A Star is Born

In Marie's family, they were told that when people die and go to heaven, you can look up in the night sky and they'll be among the stars. 

Open your eyes, Denise

A new star was added to the heavens this past week when my sister Denise's husband, Tim, passed away.

Tim was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer in May and was gone in four months. Tim was stoic and not the mushy, touch-feely kinda guy. He hated public displays of affection. He kept his feelings under lock and key, often hidden behind a wicked dry sense of humor that enabled him to prank newcomers without suspecting he was the one behind the shenanigans.

But those who'd been around him long enough knew how deep he went. 

Tim Trusken came into my life when he started dating my sister. I was in high school, and Denise and I were very close. It was pretty clear from the start that Tim was "the one," and on my birthday in 1976, they got married. I was in the wedding party. "Party" was the right word, because their shindig was a blast. Polka, polka, polka! 

Four years later, I embarked on marriage #1 and my Then-Mr. and I moved into a house that was two blocks over from Tim and Denise. This gave me plenty of opportunities to spend time with my sister. Tim was a shoe salesman at Value City, working his way up the ranks to upper management. Meanwhile, Melissa and Christine were born (Kimberly came along a few years later), then the family moved to Columbus. It was hard to see them go, but it was a good move for the Truskens.

Columbus would be Tim's home from that day forward. Like all lives, theirs were filled with challenges and triumphs, but they got through them together. Tim's last gig was making car seats, but he never complained that his job was too menial for his smarts. Instead, he mentored his younger coworkers, letting them work on their cars in his driveway and use his tools. Did I mention Tim also had a classic car that he worked on his spare time? Quiet relaxation was not his default setting.

Eventually, two granddaughters arrived on the scene, and Tim took to his new Grandpa role in no time.  They took to him, too. Fortunately, Christine made sure there are plenty of photos of him with the girls to remind them how crazy he was about them.

Tim was one of those guys who's just always there in the background, but he saw and he knew. When I got laid off, he wanted to know how he could put his handyman skills to work to help us out.

Tim was Mr. Fix-It. So when our dining room ceiling started to come down, I took him up on his offer to help. He worked with our son to patch up the ceiling. Every time I walk through my dining room and look up, I think of Tim. And Joe got an invaluable lesson on how to drywall. 

Last Christmas during our family get-together, we talked about AI, which has been a hot topic for many reasons. He was fascinated with new technology, and he, I and my brother Gary had a robust discussion. Then we shifted to other tech, and I told him I was thinking about getting a streaming stick for my TV, and asked which kind he recommend. Tim went into the other room and came back with a Fire Stick. No charge. That was Tim. If he could do something for you, he didn't think twice. He just did it.

Yesterday was the funeral. It was a tough day, but there were so many warm memories shared, so many laughs over Tim stories. On the way out of town, I remarked that Menards stock was likely going to take a big hit now that one of their best customers was gone.

Now I worry not about Tim but about my sister and nieces, who have to try and navigate this strange new Tim-less world. He was one of the good ones, and it just sucks so much.

One of my favorite memories is from the early days, when Tim suggested to Denise that they take me to the original Star Wars movie. It was the talk of the town, and although I wasn't big into Sci-Fi, I took him up on the offer. The movie was amazing, and we went for pizza afterwards. So cool.

A few days after the news came of Tim's passing, I walked out into the early morning and looked up at the sky. It was clouded over, but there was a single star, shining bright. I teared up and said, "I love you, man."

And somewhere, from deep inside my heart, I heard a voice say, "I know."

Thank Heaven for Second Moms

I've known my second mom most of my life.

Marie and her husband, Don, daughter, Linda (my soon-to-be-best friend) and baby son Donnie moved into the house two doors down from ours in the early 1960s. Another daughter (Donna) came along later – she was the same age my younger brother, Paul. 

