?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Bombarded

Everywhere you go, especially on the internet, someone wants to pick your wallet. You make a reservation at a hotel and it wants you to upgrade your room choice for an extra $30 a night.

Big box stores send you emails that you’re missing out on their sales if you don’t respond asap. Even my bank wants me to shill for it, promising about $25 if I send a friend its way. And how many time have you received an email from a company you’ve done business with that you’ve been ‘chosen’ for a special rebate, coupon, or sale?

Let me count the times. (Sorry Elizabeth Barrett Browning.)

The bombardment is increasing, which means I buy less and less on the internet. I use it to research, compare, and price. But in the end, I often pick up the phone after finding the vendor on Amazon and order directly. I don’t worry about postage and delivery; I prefer to support the vendor and build a relationship in the deal. It’s worked so far.

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Modern Love

The New York Times Sunday edition has a page buried in one of its lower alphabet sections called “Modern Love.” On this one page are usually two stories about the topic, one long and detailed; the other about one hundred words. Usually I tend to the one with the fewer words.

Today’s “Tiny Love Stories” entry was titled “Our Call and Response.” I print it here verbatim:

“Earl and I were introduced in January 1961. As we sat in a darkened movie theater in April watching a rescreening of “An American in Paris,” he leaned forward and whispered, “I think I love you.” I replied, “Please let me know when you do.” He did and we married in October. Over the next 46 happy years until Earl passed, he would occasionally lean forward and whisper, “I think I love you.” And yes, I would then lean forward and whisper, “Please let me know when you do.”

In so few words, such emotion.

The other story on the same page was titled “Two Voices in the Dark Discover Their Path Together.” It described how a couple who hardly knew each other developed a relationship across great distance. Eventually they married. But this story was similar in writing style and content to so many other stories that have graced this page that my mind wandered. I’m not even sure they are written by individuals with stories to tell, because the tone week after week is the same.

Give me “I think I love you” every time.

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Comic Relief

I cannot recall a time when I didn’t read the Sunday comics. Growing up, they came with the Sunday paper my Mother bought on the way home from church; now they come via the mail as part of the weekend edition of our local paper that arrives on Saturday. So Saturday night usually finds me catching up with old favorites Dennis the Menace and Garfield, as well as Beetle Bailey and Blondie. Hi and Lois and The Family Circus also make me smile.

They are a far cry from the usual daily dose of politics and polarization that pervades our lives at the moment. Even the comic strip Hagar the Horrible, who is the cartoon epitome of a loose cannon, makes me smile when the real loose cannon in this election makes me cringe.

We have exactly one month to go until Election Day, and there are four weekends between now and then. Maybe if we all read the comics together on Saturday night and enjoyed some gentle humor it would help our national mood. Maybe we could agree that life is meant to be enjoyed rather than merely endured. That throwing brickbats at each other isn’t funny at all.

Where are the Peanuts gang and Calvin and Hobbes when we need them?

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One Week from Today

It’s always like this in the majors marathoning world. (The majors for the uninformed or uninterested consist of six specific marathons held annually around the world. They are considered by many to be the crème de la crème in running.)

You register for a major marathon months in advance. It gives you a time frame in which to find lodging, train if you’re the runner, and plan if you’re the support team. My son Kevin and I have done this for 44 years, ever since his first majors marathon in Chicago at age 12.

One week from today he and I shall reconvene in Chicago, the site of his first aforementioned marathon. Back then, there  were only 3000 runners and I was at the finish line when he came in second in his age group.

Times have changed. Bombs and other deceits have restricted attendance at the finish lines, no matter where they are. Still, we persist.

With this in mind, I shall leave my home in Michigan and travel to downtown Chicago a week from today, while Kevin will fly from Fargo. For the first time ever, we’re splurging to stay at a hotel that is just two blocks from the starting line and not much farther from the finish line, since Chicago is a loop course and not a point to point.

We’ve never spent the money to do this before, but as we both age it seems like a great idea. I’m already excited about the vibe, because there will come a time that either Kevin or I cannot keep going. But this isn’t it.

Wish us luck!

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Thank You, Kathy

A small package wrapped in tape that was almost impenetrable arrived at our door today. It almost took a stick of dynamite to extradite its contents. But I’m glad we persevered.

