I Will Remember

Fifty-five years ago when nearing high school graduation day, as chairman of the class gift committee, I approached the high school principal to get a suggestion as to what the class might leave to the school with our left-over funds.  You know -- maybe we could purchase a flag for the auditorium or provide a bit of landscaping outside.  Well... he looked me right in the eye and told me, in no uncertain terms, that the school was taking our left-over money and adding it to the general fund -- that the school did not want to remember our class. He went on to say that he had 21 diplomas on his desk that he was thinking of withholding." (He also took away our class outing.) It was stunning. He was usually such a kind man in red socks.  Not sure what I said in response (probably nothing), or how I reacted (other than shock), but ... the memory of his anger has stuck with me. I find the whole thing somehow amusing in retrospect, because I grew up with those people the school didn't want to remember. I was one of them, and I always have wanted to remember them. Still do. People you grow up with are special - shared memories are just one bond of many.

Looking back at the whole situation -- there was the organized "gathering" of the official signs of rival schools and a recurring "relocation" of the cannon in the city park ... both inconvenient to those adults supervising the youth of the time ... but nothing harmful or damaging really. (Well some of those school signs and perhaps a rather large concrete statue of a guardian lion somehow found their way inside the school and did scratch a counter, but that was "fixed" by a local factory owner. It seems that the owner of that company happened to have a son who may have been involved in that episode. Then again later on -- there was the lassoing of a car on Main Street that involved members of the Class of '67 on both sides of the issue -- culprit and police officer ... but I digress....  People of the Class of "67 know all about this.  It is a bond we share really. Just one of them.) 

For the most part though -- our class went on to good/important things.  Many went on in various branches of the military to protect our country. One made the ultimate sacrifice in Viet Nam. Others went to work in local factories or on nearby farms, or continued their studies for one thing or another.  Many married and had families. To be sure some had struggles. As my mom used to say, "We all have our own bag of rocks."  For the most part though - normal stuff really. Times of hardship, times of triumph. Life is like that... a variety of challenges and successes. Sadness and happiness.  Anyway -- talented in a huge variety of areas -- interesting people all. 

See the thing is -- I just spent a large part of last weekend with some of the remarkable people of the Class of '67 during the events of our 55th reunion.  As I moved throughout the gatherings, I heard many memories of our years together - some sort of scary and many that might have been/probably were a bit of a challenge to authority, but the class of '67 has a special place in my heart for sure. The weekend was a gift of laughter and of poignant moments. I am thankful to know these people and to have known them. I enjoyed spending time with them. I remember our growing up years.  I always will. Special people, special times.

Puzzle Pieces

 

Remember when we were younger and thought our parents and/or adults in general had answers to the problems of the world? Ah – the sweet innocence of youth. Well ... we Boomers are the older (closing in on oldest) generation now and most of us, I think, know just how much we don’t know. My own “children”, of a sandwich generation caught between their parents and their children, have been at the point for a while now where they realize all of this as well.  It’s hard being a grown up sometimes.  

The thing is the older I get, the more I think about things – you know -- mull over …. Maybe it is because I have the time.  Case in point… ever wonder if your kids and grandkids have any idea of who you were before they were in the picture? Or -- have you ever wondered about your parents’ and grandparents’ lives before you?  There is a sort of invisible thread that links all generations together - sometimes I even sense that I am waking hand-in-hand with my Mom or Dad. I hear their words coming out of my mouth or finding their way onto the page of something I am writing. The thing is, though, that it is difficult to slip out of time and to find a way into the past … only bits and pieces of memories come together.  Things you may have heard or that you saw in an old black and white photo -- they sort of float around -- hard to reel in. Sadly -- some information is lost forever.  All are parts of a large puzzle yet to be finished.

I can’t remember if I ever told my children what I know about our ancestors – like about one grandmother who was married five times or a great grandfather who was blown up while dynamiting a tree stump while clearing a field. Have I ever shared with them that my mother was a shoe model in NYC attending a music school at night, when she met my father who was a Marine on leave there.  She was actually engaged to someone else at the time, but ever the salesman, my father convinced her to go out with him – just once.  And that, ladies and gentlemen, … was the beginning of a life time loving partnership. I think it was just a few weeks later that she took a train to Texas where they were married.  He was a Marine stationed at Lackland Air Force base there.  I found the paperwork after he passed away that explained what he did during WWII - a Marine on an Air Force base.  He taught pilots how to fly at night using Radar. Apparently, he studied at both the University of Utah and Pennsylvania’s own Grove City College in preparation for this.  Wish I had known about this during his life time. He never talked about the Marines except to teach me the Marine Corps Hymn – To this day I sometimes find myself singing it in my head.  Good olde “From the halls of Montezuma…”.  The thing is  -- I have a million questions and no one left to ask. Lost pieces....