All through our growing-up years, Linda and I played together. There were stretches when I teamed up with other kids in the neighborhood, but by high school, it was Linda and me. We didn't hang out at school (she was a grade behind me), but we owned the summers. We walked to McDonald's, hung out on her front porch watching boys go by or worked on our "moon tans" in her backyard pool. 

Like most moms, Marie was in the background, quietly playing a supporting role. She was always cooking or baking something amazing (food = love). I remember she'd make us caramel corn late Friday nights, and Linda and I would watch Big Chuck and Hoolihan. Marie was much younger than my mom, and her taste in music was rooted in the 1950s. (She let Linda and I play her old records.) I seldom saw her get angry (although I do remember seeing her get steamed every once in awhile). In high school, Marie was the only person I trusted to cut my hair, a task she continued to do for awhile even after I got married. 

I didn't keep in touch with Marie for many years, and Linda and I drifted apart, too. But at some point, I was visiting my Mom and walked over to say "hello." After my parents passed, I began to call her up periodically and ask if I could visit. It's only been two or three times a year, but when I'm able to visit her,  it's like wrapping a big, cozy blanket over my shoulders. 

Marie and I talk about anything and everything. I can tell her my worries, and she shares them and helps me process what's going on in my life. We can talk about politics without rancor, and between the two of us, I'm confident we could solve all the world's problems.

I went to see Marie this past Thursday, and like always, she was a balm for the soul. As a bonus, Linda called during our visit, so I got to talk to her, too.

I hope everyone has a Marie in their life. And if you do, give her (or him) a big hug for me.

Losing My Garbles

The realization has dawned on me that I've become Emily Litella. 
But then, so has Mr. Ginley.

It's no surprise that one's ability to hear wanes over the years. Talking from room to room simply doesn't work, and the two of us have tried to change old habits by waiting until we're close by to ask a question or impart a bit of important information. Otherwise, the speaker risks the listener misinterpreting or missing the conversation altogether.

"We're having cashier's chicken for dinner?" I'd hear after Mr. was told what was on the menu that night. Or "You want me to grab your what?"

While we're able to josh one another, the whole issue of not being able to hear things correctly is truly frustrating. 

Fortunately, there's closed captioning. Most DVDs and TV shows have them, which is a godsend, especially when we're viewing British  shows. It's nice not to have to reverse and rewatch recorded shows. Or turn the volume up to ear-splitting levels (which doesn't help when actors mumble).

Comparing notes with my siblings, I've discovered they, too, have the subtitles turned on. 

None of this is surprising. What is, however, is that I recently learned 50% of viewers use closed captioning on their television – and this includes the majority of young folks.

Say what?

It turns out the reason for the increase in subtitle usage is the poor sound quality on televisions and streaming apps.

Televisions used to have those big old speakers on the front that boomed the sound out to you. Nowadays, in an effort to make slimmer, sleeker TVs, the speakers are hidden at the bottom or behind the TV – not optimal for hearing purposes. 

As for streaming apps, there is a technical reason why the sound sucks. I read an article in the New York Times about it, and you can look it up if you want to. The upshot is, the sound on apps isn't regulated the way it is on network TV, so there are wild inconsistencies from one streaming service to another. And the streaming process itself presents challenges to the way sound is rendered.

You can remedy this somewhat by purchasing a speaker for your television, which will make the sound louder but not more intelligible. If you want to know what mumblers are actually mumbling, you'll need to activate your closed captioning.

The downside to this, as I have discovered, is that you're reading a movie rather than watching it. So you miss a lot in the way of subtle facial expressions and visual details. It can be difficult to immerse yourself in a film when you're trying to discern whether the actor just said "I married a woman with four children" or "I married a woman for children."

The real problem, as I see it, is there's too much violins on television. And not enough Emily Litella. 

Still missing you, Gilda Radner...

photo attribution: Original cartoon created by Van Beuren Studios, captioning created and added by the uploader Torindkflt, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

You're Soaking In It

"I was watching a game show the other night," said Mr. Ginley. "They were talking about Madge. Remember Madge, the Palmolive lady? Did you know she did her commercials in a bunch of different languages?"

