Tiring Solutions

At some point before I began dating Mr. Ginley, he faced an odd conundrum. It seems every time he took his car to the local Burger King drive-thru, it would stall out, and he'd have trouble starting it again.

He put the problem to his Dad to see what his take on the situation was. Perhaps his father would attribute it to the fates, to an evil spirit inhabiting his car or a sinister Russian plot.

After considering the problem, my future father-in-law gave his verdict.

"Don't go to Burger King."

I was reminded of this a few Sundays ago when I was heading across town to meet our son for breakfast. About halfway there, my tire malfunction light came on. This has happened in the past when the weather changes, but it still kind of freaks me out. When I arrived at First Watch for our breakfast rendezvous, Joe assured me everything was fine, reminding me that I was the one who told him about this snafu with the tire light. Nevertheless, he checked all four tires to ensure they were inflated properly. They were.

Fast forward three weeks, and once again I'm making the trek across town to the east side. Once again, the light comes on. This time, it remains on until I'm heading home, just about the point in time when I cross the border from the east to the west side.

When I arrived home, I shared the phenomenon with Mr. Ginley. 

He pondered my situation carefully and made his determination.

"From now on, have Joe come to the west side to have breakfast," he declared.

In the immortal words of Elvis (along with a hefty helping of sarcasm), "Thank you. Thank you very much."

Everybody Wang Chung Tonight

For someone who soaks up emotions like a giant sponge, recent events have been a bit much.

Photo attribution below.

I won't go into the laundry list of awfuls – suffice to say, it's things like people blowing each other up in foreign lands, the climate going cattywampus and state leaders who won't stop trying to subvert the will of the people, even when it's clear what that will is.

It all makes me realize why it took me over 100 years to reincarnate. 

Now I know most of you don't believe in reincarnation, but I've gotta say, when I went to a psychic many years ago and she told me I was disillusioned in a prior life and that's why I was so reluctant to return, it made perfect sense to me.

But I digress.

My point is, when one feels like life has become a huge band-aid being ripped off again and again, how does one cope? 

I've done the following:

• Spent time in the park with Mr. Ginley, walking, talking and driving.
• Reduced my time on FB, except for keeping up with friends' personal posts, my "I Love Puffins" group, my puzzle group and several nature photography groups I follow.
• Worked jigsaw puzzles.
• Watched Hallmark movies and British mystery series.
• Read novels.
• Listened to musical favorites, old and new.

As to the last item on my list, it's been my mission to scour the libraries in search of new things to listen to. My success rate is meh, but I'd say overall, it's been worthwhile. I discovered a Mark Knopfler CD that I've listened to a bazillion times and am putting on my Christmas list. Also, I stumbled on Cat Stevens' remake of Tea for the Tillerman, which is also going on my list.

And sometimes it's about rediscovering a lost gem. Mr. Ginley watches a lot of YouTube, and one night a couple of weeks ago, he stumbled on the video for Everybody Wang Chung Tonight. The video was made at the height of MTVs innovative era and features funky stop-action techniques that could no doubt be accomplished by AI in a fraction of the time. But back in the day, it was state-of-the-art.

Anyhow, we both toe-tapped our way through the Wang Chung extravaganza and agreed it was a mood-lifter. A few nights later, I was working on a puzzle and Mr. was watching YouTube when he said, "Hey, we haven't heard this tune in awhile." And yes, you guessed it, we started to hum along once again to Jack Hues, Nick Feldman and their merry band of musicians. It's become a nightly ritual that hasn't gotten old just yet.

We all need coping mechanisms, and I figure Wang Chung is pretty harmless. Better than eating a pint of ice cream or getting lost in a bottle of schnaps. I suppose there are music critics would disagree, but then, they can be pretty disagreeable people, so there you go.

I hope y'all have equally effective (and tame) coping devices. Feel free to share.

In the meantime, let's all Wang Chung Tonight. 

Photo attribution: Bartolomeo Pinelli, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

So Long, Shirley

People tumble in and out of your life. Some are front and center for awhile, then suddenly disappear. Others hang around in the background, like the scent of lavender – there, but not always top of mind. Shirley Edmiston fell into this second category. 