Every once in a while things come up in conversation that I am surprised to learn that my adult kids didn't know about me in my time before them. Think I better make a list of things to tell them and my grandkids so that they don’t just find info in a dusty file in a desk drawer …  just in case they ever wonder what I was like and what I did before they came into the picture. You know – to make sure there are no, or at least fewer, missing pieces in the puzzle. Knowing a few things about the past gives one a certain special perspective on life and that is, I think, a good thing. I wish I had more of the missing pieces or had a way of finding them. 

Upcoming 55th High School Reunion

 

(This topic may or may not have something to do with my upcoming 55^th high school reunion.)

I have been thinking lately about how one knows when they are getting old? I mean people tend to feel much younger than they really are sometimes. Are there any signs by which to measure? Now that my “age group” is nearing the top of the Class of Boomers, I have compiled, from the comments of others and from my own personal observations, a list of Senior Boomer traits to consider when pondering the aging question.

  It is:

•     becoming more and difficult to avoid making old people noises          like moaning, groaning and "slurpy" hissing sounds when moving      after a time of ... not moving.
•     longing for the comfort/security of old, seemingly simpler times.
•     struggling with the latest technology.
•     thinking that a lot of people tend to mumble.
•     talking, perhaps excessively, about health issues.
•     putting on underwear while standing has become a memory for        the most part.
•     "rolling up one's sleeves" and getting to work is sometimes              easier said than done.
•     having multiple pairs of reading glasses stashed throughout              one’s home – on a door knob or on a beaded chain hanging              around one’s neck is common and doesn't seem weird at all.
•     being concerned about increasing episodes of benign                        forgetfulness.
•     thinking that your grandma/grandpa is living in your mirror.
•     noticing that freckles have become way bigger.
•     realizing suddenly that Robert Redford is wrinkly, Tom Selleck is        promoting reverse mortgages, and Joe Namath touts Medicare          supplements.
•     using directions like “hang a right at the intersection where the        drive-in used to be.
•      missing family and friends... that being the most poignant of all.

All that being said ... and I bet you are thinking of more right this minute … (please feel free to share) ... we are all getting older and one of the best things for me about class reunions is that I tend to see people as I remember them (all the best traits) and find it absolutely lovely to reminisce and laugh together once again. And … it never fails that I have a chance to talk with a classmate and come away wishing that I had known him or her better back then in the good olde days. It is restorative.  Shared memories of times past – all the while including all those we are missing for whatever reason.  I guess, getting older is sometimes a part of the journey... nice that we can spend some time with fellow travelers. 

A huge thank you to all those classmates who are making this all possible. 

Call me Technonana

 

Technologically challenged, you can imagine how thrilled I was to learn from Spectrum that my current modem needed to be replaced and that, in fact, they were going to send me a new modem and router and that I would get to install it all by myself.  Me – install a modem and router. Me. What are they thinking? I then had to Google "modem" and "router" to see what they were. And so it began.  I was in techno-hell.

Now ... Spectrum said that all of the changeover could be accomplished in five easy steps starting with unplugging the old and unpacking the new.  I waited with bated breath for the new equipment to arrive. They provided diagrams of each step. I could handle the unplugging part, but after that ... not so easy for me.  So… have to tell you that – this simple five-step process took me one entire day plus the morning of a second. I overthink.  Also -- what they do not tell you is that once everything is "installed", each device you have that "needs" WiFi must be switched to the new system and given your new Username and WiFi password, assigned and chosen by Spectrum. For me that was my PC, cell phone, iPad, ROKU, garage door opener, Ring doorbell and a wireless printer. I could switch my password, by the way. I just am sort of "over" the whole process right now.

