MY SUN DAY NEWS
March 11, 2021
The one and only good thing about being empty nesters is that Chris and I have a bit more room in our home. Mary, our daughter, recently moved to the State of Washington. Either we could let her room remain empty so that the echo of our sighs and tears would be that much louder or we could gather the paint and drop cloths and get busy.
It’s time once again for St. Patrick’s Day. A time when the aroma of corned beef and cabbage assaults your nostrils, beer and clothing magically turns green, and everyone starts speaking in horrible Gaelic accents. In days gone by, when things were normal, we attended the Celtic Club’s St. Patrick’s Day celebration.
Awards don’t matter, or so they say. We as moviegoers vow these incidental trinkets and baubles are just important to Hollywood. We pretend that there is no meaning to them with each passing year. But yet we still talk about them, using this line of thinking. Just who are we trying to convince? I, for one, have sat on this theoretical fence.
My husband and I are approaching older age. I experience “senior moments” from time to time. I haven’t been diagnosed with dementia, but I am aware that there’s dementia in my family history. Although we’re rather active, we do realize that we’re slowing down.
I met a new friend a couple months ago, and after we had covered all the important topics of conversation — football, fishing, musicians we saw back when we lived a free-range pre-Covid life — he swung onto the topic of the Capitol insurrection. “Yeah,” he said, “I hated seeing all those left-wingers posing as Trump fans smash up that building.”
I met a new friend a couple months ago, and after we had covered all the important topics of conversation — football, fishing, musicians we saw back when we lived a free-range pre-Covid life — he swung onto the topic of the Capitol insurrection.
“Yeah,” he said, “I hated seeing all those left-wingers posing as Trump fans smash up that building.”
As the drifts of snow in Northern Illinois reach several feet and the temperatures consistently have a minus in front of them, I have been spending my evenings on Glassilaun Beach in Ireland. The pure white sand, clear blue water, and mountains in the backdrop make for the perfect place to escape. Why did my great grandmother leave the place that every fiber in my being longs to go to?
Jim and I received our first and second COVID vaccinations, and it seems like there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel. Restaurants have officially opened up for indoor dining, and we now may be able to keep giving you restaurant reviews instead of rambling on about our dysfunctional life. We do, however, put the fun in dys“fun”ctional!!!
With all the time in the world to sit inside, we ponder what is to become. Thanks to the Snowpocalypse, the endless number of entertainments on streaming are just begging and enticing us. One thing films and television shows can do best is broaden our concept of the future and our place within it. From “The Twilight Zone” to “Star Trek”, questions have arisen to our very place in the universe. Gladly these films can wet that appetite; from worst to best.
I’m a concerned daughter-in-law writing on behalf of her 87-year-old mother-in-law. Her vision is declining due to glaucoma. While she is taking it in stride, I’ve noticed that she seems disheartened recently. She has always been a rather dignified person. She would never dare leave the house before “putting herself together” and feels that loungewear should only be worn in the privacy of one’s home.
As a part of my annual physical exam, my doctor ordered an EKG. My results indicated a 50 percent blockage in one of the arteries in my heart. I assumed that would mean surgery; however, my doctor recommended we start with medication. Although I am fortunate that I haven’t had a heart attack, this past physical gave me pause.
“Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” was released on Netflix back a couple months ago, but in case you haven’t seen it here it is. Adapted from the play by August Wilson, we are taken back to 1920s Chicago on a hot summer day where everything goes wrong in this recording session. The star is late, tensions between the band come to a head; not one thing happens as it should.
December of 2019 — the last normal month any of us can remember — I spent in Naples, Florida, and when my son Dave flew down with the grandkids just after Christmas, I asked, “So what do you want to do tomorrow?”
My wife and I are in our late 70s and live alone. Although I would be lying if I said that we haven’t felt our age encroach upon our lifestyle in recent years, we are rather independent. We live in a two-story home that only has a half bath on the main level. While we can navigate the stairs, we try to avoid going up and down multiple times in the day.