It was from my cousin, Kathy, my aunt’s only daughter who has been involved in the dissolution of her parents’ lives, possessions, and memories. We don’t talk that often, but I’m always glad when we connect.

This package was from her, and it contained several items of special import. But there were two that were particularly meaningful for different reasons. The first was a simple rock, except it was painted in 1913 by my grandmother on her graduation from high school. I don’t know how it came into my aunt’s possession, but I do remember Kathy asking me a few weeks ago if I wanted it. Since I’m a gardener I said “Yes,” but I’m not sure I’ll put it in my garden. Perhaps a place of honor in our home would be more appropriate.

The other item, which I didn’t expect, was a crocheted scarf that was used as stuffing around the other things in the package. It was only after I’d removed all of them and began pulling out the yarn that I realized it was the scarf I’d made my Aunt Alice about a dozen years ago as a Christmas gift. Given how I felt – no, how I still feel – about this person – it was emotional to have it back in my possession.

I remember making it. I’d started the pattern somewhere in an autumn when we were still driving to Denver, Colorado, and my aunt’s family for Thanksgiving. But I would never  have finished it in time if Earl hadn’t driven all the way while I crocheted in the seat next to him. For the record, the final ripply row of the scarf had 3,000 stitches.

Alice was tall, and I made the scarf accordingly. When I took it out of the box and tried it on my short frame, I was swallowed in it. Still, I plan to wear it and make it look good somehow. If not, then I’ll treasure it as another reminder of Alice, the stellar family member in my growing-up life.

Thank you so much, Kathy.

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Million Dollar Quartet

It’s been a busy twenty-four hours: the VP debate between Walz and Vance, an attack on Israel from its neighbor, and incredible devastation from Hurricane Helene. So you might wonder at the title of this blog. It’s about a musical that takes place in the mid-nineteen fifties.

I’m not being frivolous. Other outlets more visible than mine will cover the above issues, but I doubt any will cover the musical another couple, Earl, and I saw this afternoon in Turkeyville, Michigan.

“Million Dollar Quartet” is about the birth of rock and roll and Sam Phillips of Sun Records, its midwife. Phillips had a knack for seeing the future of popular music and signed then unknown performers such as Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, and Jerry Lee Lewis. They rose to stardom under his guidance and then left him because bigger recording labels offered more in terms of exposure. And possible more perks.

The show was performed adequately, although Earl and I saw it in Chicago years ago and there was no comparison. Still the four of us who attended grew up in that era and enjoyed a replay of its music.

At the end of the show, Sam Phillips has lost three of his star performers. The spotlight zeroes in on him alone on the stage. And he says, (as far as I can remember) “I wished them all the success in the world, but I wish they could have found happiness.”

Isn’t that the truth.

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Kris

He was there my entire life. Kris Kristofferson – singer, songwriter for others, actor, and human being – died September 28 at the age of 88.

He was known for his country music, often sung by others: “Me and Bobby McGee,” “Help Me Make It Through the Night,” “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” And for his films with more recognized stars: “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore,” “A Star Is Born,” and “Heaven’s Gate.”

He was known for his marriage to Rita Coolidge, but less so for his two other marriages and his eight children with three wives. Even fewer fans knew he was a Rhodes scholar and a veteran.

He was a member of the super country group called “The Highwaymen,” which consisted of Kristofferson, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Willie Nelson. I have their first album, as well as Kris’s greatest hits.

What was it about Kris that attracted me? Maybe it was his gravely voice, his rejection of academia over music, his apparent comfort with who he was. Or perhaps it was his unassuming attitude about life.

All I know is that I plan to listen to his music these coming days and hope that Willie Nelson, the remaining member of The Highwaymen, fares well at 91 years old.

Thanks for the music, Kris. And the memories.

R.I.P.

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Swan Song

This is the final game of the 2024 season for the Chicago Cubs. It began in the spring with high hopes, but early summer swept them away as the Cubs dug themselves into a hole. Sure, there was time to climb out; but it didn’t happen until late in the season when the team got close but never caught up.

