Not Missing You at All

Yes, I belong to a nostalgic Facebook page, and yes, it's to be expected there will be a lot of "good old days" blibber blabber...

Oh, those simpler times, before cell phones and computers. When we played outdoors until the street lights came on, soldiered bravely on when we cut open our knee and bled like a stuck pig, and walked uphill to school (both ways) through teeming rain and frigid snow.

While I believe there's a lot to be said for pulling one's own weight and not being a wuss every time life throws you a curve ball, I must admit there are many things I don't miss from times gone by.

Or, as Billy Joel put it, "The good old days weren't always good and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems." (COVID excepted.)

All this occurred to me as I typed a birthday letter to my nephew on my SCM portable typewriter. It was in recognition of the anniversary of his birth 40 years ago. As I clickety-clacked my way down the page, I had a vivid flashback of Wite Out and correction tape, neither of which I use these days. I made it clear in my letter that he'd have to put up with strikeouts, since I wasn't going to use these devices of yore.

Later, I began to cast about for other things I do not miss. Here's what I came up with:

Manual Channel Changing 
Largely because I suspect I would be the default remote control in our home, this one goes to the top of the list. In my husband's family, his sister was the designated channel-changer. They called her "Machine Gun Mary" because she gave the dial a real workout. In our home, turning the dial too quickly earned a lot of shouting and threats of severe reprisal from my Dad. 

Long Distance Charges

'Twas not so long ago that if I wanted to chat with one of my sisters, I'd try to call in the evening when it was cheaper. Now I can call or text or video chat at will without fear of incurring outrageous long distance fees. (Not counting cell phone and internet charges, of course.)

Instant Coffee

If you've ever tried instant, I don't need to explain this one to you. If you haven't had it, count your blessings. 

Burning River

Every time someone on national television talks about the history of Cleveland, the Cuyahoga River burning always comes up. This happened a couple of weeks ago on Jeopardy, when the category was Cleveland News History. Although this wasn't the first time the Cuyahoga was set ablaze, it became the catalyst for change. The EPA was born shortly thereafter, and we started to enjoy a cleaner river.

Pantyhose

In my youth, I would wriggle into pantyhose on a regular basis. As we weren't made of money, I had to mend plenty of stockings in my day. Clear nail polish stopped a run in its tracks, but the offending eyesore still had to be darned. The oh-so-lovely stitches made Frankensteins of my legs. There I was, hoping no one would notice (or say anything -- ya, right). Dresses are largely a thing of my past, and good riddance, I say. I'm not confident enough to go without stockings when I wear a dress, so pants it is.

Regular Cat Litter

I didn't realize what a pain this had been until I start using clumping cat littler. Initially, I poo-poo'd* the whole notion, but I quickly came around when I experienced the ease of scoopage.

I'm sure there are lots of other things I don't miss, but I'm going to give it a rest for now. It's time to make dinner.

Someday, I'm hoping to say I don't miss making dinner because the droid does such a nice job, she spoils me.

Those will be the days...

*Pun intended.

The Forecast is for Grey

Rainy days and Mondays got Karen Carpenter down, but grey winter days do it for me.

I'm just not a big fan of winter in general. Add a pandemic, political upheaval and economic anxiety, and, well, yikes.

I try to focus on other things. It was lovely to usher in a new administration this week. Fingers crossed.

The Bernie Sanders meme was a nice distraction for awhile. Like a few hours. Although, admittedly, I'm done at this point. 

I miss walks in the park, but I really hate the cold. I'd love to read, but my dry eyes have made even that difficult.

It's just all this grey. A little sunshine would be nice. 

Maybe it's just not a good day to be writing for this space. Too much whine. Not enough cheesecake.

Oh well. I hope you are all staying safe and warm. And maybe binge watching something fun.

I just looked out and saw a piece of blue sky. So maybe there's hope.

Sorry for the lame post this week. I'll try to be more entertaining next week.

Artsy Fartsy

At some point, Mr. Ginley, in a fit of ennui or whatever, took down most of the decorative stuff hanging on our walls.

Artist: Michael Bedard, 1982

"It's time for a change," he declared.

And so we began to go through our collection of posters, artwork and such to freshen up the look of the place. (Yes, painting the walls would do a better job, but that's not happening anytime soon, so...)

"How about the Bedards?" suggested Mr. Ginley. 

My grandfather's pictures moved upstairs to the sewing room, accompanied by another Bedard, Sitting Duck, an appropriate commentary in light of the the debacle that was 2020. (Spoiler alert: the bullets missed.)

Other items that went up included a portrait of my grandmother as a girl, a poster from Bowie's Serious Moonlight Tour of 1983 and a photo of Bill's great-great-grandfather, a captain in the Civil War.

In our room, Bowie made more appearances, his eyes following us around the room. (I don't get dressed in our bedroom, so it's not weird or anything.)

