Lighting Up the Night

After a particularly grueling day of work this past week, I took a moment to gaze out at the darkening sky from my second story window.

photo attribution below

It was a beautiful summer evening, and the sun had just dipped below the horizon. A soft breeze was wafting my way, and I breathed it in, sighed, and let go of some of the tension that had built up. That's when I began to notice little glimmers, sailing across my back yard, like pixie dust. They were fireflies.

Some people call them lightening bugs, but I've landed on fireflies because I'm a writer and susceptible to pretty words. The name "fireflies" sounds light and beautiful, and I think of faeries and magic when I hear the word.

But I digress.

Apparently, I'm not the only one smitten by these flying luminaires. There's an attraction in Johor Bahru, Malaysia, called Kota Tinggi Firefly Park. For a nominal fee, you can take a nighttime cruise down the river and see thousands of fireflies. 

Sometimes you have to stop and acknowledge that the smallest beauties in this world are just as awe-inspiring as the biggest displays in nature. 

And short blogs can be just as good as long, bombastic ones. Plus, they're a quicker read. 

You're welcome!

Photo attribution: Nicky Case, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Lights Out

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I was finishing up some work Thursday evening when the lights flickered and failed. 

Damn, there goes the wifi.

So, I turned on my phone and set up the hotspot. Oh, the joy of modern technology. I was able to complete my last task of the day. By the time I'd finished, power had been restored. Huzzah!

Outside, a storm continued to rage, hurling hail and rain at the windows, making a click, click, click noise. I sent up a quick request to the powers that be to spare our house and automobile from major damage. Things got pretty intense, with trees bending into unnatural poses and debris swirling about. 

The tempest went through pretty quickly, and I was relieved to see that everything seemed to be okay. Settling down to watch my latest binge-worthy episode of Doc Martin, I was lulled into a sense of all-is-right-with-the-world.

As the show hit the climactic final scene, however, the image on the screen disappeared. The lights came on. Then off. 

I waited. Only darkness. Damn.

Unplugging everything that could be harmed by a surge, I went to join Mr. Ginley, who was in the process of unplugging his laptop. He'd already fetched a flashlight and was in default crisis mode, a la, "I can't open the refrigerator, and we're all going to die, etc."

I do jest. Just a bit. Mr. is calm in a crisis, although this certainly wasn't life-threatening or anything. "What does Facebook say?" he inquired. 

I had already alerted the electric company, although I was pretty sure it was a widespread outage. As I predicted, someone had started a thread on the neighborhood FB page, with folks reporting from different neighborhoods on the status of their power. The outages were not confined to our neighborhood, and the consensus seemed to be that the lights would not be coming on anytime soon.

We sat around the glow of a flashlight for a bit, then I fetched our little battery-powered lamp and started working on a jigsaw puzzle. It was getting close to bedtime, but I knew sleep would be elusive because the humidity was stifling. So I continued to work until I felt I could lapse into unconsciousness.

As I lay in the darkness waiting for sleep, I was fascinated by the total silence. Aside from an occasional car, there was a vast nothingness that was lovely and scary at the same time. It was a reminder that we depend too much on modern conveniences, that they distance us from ourselves. 

Enveloped in silence, I drifted off to sleep. 

At around 3:30 am, my brain kicked in, and I started to plan where I was going to go to work that day. Should I just go to the office? Or maybe the local library? Should I take Mr. with me or just bring him provisions?

After ten minutes of these ruminations, the lights came back on. The refrigerator kicked in. Normalcy was restored. I turned off the lamp and went back to sleep. Later I learned that few streets over, a tree had been struck by lightning, caught on fire and fallen on the electric wires, causing the power to fail.

The next morning, I reset the TV, plugged in the computers and returned to my regularly scheduled programming. 

But a niggling feeling remained – that we're so dependent on technology for both necessities and comforts in life that a few hours without it felt like an eternity. What would my ancestors have thought about me? 

"Big wuss," probably.

Not that I'm willing to cut the power anytime soon, mind you...

Photo attribution: See page for author, CC BY 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Old News

Mr. Ginley was scrolling through YouTube the other night when he came across an old TV news broadcast from 1970.  

not the actual newscaster. photo attribution below.

It was WTOP's "The Big News," at 6pm, broadcast from Washington, DC on October 23rd. I listened in as I did my jigsaw puzzle and was fascinated by both the similarities and differences in the newscast compared to today's reporting.

What struck us immediately was the no-nonsense approach the newscasters had. There was no happy talk about how Bob's weekend went or what Carolyn's kids were up to or what Jack thought about last night's Dean Martin Variety Show. It was all news and only news.

"Hey, check this out," Mr. Ginley said, pointing to the screen. The sports reporter was holding up a handwritten sign showing his predictions of the next day's football game scores. Later on, the weatherman proudly displayed a primitive weather map and a Doppler-esque "Radar Weather Watch."  Pretty groovy.

The newscast ran for an hour, but there were considerably fewer commercials, which we enjoyed watching. Included were ads for VO5 Hairspray, Dristan and Kate Smith shilling for Chase & Sanborn coffee. 