So what will I remember of this 2024 season? Most of my memories aren’t about the games; they’re more about special things that happened this year. For instance, Anthony Rizzo, a stellar member of the 2016 World Series, returned as a Yankee to Wrigley Field for the first time this summer. He was greeted with a standing ovation even though he left the Cubs five years ago.

Earl and I bought a “W” flag and had great fun flying it whenever the Cubs won at home or away. I’m not sure if we’ve gotten our money’s worth from it yet. But we loved seeing the home team fly the “W” at the end of each win.

Then there was Kyle Hendricks, the  last man on the current Cubs team who was also on the winning World Series team. Yesterday he pitched his final game of the season but also possibly his final game as a Cub since his contract has expired. He was interviewed at length during today’s game, and I was impressed with his confidence, humility, and graciousness.

What I wasn’t impressed with this season was Craig Counsell, the field manager. I don’t believe he is a good fit for the Cubs even though he is the highest paid manager in all of baseball. It remains to be seen what the 2025 season offers; just know that the Milwaukee Brewers, Counsell’s former team, advanced to the 2024 playoffs without him.

And so I’m rooting for the Milwaukee Brewers in the playoffs.

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New Toy

In the kitchen, I’m not a gadget person. I don’t own a garlic press, a juice squeezer, an air fryer, or an Instapot. After all, I was raised by a woman who thought a butter knife was a perfect double for a screwdriver. She never tended a garden either.

In this case, the apple falls somewhat away from the tree. In the kitchen, I’m my Mother. In the garden, however, I want all kinds of gadgets. Only we call them tools.

A couple days ago I purchase a 24” lithium battery operated hedge trimmer, the better to prune my shrubs and small trees. I’ve been studying the three manuals that came with the product and am pleased with my selection.

Earlier this summer, I asked for and got a shovel to commemorate my eightieth birthday. A shovel is a great tool for many projects, and mine is inscribed with “Digging it for eighty years.”

I have two snippers. Maybe they’re not called that, because when I tried to check this I was referred to snipers, compliments of AI. Grrrr! Maybe they’re clippers, but I didn’t research this.

I have trowels, rakes, loppers, hoes, garden gloves, and one broom. Two dustpans. And a ton of product for warding off beetles, encouraging roses, and fertilizing annuals. Now that the growing season is winding down, you might ask if my gardening tools aren’t as important than my kitchen tools because they are seasonal while kitchen tools are not.

I think that’s part of the attraction.

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Buyer Beware

The idea of “Buyer Beware” isn’t new, but it does seem to be taking on a more deceitful bent these days. Here are three instances that crossed my radar the past week.

The home improvement retailer Menard’s often advertises an “11 percent rebate on everything” in its store. At first glance, I assumed that meant an 11 percent discount at the check-out. And maybe others thought that too.  But rebate doesn’t mean that at all.

Rather a rebate is an incentive a business offers a customer AFTER purchase, not AT purchase. It’s usually in the form of a refund or a discount. But the customer has to pay full price first and then go through the effort of sending in proof of purchase to get the rebate. There are weeks of waiting involved.

In Menard’s case, the rebate isn’t a refund; it’s merely a coupon to use at the retailer to purchase more items. So guess who is benefiting by this rebate: the company. Beware!

My friend S recently purchased hearing aids from a reputable local firm. We all know hearing aids are expensive and usually not something insurance covers. S decided to accept the firm’s offer of one year with no interest to pay off the item. BUT it turned out that the hearing aid company wasn’t funding her. It set her up with a credit card that gave a year’s free interest in the hope that she wouldn’t pay it off and the company could then charge an exorbitant interest. The thing is: S was never told any of this at the point of purchase. Beware!

And then there’s Totaladblock.com, which I saw on Facebook. It claims to delete all those pesky ads you see whenever you’re on the internet. Of course it’s not free, but for first time customers, it’s only $1.99 per month for the first year.

That seemed reasonable, especially with the “Cancel at any time” option. But it turns out that if you join you are charged the full 12 months at once. Yes, it’s still $1.99 a month; but what if you want to cancel. I’m willing to bet it’s a hassle to get any money back. Beware!

The thing is we can’t take anything at face value. It doesn’t matter if it’s political campaigns, car sales, doctors’ offices, information on the internet, or local grocery ads.

It’s a pity.

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