Posted on November 1, 2007
Had you asked me a year ago if I would be willing to pay about twelve dollars a month to listen to my car radio without commercial interruptions, I probably would have said no. It’s not that I like commercials, but at the time I only listened to one station whenever I was driving. It was a commercial-free classical station sponsored by Andrews University in Berrien Springs, Michigan. The only problem occurred when I drove outside the station’s reception area.
But with my new car has come a new stereo system, complete with the commercial free radio programming. That is, the equipment is factory-installed; I do have to pay for the monthly service.
Already, I’m hooked. I can still listen to my classical station, but in addition I now have three other classical stations, all commercial free, to choose from. As well as an all-Elvis, an all-Bruce Springsteen, an all-Sinatra, a bevy of golden oldies stations (depending on which decade of the last century you consider golden), talk radio and even Howard Stern.
I can preprogram eighteen channels and switch from one to the other by pressing a button on the steering wheel. I haven’t heard a commercial in two weeks; and, no, I haven’t heard Howard Stern either. In fact, I’m toying with programming one conservative talk radio station and one liberal talk radio station for the coming presidential election, the better to give both sides equal time.
But then I might prefer commercial interruption after all.
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Posted on October 31, 2007
As Halloweens go, this one was a bust. I just turned off our porch lights, as the official time for Trick or Treating in our community is over. We had a grand total of three children come by.
It’s true we don’t live in a neighborhood where there are a lot of children, and we also don’t live where parents from other neighborhoods take their offspring because of rumors of generous candy-givers. No, we are definitely off the beaten ghostly path.
At the same time, I wonder if the custom of going house to house asking for candy is becoming obsolete altogether. Each Halloween, the late news has stories of children eating tainted candy or apples with razor blades hidden inside. It’s enough to frighten anybody with a grain of sense.
This isn’t the same as saying Halloween is becoming obsolete; it’s that the celebration of it is changing. Maybe schools are having more parties during the day; maybe at-home parties are growing in popularity. Not having school aged children, I don’t have the definitive answer.
I understand that, next to Christmas, Halloween is the second largest retail holiday in terms of decorations. I don’t doubt it; even my Starbuck’s barista was decked out in a costume this morning. And I’m sure that tomorrow will be the best time to buy Halloween candy, just as the best time to buy holiday wrapping paper is December 26. I don’t need any, however, as I’m well supplied.
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Posted on October 30, 2007
The local golf club offers ten dollar entrees on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday; which means the dining room is crowded and you need a reservation, unless you get there before five fifteen. We rarely do.
And each time we dine at Classic Views, the restaurant at the Berrien Hills Golf Course, I wonder how it stays open. After all, ten dollar entrees that include soup or salad are a bargain. I’ve always thought the chef offered these meals early in the week as an incentive for diners to come taste the food with little financial risk involved. It seems to work for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday; but when we’ve gone to Classic Views between Thursday and Sunday there is hardly anybody there.
I value a bargain as much as the next person. At the same time, Earl and I always go out to eat on Friday night; and we usually spend much more than ten dollars an entrйe. So, if one likes the food (and we do) why not patronize Classic Views on the other nights of the week? The ten dollar entrees won’t last forever.
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Posted on October 28, 2007
On my return yesterday from visiting my friend Carol in Bloomington, Indiana, I detoured to attend the service and funeral of my next-door-neighbor’s granddaughter in Indianapolis. It wasn’t really out of my way — just off one of the main highways that I traversed — so I would have felt badly not to have made the effort.
The granddaughter was an adult in her own right. She was thirty-six, had two children and three stepchildren whom, all accounts bear witness, she considered as special as her own. I had only met this woman once, so it was rather a desire to be there for my neighbor than any direct feelings of loss. But I was struck with several things.
Clara, my neighbor, said to me, “A grandmother shouldn’t outlive her granddaughter. It isn’t right.” I understand the accepted progression of life, and I agree with Clara. But these things happen, and I think it’s best not to question when they do.