(photo attribution below)

I found out this week from a mutual friend that Shirley passed away. True to form, she didn't want a fuss made over her passing. No funeral, no hullabaloo, just a quick cremation. Shirley didn't have children, and her two brothers predeceased her – although there are in-laws and nephews and nieces to mourn her loss. But I couldn't let her final departure go by without saying farewell.

I met Shirley when I started working at Sterling (could it possibly be?) over 40 years ago. By that time, she was firmly established as part of the old guard. It took me awhile to get to the real Shirley. She pretty much said exactly what she thought, which was both refreshing and a little intimidating. Over time, I realized she had a heart as big as the state of Texas – but you messed with Shirley at your own peril. If you broke her trust, you were toast.

Thanks to Facebook, I was able to keep up – albeit from a distance – with Shirley's goings-on after she left Sterling in 2016. That's how I knew about the dozens of art classes she took. She posted her work, and it was really good. She did pieces for friends, too. A drawing of Harry and Ilene's beloved dog, Daphne. A painting of a picnic basket for Anne. And she shared several of her tole paintings with Julie (whose husband lived next door to Shirley growing up. Shirley shared a picture of Julie's hubby in a diaper. Cue "It's a Small World.")

I asked a few folks for their favorite memories. Shirley spent a lot of years at Sterling, but what I found really cool was that no one mentioned work stuff. All the memories were of her artwork and the things she did outside of – and after – Sterling.

So, what is my favorite Shirley-girl memory? On the day I gave birth to Joe, Shirley and Terrie came to see us in the hospital. They brought me cake, and Shirley said, "You missed your baby shower." I was so touched that they came all that way. And brought cake. Ever after, Shirley asked how Joe was doing and fussed over him when he came to the office. 

One thing we all agreed on was that Shirley's beloved Butch was there at the Pearly Gates to greet her. She outlived him by 20 years, and she missed him like crazy. Her Facebook page has a lot of old pictures, and her favorite photo of him became her profile picture.

Shirley was one of my most faithful blog followers. If she's reading this now, I hope she approves. 

Rest well, Shirl.

Photo attribution: Mogens Engelund, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Some Bunny Done Me Wrong

 "But I don't want to put pesticide on the poison ivy. The bunny might eat it and die," I protested.

My older brother and sister had both told me, independently, that getting rid of the poison ivy was priority #1, and the bunny would have to avoid munching on it or pay the consequences. Their rolling eyes over my protests told me they weren't concerned about my adorable woodland neighbor.

If I had known what a poor neighbor Mrs. (or Mr.) Bunny would turn out to be, I would have thought twice.

Apparently, digging up people's lawns is the downside of resident rabbits, and my backyard has taken the chew as a result. Not that it was going to be showcased in BH&G anytime soon, but the lawn was green and grasslike. 

Now it looks like a war zone.

I've had to let go of so many things, that having a decent yard is just one more. I must accept the fact that there'll never be a time when I look out my window and admire the view altogether. There are bright spots, of course. The rosebush that I planted this year that hasn't died (yet). The Rose of Sharon bush that bloomed all summer long. And the burning bush, which is now turning a spectacular shade of red. (Max assures me the Rose of Sharon and burning bush are invasive species. I'm sure the word is out among the flora about me and my lax gardening skills.)

another invasive
species

Sure, I could moan about my disorganized wreck of a life, but instead I decided to follow Mr. Ginley's lead this week. The MetroParks are so close, there was no excuse for missing the stunning display of foliage this year. So off we went to drive, walk and sit in the park and admire nature's fireworks display. On Wednesday, Thursday and Friday he said, "This will be the last nice day of the season. We'd better get out there and enjoy it."

I'm thankful we did. Today it's raining and the leaves will be gone in no time. 

And, hopefully, my destructive neighbor will hibernate when the weather turns.

Please tell me that rabbits hibernate!

Technology, Schmechnolgy

I really hate labels, and "Boomer" is no exception.

Sadly, I do fit the Boomer profile in many ways. I prefer to read physical books.  I like to be home before it gets dark outside because I'm not comfortable driving at night. And I'm not quick to jump on the tech train.

That's not to say I don't know how to use my smarty-pants phone, stream shows or work with AI. I can do all these things, but I don't embrace new technology without hanging on to prior iterations. The problem comes when I don't consider that others may have moved on.

Case in point. I burned a CD to share with someone. Mr. Ginley said, "You know, that's a nice gesture, but how do you know they have a CD player?"