As to the similarities between the news content of yesteryear vs. present day, Mr. and I both took note of how people are asshats and nothing really changes. The news topics included the usual mayhem surrounding drug use, disappointing diplomatic relations with Russia, civil protests, gun violence and infighting among politicians. Swap out the names, and the stories were pretty much the same as they are today. 

I imagine my Dad disseminating the news, grumbling about the world going to hell in a handbasket and wondering how his kids would fare in the years to come.

Some things never change.

P.S. Max Robinson, who was one of the reporters in this broadcast, became the first African-American broadcast network news anchor in the U.S.

Photo attribution: Scott Vincent (copyright holder), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

See the full newscast on YouTube.

Sunrise, Sunset

Looking back, my childhood was shaped by man-made patterns. Or rather, "mom-made" patterns.

when all else fails, show a cat pic

Each day of the week, Mom established set tasks. Monday was laundry day, Tuesday was ironing, Wednesday was grocery shopping, Thursday and Friday were cleaning days. On Saturday, my Dad pottered around the house, fixing anything that needed fixing. Saturday night was bath night. Sunday was church day, we had a big mid-day meal, then Mom checked out. 

Week after week, year after year, the routine seldom varied. There was a rhythm to having your life scheduled, a certain comfort. A way to somehow control that which cannot, in the end, be controlled at all.

I recognize that as grownups, Mr. and I have developed our own patterns. Sort of.

As a work-from-home employee, my weekdays are pretty much all alike. I rise, feed the cat, exercise, eat breakfast and start working. I take a break to shower or make lunches or clear my head between tasks. 

Meanwhile, Mr. holds down the home front with his weekly routine chores. 

On the weekends, we do the libraries. I write my blog on Saturday morning. I have breakfast with my kid on Sunday, and that's the day I go grocery shopping.

While routine is just how we roll, it's really not the "living" part of life. I pause here and look out the window. It's lovely out. Maggie cat is stretched out, lazing in a few rays of sunshine. Birds are calling to one another. There's the sound of a distant train. And in my head, I hear Connie Schultz instructing me to "breathe." 

So I do. 

Having a routine is all well and good, but it's the bubbles of light in between that make everything worthwhile.

How Sweet it Is

Well, maybe we can't afford to travel the globe, but we can certainly hit the high spots in our little town.

Welcome to Candyland

This week's adventure took us to the movie theatre and an oversized sweet shop.

First off, we went to see Asteroid City at the multiplex. We hadn't seen a movie since before COVID. (Funny how everything these days is referred to as "pre-COVID" vs. "post-COVID.") 

But I digress.

We purchased our tickets, grabbed the requisite popcorn and Raisinets, and plopped down in the last row of seats in the theatre. Note to self: Next time, choose a seat in the row ahead of the last row so I can see the whole screen when I recline. 

I don't really know how to describe the movie. It was a visual feast, but there really wasn't a plot. Much like real life, it just sort of happened. If you can go to a movie and just be in the moment without expecting anything, this is the show for you. We both enjoyed it very much, and it was definitely something to see on the big screen. Best of all, the crowd was sparse, so we didn't have to deal with rude noises or disruptions.

Next, we headed to Bob Evans for lunch. I had my usual skillet breakfast, while Mr. Ginley enjoyed the French toast. Once sated, we got into the Ginleymobile and headed to Candyland (aka "b.a. Sweetie.")

For the uninitiated (and I do feel sorry for you), b.a. Sweetie is a combination candy warehouse/ice cream parlor/miniature golf facility. 

We took full advantage of all that was offered.

First off, I kicked a little butt playing mini golf. Well, not exactly kicked butt, more like squeaked by with one less stroke. Also, we played the easier of the two courses. We were behind a mom with three little boys, so we did a lot of waiting while they knocked the ball around. Still, except for the Canadian smoke that lingered in the air, it was a nice way to spend time outdoors.

Next, we wandered through the candy warehouse among chocolate bars, suckers and all manner of candy and soda pop. Admittedly, I got carried away, and we ended up with more goodies than was good for us. (I say "us" but mostly it was "me.") It was fun to toodle down the aisles and remember fondly all the candy of our childhood – stuff like Bonomo Turkish Taffy, wax lips and Beemans gum. Plus all the Pez you could ever possibly want. And oversized bags full of sugary goodness. Honestly, we were lucky to get out of there without experiencing a sugar-induced coma.

Speaking of which...our next stop was the ice cream parlor. There we partook of malteds, while I sat on a large wooden swing that reminded me of the one my Dad hung in the garage for me when I was little.

No dinner for us that night (if you don't count the sugary treats we dug into when we got home).

Were we done yet? Not quite. On the way out, we noticed there was a thrift store next to b.a. Sweetie. Time to hunt for treasure! We didn't go too crazy, but I did find three jigsaw puzzles (just what I needed, right?), and Mr. Ginley found some books (just what he needed), plus a few household goods. 

Time to go home and feed the cat before she gets really pissed!

So, no, unless we win the lottery, we won't be cruising the Caribbean or visiting the Taj Mahal anytime soon. But we will be taking advantage of all the good stuff our little town has to offer.

Pass me the Pez, please!