The service was at the funeral home; I learned later that the surviving husband and the woman’s parents collaborated on creating it. What I took away mostly was how the shock of this unexpected death — and it was unexpected — seemed to numb everyone. Sniffles and tissues were the order of the day, rather than special hymns and personal recollections. When the minister asked if anyone wanted to say a few words about the deceased before the end of the service, only one person came forward. I suspect the rest were too distraught.
I can honestly say I’ve never had anybody that I’ve been especially close to pass away, so I don’t know how I will feel when someone I truly care about does die. Watching this family, however, I believe I’ll be as shocked as these people were. I also think the hard work begins when the burial is over.
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Posted on October 27, 2007
About ten years ago, I wrote an essay about my childhood friend Carol, whom I’ve known since sixth grade. She was eleven and I was ten when we met. I just spent the last three days with her and feel an update is in order.
The first time I wrote about us, we had both recently buried our mothers and sent emails back and forth recalling our school days in the hope of adding memories to our mutual losses. After all, as only children we clung to each other because each of us remembered the other’s mother like a sister would.
Carol’s mother was beautiful; mine was more accomplished, at least academically. Both of them wanted the best for their daughters, although they exhibited this in acutely different ways. On this most recent get-together we recalled our mothers, their deaths, and what they left as legacies to us. We almost always do this when we get together, as there is no one else who knows Carol and me firsthand as emerging teens with hormonal urges and concerned mothers. We were co-conspirators then, and we are now.
More than once we also touched on the subject of aging, as Carol and I have been friends over fifty years and have shared each other’s ups and downs. It amazes me we are now moving into the realm of senior citizens, having endured early marriage, the births of our children, their own growing up, and the health issues that can accompany membership in AARP. Slowly and steadily we are gaining on the ages our mothers were when they died. “Don’t you know eighty is the new sixty?” Carol said. “So sixty must be the new forty.”
We laughed. Let’s face it; neither of us feels forty, but when we’re together I hope she feels as young as I do. Whatever age that is. We reminisced, we analyzed, we hugged.
The last paragraph of my earlier essay ends like this: “Recently we made a pact that when her husband and my significant are gone we will move in with each other. Carol will cook because she loves to, and I will clean. And we will be old women together.”
But not quite yet . . .
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Posted on October 24, 2007
Halloween is about a week away, and I can’t wait for it to be over. It makes me gain weight.
We don’t have a lot of Trick or Treaters in our neighborhood, so I bought only a couple bags of individually wrapped candies to pass out. And I bought things I personally like: Snickers®, Crunch®, you can see a chocolate theme going on here.
That was last month, and I’m not proud to say that I’ve eaten every single piece since then. So out I went to the store to buy more; and I’m half-way through the new batch. Martha Stewart notwithstanding, this isn’t a good thing.
My current plan is to run to the store early on the morning of October 31, hope there is still Halloween candy left, and buy the minimum to get by. I’ve asked my neighbor, Clara, to hold it for me until the little urchins start coming at the appointed hour. That way, at least, I’ll have something for them. And then I’ll eat what’s left.
Next year I hope to talk Earl into going out to dinner on Halloween. It’s much better for my waist line.
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Posted on October 23, 2007
Last Friday, I visited La Belle Chique, a local spa, with the intention of obtaining information about skin care. My skin, especially on my face, approximates that of an alligator’s that I then cover with make-up. I don’t expect to look like I did as a teen, but I thought maybe I could stave off further damage.
I talked with the esthetician and she took some photographs of what I looked liked. I believe they are called “Before.” Then I returned home with a new facial skin care regime and have attentively followed it ever since. The literature with the products says it takes eighteen weeks to see final results, but I think that five days have already helped. For instance, the dryness on my nose is already reduced. The wrinkles around my mouth look less intimidating. And my skin seems soft enough that the alligator comparison is about to be jettisoned.