Honestly, it hadn't occurred to me, largely because the person I'm sharing with is also a Boomer. But he had a point. As if to sear that point into my brain, I saw the following headline in the New York Times today: Where Can I Buy a DVD Player?

I was gutted. While I do know how to stream movies, I still mostly watch them on DVD, because, contrary to what the youngsters tell you, not everything streams – or streams when you want to watch it. 

In a corner of my dining room are stacks of DVDs filled with some of my favorite all-time shows. I can pluck any one of these, pop it in when the mood hits and enjoy it commercial-free and without it pixelating when my internet connection is cranky. 

I should have realized that DVDs were on the way out when I worked for Axel, and we were starting to convert old VHS tapes to USB because customers didn't have a way to watch discs. 

Still, it makes me sad. Maybe I should go out and buy a DVD player or two. 

If I survive the apocalypse, I could make a fortune.

A Thrifting We Will Go

"We haven't been there in awhile," Mr. Ginley mused. He was gazing outside the window of Nate's Deli, where we were enjoying lunch.

"You may love it but the cat won't."

The "there" in question was a second hand store. While I knew in my heart of hearts there wouldn't be anything there we needed and we shouldn't be dragging home more stuff, the thrill of the chase is difficult to overcome. 

So, off we went, across the street to see what treasures we could find.

Mr. noticed right away that in spite of posted signs with prices for each category, many of the items had stickers with a number and dash after it. Like "5-" I thought perhaps this was some kind of code but agreed we should ask the cashier when we got to the counter. Turns out, Mr. was correct. I was peeved. There was nothing on the sign that said "except where marked" or "the actual price may be 5x what the sign says."

Anyhow, amidst the flotsam and jetsam, Mr. and I managed to find several things, some useful, others not so much. 

Not a clue.

And yes, I got a jigsaw puzzle. It was the price of doing business, as they say.

I'm just happy I didn't get talked into the green hoot owl picture, the oversized Thomas the Tank Engine toy (for our someday grandkids), the outfit for the cat or the big German beer stein. 

Admittedly, I was tickled to find this kitty-themed nightwear. 

Although I think the pom poms are a bit much, don't you?

Nostalgia Ain't What it Used to Be

As the Battle of the Boomers vs. the Alphabet Generations drags on, it becomes increasingly obvious there will be no clear winner.

As seen in our local library.

Scrolling through Facebook, I see my peers waxing nostalgic about playing outside all summer long without supervision, the absence of screen time (unless you count Saturday morning cartoons) and the overall wholesomeness of a childhood spent in the golden age before technology took over and AI threatened our very existence.

While this bucolic view of growing up in the 1950s/1960s/1970s is lovely, it shows but one side of the coin. Flip it over, and you see that most of us are lucky to be alive. My brother tells a story of going into the woods with friends and blowing things up using dismantled fireworks. Holding onto car bumpers and sliding down the street on snowy days was a thing. And no one thought anything about riding in cars without seat belts (until seat belts were invented, at which point, my mother insisted). 

If I look back honestly on my growing up years, I recall a lot of boredom.

Conversations with friends went something like this:

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know, what do you want to do?"

Just don't ask Mom, because she would "give you something to do," and you wouldn't like it.

Sure, we had real music. Serious rock 'n roll. Bell bottoms and tie dye.

But we also had disco, polyester clothes and weird knitted/crocheted items. Also, baby puke green and orange décor. Plus stinky air and polluted rivers (pre-EPA). 

And let me tell you, many of the TV shows we thought were the bomb at the time simply bomb when you watch them today – a la The Flying Nun, Three's Company, BJ and the Bear. 

So, yes, there are things to look back on with fondness, but like any generation, there are cringe-worthy memories, too. 

I wonder what the current generation will look back on with awe: 

"Remember the before-days when there was no AI to help with your homework?"

"When I was a kid, we only had 162 cable channels, no streaming services."

"Sometimes, we'd go to the store to buy stuff."

Well, there I go, getting all Boomer snarky on you. 

I suppose my point is, there are great and sucky things about every generation, and we should just get over this divisive "my generation is better than yours" thinking.

After all, my parents survived the Great Depression and World War II. And they raised six kids on a very tight budget. 

We really can't top that.