed during construction, injuring several men and killing one. Burnham was heartbroken. The city convened a coroner’s inquest, which focused its attention on the building’s design. For the first time in his career, Burnham found himself facing public attack.” Again, Larson did not return to this tidbit, so I shall see what I can dredge up from microfiche or microfilm on the Third Floor of the Central branch.
Someone else read a passage the summed up the wonder of the White City (from p. 254):
For many visitors these nightly illuminations were their first encounter with electricity. Hilda Satt, a girl newly arrived from Poland, went to the fair with her father. ‘As the light was fading in the sky, millions of lights were suddenly flashed on, all at one time,’ she recalled years later. ‘Having seen nothing but kerosene lamps for illumination, this was like getting a sudden vision of Heaven.’ Her father told her the lights were activated by electrical switches. ‘Without matches?’ she asked.
Another person contrasted this divine vision, with the irony of boys chasing excitedly after the train carrying Krupp’s gun, which in but a few years would be used to kill them as war erupted across Europe.
Our discussion wrapped up by musing about how easily Holmes faded from one alias to another, how he avoided his creditors and mesmerized women by the dozens. We wondered why only an uncle of one of his wives (some of which he was married to concurrently) saw through Holmes’ beguiling veil to the heart of his dastardly deeds.
Roxy and Apollo visited a new home away from home last weekend. I planned the day trip to Abilene not knowing exactly when we would get home. Without having a large pet door installed at our house, I can’t leave them at home, trapped in the house, for twelve or eighteen hours. Sometimes, if the weather’s nice and I know we won’t be gone for long (like over night or late into the night), I leave the back patio door cracked just enough so Apollo can nose his way out if he feels like it. But Saturday’s forecast didn’t call for temperatures to climb much above freezing, so I went searching for an alternative.
The place I normally board the dogs doesn’t encourage pickup of pets on Sundays and doesn’t provide the normal bath their slightly inflated prices for boarding include if you pickup on a Sunday. I drive by the Safe Harbor facility twice daily to pickup and drop off one of our vanpool riders. She has mentioned several times how much she likes the place and that they board their dog there frequently.
I called and spoke to the owner and got all my questions answered. Safe Harbor’s boarding rates were much less expensive than my usual boarder in Leavenworth. And, since Safe Harbor allowed me to pickup the dogs on Sunday morning, I only needed to board two dogs for one night (instead of two dogs for two nights). I had her fax me the forms to fill out. I contacted our vet to get them to fax Roxy and Apollo’s records to Safe Harbor, only to discover that Roxy’s three year rabies shot had expired two days before. I didn’t earn myself any favors with my husband when I asked him to take her up to the vet that very afternoon and get her re-vaccinated.
Bright and early on Saturday morning, we loaded up Roxy and Apollo and headed south to Basehor. Safe Harbor opened at 7:30 a.m. and we arrived shortly thereafter. Roxy and Apollo were eager to meet the owners and some new pet friends. I arranged to have Apollo bathed and left the Rotties in good hands while we continued west for a couple of hours to Abilene.
Sunday morning, I wiled away the time reading two books (alternating between the non-fiction The Devil in the White City and the scifi space opera Honor Among Enemies). I left Lansing shortly after 9:30 a.m. and headed south on K-7 to Basehor to retrieve Roxy and Apollo. I paid the boarding and grooming fees and wrestled the Rotts back into the Bonneville. Safe Harbor sent them home each with a bag of doggie treats and, in Apollo’s case, in squeaky clean splendidness.
I liked their location, their facility, their prices and their service. Apollo and Roxy will definitely be spending more time at the Safe Harbor Pet Boarding and Daycare.
Update March 2013: I’m a little slow, apparently, because this restaurant closed last Summer. I guess Terry and I should have gone back and been good patrons.
On Wednesday evenings, my husband and I grab a quick bite to eat because that night also happens to be band practice night and neither of us have time to cook dinner. Even though practice was cancelled, we still ventured out to a new local eating establishment called ‘Gyros Village‘ across from the Leavenworth Plaza (in Leavenworth, Kansas).
I did spend some time online at lunch trying to find a website for the restaurant, specifically looking for their menu and nutritional information (since I’m actively tracking all my caloric intake as part of my GetPHIT resolution). I easily found entries in business directories (like the online version of the Yellow Pages), but not an actual website or for that matter, many reviews. I wasn’t too worried, though, since both Terry and I like gyros and most Greek cuisine.
We arrived at Gyros Village in the early evening (probably between 5:15 and 5:30 p.m.) and entered the small dining area (about ten tables). We waited while a customer ahead of us received their carryout order and then were seated. Neither Terry nor I wanted an appetizer, although I will return so I can try the Dolmades. Terry and I ordered the same thing: a regular gyro with a side salad. I of course asked that any feta cheese be left off my order and, if acceptable, added to my husband’s food. I don’t eat cheese voluntarily. I also asked that my gyro be served dry (sans tsatziki sauce). Dairy and I just don’t get along.
I watched the phenomenal sunset and spied the very new moon while waiting for our order, regretting leaving my digital camera at home yet again. I did capture the scene as we left with my cell phone, but as usual the photo did not live up to my expectations. Our gyros and salads arrived and we began to consume them.
I must say I thought the gyros were tasty and filling. Rather than traditional pita bread (which my daughter made from scratch when she served us home-cooked gyros over her Christmas break), the restaurant used flat bread instead. I didn’t mind, as it securely held and delivered the gyro goodness I bit into greedily. I would have preferred red onions, as opposed to the white ones used in both the gyro and the salad, but I’m not entirely sure what is considered traditional. I will consult with my daughter later today.
My only disappointment in the meal came with the state of the romaine lettuce in the side salad. The leaves had begun to turn brown, and were no longer cold or crisp. I would hazard a guess that the romaine had been left out most of the day at room temperature. I did not try the house dressing that came on the side, but it looked like a typical Italian sort of dressing. Another quirk of mine: I prefer no dressing on my salad (or only my own home-made dressing).
We asked the server for a small bag to take half of Terry’s gyro home with us. When he returned he asked us if we had ever had Greek or Mediterranean cuisine before. Terry mentioned that our daughter had made gyros and pita bread for us during her recent visit. I mentioned she had learned from a local couple who also teach a couple of Greek cooking classes at the Culinary Center of Kansas City. He urged us to take home their menu, which I scanned in and you can review it via this link. And, after reading the menu more closely, I did discover that Gyros Village has a presence on the Internet. They have a Facebook page (but nothing else).
We will definitely return to try some of their other dishes and I especially want to try their Baklava. I ate too much gyro last night to attempt a dessert. I found their prices reasonable and the portions more than hearty enough for our appetites.
Red Tails (2012)
We enjoyed a pleasant lunch, starting with the Shishito Peppers appetizer. Marge ordered the Seared Ahi Tuna salad with a side of butternut squash (which we all tried). I ordered the quail and our manager had their prime burger and the Brunswick stew. While we waited on our food, I presented Marge with my gift (a giraffe pin – see photo at left) and card as well as the Southwest Airlines gift cards and retirement card signed by coworkers. The food was good, the company better but the memory will be bittersweet for me.