“The snow is snowing, the wind is blowing,” as the song says. And as the ornaments are packed up and put away, we find ourselves now in the middle of January feeling a bit less cheerful. But fear not, dear readers, this is the best time to kick back with a glass of something warm. Maybe we catch a Cab (wine that is), break out the old records, and settle into the season. After 2020, a little escape is just the ticket to make it through the winter doldrums. And some truffles come in more than just chocolate-form.
Every week for 46 years, Jim and I have done our best to take one night off from our busy schedule and have a “date night.” Honestly, this practice has evolved over the years. When we were first married and struggling, we treated ourselves every Tuesday night to the $1.29 special at Ponderosa Steakhouse while waiting for our laundry to finish up at the laundromat.
Of all the heart-breaking endings that this pandemic has wreaked upon us, add one more — the probable death of the snow day.
As a new year begins, so do a new list of entertaining possibilities. That said, the previous year’s best of list still looms as winter sets in. What a perfect time to catch up!
Allow us to paraphrase the great philosopher, Clark W. Griswold in the movie Christmas Vacation. “Where do you think you’re going? Nobody’s leaving. Nobody’s walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. We’re all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here.
I’m writing because I am very concerned about my mother-in-law. She lives alone in an apartment and frequently forgets to drink water. She recently celebrated her ninetieth birthday and is somewhat frail.
I have a lot of hats, but only one that I ever wrote a song about. I have racks and racks of baseball caps honoring the Cubs and the Bears and just about every exotic place I’ve ever visited, but I never wrote a song about any of them.
I have a lot of hats, but only one that I ever wrote a song about.
I have racks and racks of baseball caps honoring the Cubs and the Bears and just about every exotic place I’ve ever visited, but I never wrote a song about any of them.
Well we find ourselves at the end of another year. One that has been rather eventful if not in the best of ways. With nowhere to go, we make the most of it with little distractions.
I am at a loss for what to get my grandmother this year for the holidays. I typically give her something for her home, such as tea towels or candles. However, she moved to an assisted living community last January and no longer can use my go-to gifts. I’m not fortunate to live nearby.
Is there anyone out there who will be sorry to see the year 2020 come to an end? We don’t think so!!! Let us recap some of the Dining Duo’s highlights from the past year.
Decades ago, when my son Dave was only about five years old, he sat in the back seat of the car, staring at the full moon as I drove through the night. He was quiet, lost in thought.
There are several holiday foods that people either love or hate. The first one that comes to mind is eggnog. This is a slightly slimy mixture of raw eggs and milk laced with enough bourbon to kill the salmonella in the raw eggs.
December is here; a chill in the air. And that means only one thing: the holidays are here. But between the hanging of ornaments and bustle of gift shopping (completely altered this year), our media also needs to reflect this change in season.
Some years ago, my eight-year-old son asked me, “Where did I come from?” For those of us 55 and better, we may still recall this question our children asked us. Based on the way my son ate his meals back then, I was tempted to tell him that he came from cave dwellers.
I am the primary caregiver to my aging parents, and to be frank, I am exhausted.
First, an admission: I have no idea what I’m talking about. Oh, plenty of readers will say, “So what else is new?” But this time it’s different, because as I write this, it is 8 a.m. on November 3, Election Day in America, and although you know what happened next, right now I don’t.
First, an admission: I have no idea what I’m talking about.
Oh, plenty of readers will say, “So what else is new?” But this time it’s different, because as I write this, it is 8 a.m. on November 3, Election Day in America, and although you know what happened next, right now I don’t.
Being a restaurant critic has not been easy lately. We plan on going to review a restaurant, and when we get there, the entire county is closed for inside dining. We then drive to another county just as it is being shut down. We are stuck scratching our heads and jokingly we said, “We should go to the outback in Australia, the restaurants there are probably open.”