Given the cost of the products, maybe this is what the customer must think. However, beauty is not cheap these days; and if I can look better, then why not? It’s not that I want to look twenty years younger; rather, when I’m twenty years older I want to look more like I will look eighteen weeks down the road.
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Posted on October 22, 2007
Here is my new car, a Toyota Scion, which was originally created to appeal to the youth market. Well, maybe the creators should reconsider and appeal to the boomer market that still thinks it’s the youth market.
I’m not much of a fancy car aficionado, but my track record for picking a Car of Year is pretty good. I bought a Pacer back in 1976 when it was chosen the Car of the Year. I bought a Saturn (I can’t remember the year) when it was Car of the Year. So maybe, do you think, Toyota should pay me to drive this car around?
If it’s chosen Car of the Year — given my track record — I’ll be in negotiations.
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Posted on October 21, 2007
I am old dog, but I learned a couple new tricks this past week, some of them unexpectedly.
The most memorable experience happened a couple days ago when I attempted to cook spaghetti squash in my microwave. I’d seen my friend Phyllis do it a while back; and, while I didn’t watch closely, I thought I got the general gist. Wash the squash, stab it considerably, cook for twelve minutes, and then cut and core. Wanting to err on the safe side, I did the first three things attentively. I even reduced to time to ten minutes; but at about eight minutes my squash exploded like a cannon, forced the microwave door open and spread stringy squash everywhere. Worse than that, the microwave blew a fuse and refused to work. I did have a repairman come, but you might say it was a pricey vegetable learning experience.
Other such recent experiences can be distilled as follows: Gnats are difficult to kill, even with insecticide, although a neighbor told me that they like red wine and will drink themselves to death if you leave a jigger of it on your counter. I haven’t tried this remedy yet. Cream that is a month out of code should not be smelled before being discarded. Squirrels and raccoons like stale flatbread, dried buns, and leftover garlic toast; but they don’t like fruit or soup. This observation is based on extensive testing of the various foodstuffs mentioned.
And, finally, a new car is a target for everyone else on the road. At least that’s how I feel since picking up my new Scion five days ago. I am becoming paranoid that people stop at stop signs, give me the right-of-way (if it’s mine) and don’t follow too closely. I park at the outermost spot in a parking lot and have already washed and waxed my new mechanical palace, even though it lives in a garage most of the time. I don’t buy a new car very often, so in itself it’s a learning experience. Much has changed in the automotive world since I bought my previous car, which makes learning about my Scion the most fun I had this week.
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Posted on October 17, 2007
Earl and I just returned from a church supper, the kind where the ladies of the congregation do all the cooking and everyone else does all the eating. We were guests of someone who works with Earl, and it was a novel experience for us.
Not that we haven’t attended church in our lifetime or gone to a church fund raising function. But we don’t do it often.
The pastor had everyone file into the sanctuary and sit down. He informed us that this particular church dinner was first held in 1939. That’s before I was born, so I imagined the membership had the process organized fairly well. The pastor then led us in a thanksgiving prayer before dismissing us to the fellowship hall in groups of about thirty. Fortunately, Earl’s friend’s group was among the first to line up for the dinner.
It was a Thanksgiving dress rehearsal, with the exception that chicken was substituted for turkey. But the mashed potatoes, dressing, gravy, corn, rolls, cranberry sauce, pickles, coleslaw, and a bevy of desserts could have made any Turkey Day proud. It wasn’t fancy, but it was filling.
After filing through a buffet line, we sat at long tables, the kind where you can really only talk with those sitting directly across from you or next to you. We didn’t know anybody on either side, but by the time dinner was over we’d learned something about each person in our little circle. This couple winters in Florida; that one just lost his job, this one just returned from Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Pleasant enough table talk.
The entire meal took about forty-five minutes, as the tables had to be re-set for the next seating and the one after that. Which means the church discourages people from sitting for hours and turns the tables over three times in the course of the evening. At eight dollars a meal, I’d say that’s pretty organized.