The kitchen was pretty much off limits as far as changes go. Thiebaud's cakes are safe, the Three Little Kittens remain and the cut-out Chinese gentlemen continue to hold their places of honor. 

And, oh yes, the spice rack that precipitated the Great Spice Bottle Wars of 1993. I was prepared to ditch the old spice rack, but Mr. Ginley came up with the idea of filling the bottles with colored sand, thus creating works of art. The trouble began when I insisted the sand should be layered, while Mr. contended shaking the sand was the way to go. A compromise was reached, and to this day, bottles reflecting both methods sit peacefully, side-by-side.

But I digress...

We still have a blank wall or two that could use a little something. Maybe a Doisneau. Fortunately, our closet is chock full of artwork acquired from this museum shop or that garage sale.

I'm confident that one day soon, we'll go through all of it, sort it and decide what stays and what goes. (Mr. Ginley opined, "It all stays.")

Ha Ha.

More than likely, someday Joe will be going through all this stuff, thinking over and over, "What possessed those two to buy this POS?

All Hail 2021

Everyone was thrilled to see last year come to a close. 

Unfortunately, the after-effects of 2020 were like when you eat something you shouldn't, say, a corn dog at a carnival. The immediate effects are bad enough, but the aftereffects, boy howdy, they sure are a kick in the gut.

Much like our first week of 2021.

Enough has been expostulated about the horrific goings on these last several days, and frankly, I don't have the stomach to bring all that up again. 

Like you, I'm hoping things settle down quickly, that the presidential transition is smooth and that our leaders get back to the business of running the country. Also, that they do a better job of playing well together. (A girl can dream, can't she?)

In the meantime, I have my own problems to deal with.

Case in point, the skirmish that has become the Breakfast Wars of 2021.

I thought I was being benevolent, giving Mr. Ginley Cap'n Crunch for Christmas. For several days afterward, he blissfully consumed this sugary, (almost) totally-devoid-of-nutritional-value "cereal. "

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and the return of Cheerios to the breakfast table did not come with a hearty welcome.

"Why do I have to eat this sh*t?" is the question I've faced every day this week. "Why can't I have the granola you used to make?"

For the umpteenth time, I explained the granola has a bunch of sugar in it. And the nuts are one of the things people with kidney stones are supposed to avoid. Both of these, as well as the high calorie count,  offset the health benefits of the oats. 

"You know," Mr. Ginley postulated, "I used to have potato chips, yogurt and pop for breakfast, and I turned out just fine."

This earned him a look over the top of my glasses.

"And...that's why you're taking meds for diabetes?" I inquired.

Then I gave him the lecture about breakfast being the most important meal of the day.

"Well, does that mean I can have a cheeseburger for lunch? If breakfast is the most important meal, that means dinner is number 2 and lunch is the least important. So I can eat anything I want for lunch, right?"

At this point, I threatened to take him to a dietician, who could deliver the lecture much more effectively than I.

He grumbled and ate the rest of his Cheerios.I finished my oatmeal. And things settled down again. For now.

I didn't have the heart to tell him that I invested in the family size box of Cheerios. 

That would just be plain cruel.

Oops.

In the Background

Maybe I'm just experiencing Facebook photo overload, but lately I find myself taking in the backgrounds of photos as well as the subjects.

Grandma S. at a cousin's wedding

For example, one of the guys I follow is John Skrtic, a researcher at Cleveland Public Library, who posts a lot of old photos of our city. 

As well as taking in the 1912 photo of the Euclid Arcade, for example, I tried to read the signs in the windows of neighboring buildings. I took note of the combination horse-driven and horsepower vehicles in the street. And looked for pedestrians to see what they were wearing.

Maybe I've picked this up from Mr. Ginley. When we watch DVDs, he will stop when he sees someone reading a newspaper to see what the headline reads. If there are books on the shelf behind the actor, he will pause to see the titles. 

As I've mentioned before, one of my favorite FB places is a hometown memories/nostalgia site. There I've discovered that Christmas cardboard fireplaces were more prevalent that I'd thought. That we weren't the only kids to receive a life-size Yogi the Bear punching bag from Santa. And that window "snow" stencils were a tradition in other homes besides ours.

Seeing women in bouffant hairdos and guys in crewcuts is entertaining, but what about that crazy wall hanging in the background? Is that a floor-stand ashtray? Do you remember those cat clocks, the ones with the eyes and tail that tick-tocked the minutes away?

Maybe it's boredom. Or a sign of old age. 

I prefer to think of it as honing my powers of observation.

There are times when I wonder what the next generation will think when they look at my photos.

In all likelihood, they will simply wonder why we took so many pictures of the cat. 

But maybe, just maybe, they will be amazed by all the books in the background. 

Assuming by that time books are still cherished for their soulful tactile qualities, as well as the words they contain.

I've said it before, I'll say it again. There's nothing like sticking your nose in an old library book and inhaling. 

I'll never get that kind of rush from an e-book.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to chase some kids off my lawn.