No, I did not. But I wanted to know more. So off I went, down the rabbit hole.
Long before Progressive's Flo, there were a number of iconic spokespersons. Mrs. Olsen for Folgers. Mr. Whipple for Charmin. ("I think he had a fettish," speculates Mr. Ginley.) And Madge for Palmolive Dish Soap.

(screen capture, fair use image)

Long before dishwashers became a common household appliance, dish washing soap was a big seller. For those of you in the younger set, you probably don't know that Madge (played by actress Jan Miner) shilled for Palmolive.

The Madge character was a manicurist, and the schtick was that ladies would come into her shop, she'd tsk tsk over their dry hands and stick them in a bowl to soak. She'd then tell them they should ditch their cheapo dishwashing liquid and switch to the hero brand. (Which was conveniently located on her table, so the camera could do a close-up.) Once Madge delivered the pitch, she'd then quip, "You're soaking in it." The client would express disbelief and pull her fingers out of the bowl (because she had inexplicably never seen the commercial, although it ran for 27 years). At which point, Madge would press the woman's hand back into the soapy mixture and reassure her that all would be well now that she'd learned the secret to softer, smoother hands. Each ad ended with a super* that read "two weeks later," and the happy dishwasher returning to tell Madge that Palmolive was all that Madge said it was.

Unlike other spokespersons who worried about typecasting, Jan Miner embraced her role. She even learned to perform her character in French, German, Dutch and Italian so she could recreate her role in various countries:

• France (as "Francoise")
• Germany, Switzerland and Austria (as "Tillie"),
• Finland and Denmark (as "Marissa")
• Italy

A different actress did the part in Australia and New Zealand.

How persuasive was Madge? The fact that they kept her around so long as a spokesperson must mean something.

All I know is, Mr. Ginley uses Palmolive, and he never complains about dishpan hands, so there you have it!

Take a trip down memory lane – you can watch one of the original commercials here.

*Type that appears over the image on the screen.

Branching Out

Some people have an aversion to going to the library to look for books. They insist that ordering books online works just fine for them.

To each his own, but I say they don’t know what they’re missing.

There have been so many times Mr. Ginley or I have picked up a book that we would never have thought we’d enjoy, and found a new favorite author.  Mr. has even found the occasional treasure for me.

“Read this,” he’ll say, pointing to the flyleaf. It sounds like something you’ll like. 

One such time we were at the Lakewood library, and he held up a book called The Fairy Tale Girl. The author was Susan Branch. I’d never heard of either her or the book, but I was smitten when I started paging through the book. It was beautifully written and illustrated. 

I took it home with me and spent the next week or so reading a chapter at a time. It told the story of her love, her marriage and its eventual dissolution. At the end of the book, she’s getting on a plane to head to Martha’s Vineyard.

Of course, I had to get the next book in the series, Martha’s Vineyard, Isle of Dreams. It continued to tell the story of Susan Branch, how she found herself and built a life that was hers alone. The next book in the series, A Fine Romance, covers her travels in the English countryside with her second husband. 

Each book has been like a hot fudge sundae, and I’ve savored every bite.

For my birthday, I got Susan Branch's book of quotes, Distilled Genius. She had me from the very beginning, when she quoted the line from the song, The Rainbow Connection. “Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers and me.” (Lyrics by Paul Williams.) I know it’s silly because Kermit is singing it and he’s a Muppet and all, but I always tear up when I hear that song.

So now I’m savoring this book, too, reading a quotation from it every now and again, pausing to drink in the illustrations and consider the quote she’s chosen. It’s quite the eclectic assortment.

The words of poets, scientists, authors, actors, philosophers, musicians and many more are represented here. 

As it turns out, Ms. Branch, like me, is a fan of Elizabeth von Arnim, who once quipped, “Nor would I miss the early darkness and the pleasant firelight tea and long evenings among my books.”

Sounds like a plan to me.