Once that was all accomplished (I will spare you the gory details of that series of frustrations) -- I then had to finish by calling Spectrum and telling them that I was now going to return the old modem/router and to receive instructions as they directed. Now I ask you… have you ever called Spectrum?  The shortest on-hold time that day was 27 minutes.  I tried three times and finally – just waited – listening to the repetitive music.  I am not even going to tell you about that as I am certain that you have been there with the music thing.  I managed to clean my entire kitchen, unload the dishwasher, throw in a load of wash and steam clean the floors of two bathrooms before Walt came on the phone.  Walt was a very nice man and when I told him that I would rather not drive 35 or 40 miles to return old equipment, he said no problem and he mailed me an empty box and a prepaid FedEx Ground label. It arrived the next day.  Efficient, right? Once I figured out where one could drop off a FedEx Ground box for pickup in town, I was all set.  Thank you again, Google. (I practically begged the USPS to help me out -- they were pleasant and helpful with Google -- but no.) 

By the time I was done with this process, I have to tell you that my mind was numb – but … there is a certain sense of pride in figuring it all out.  I find myself mentioning that I accomplished this – you know – texting friends and family,  working it into various conversations, and now writing about it.   I feel, at least temporarily, that I am a Technonana.  Well… that may be a stretch, but you know what I mean.  By the way – don’t ask me to help setting up your new modem and router.  I took notes on the process but had a ceremonial burning once everything was up and running.  The mere thought of attempting such a thing again makes me cringe and as my Mom would say -- perspire profusely. Needless to say I won’t be working for Spectrum … ever. I think it would have been sort of nice if they had just sent someone to install their new equipment. It seems to me that I pay them enough each month that they might offer this service. Nothing is easy these days. 

Do you think it matters that I have a whole bunch of parts (cables and connecting gizmos) left over? I have decided that it does not. 

Just moseying along ...

 

Lately I have been having an ongoing conversation with a good friend about running and jumping. And... there was also a brief mentioning of flittering through one's day.  You know – I am going to run down town or run to the grocery store.  Or -- I am going to jump out of bed or jump into the shower -- or flitter from one thing to another. Neither of us has run or jumped for a very long time, although it seems we still flitter a bit now and then.  The thing is, I cannot remember the last time I ran  -- unless it was after a toddler about 13 years ago (they are amazingly fast for having such short little legs), and as far jumping – vague memories for sure.  Come to think of it though as far as jumping goes -- I do remember an unfortunate and pitifully clumsy attempt to clear a hurdle in high school. I got stuck half way over and ended up tipping the whole thing over and picking gravel out of my knees. Never an athlete… never pretended to be. I chalk that up to an inherited klutz factor. I am comfortable with that. It is, however, sort of comforting to think that flittering is still within the realm of possibility and I do that well. At least that involves moving from place to place. Movement is a good thing.

Anyway – the whole running/jumping thing makes me think of Hopscotch days and polished saddle shoes and Keds.  You remember – the days when people used their brains and counted change back.  I still do that, by the way.  And – I distinctly remember my Dad teaching me how and that such a process was important.  He also taught me that two quarters are of the same value as one fifty-cent piece and…  how to tie shoes. Next to learning how to type – I have always found those lessons to be of major importance.  Then again -- there is knowing how to hem using a blind stitch. I learned that skill in a college dorm from one of my suitemates.  But I digress…

After careful thought about my movements throughout a variety of days with a variety of activities, I have decided that the best descriptor of my movement of late is that I mosey.  Isn’t there something soft and comforting about that word?  It implies never rushing – sort of a less stressful way of moving through one’s day than that of flittering.  I mosey in general… most all the time.  I mosey along…  yep. Perhaps moseying is one of the best parts of being my age.  I am totally comfortable with that too.  

SPAM RISK... 'tis the season....

 

On occasion I realize that some small thing is annoying me.  This week it is spam calls that somehow slither through the spam blockers on my phones – both landline and cell. Yes -- I still have a landline.  The reason I do is that calls to 911 can be tracked if you call from a landline.  (You know -- even if you are unable to talk.) Our emergency system cannot track cell phones in such circumstances - at least not in my county...at least not yet.  I know this because I called them to check. They are working on it. I should probably check again to see how things are going.

Back to spam calls. The vast majority of them come to me on Mondays and Tuesdays, but they come in on other days as well. They do not discriminate as to day.  This week a Pam Cornish called and someone from Humboldt, IA. (Humboldt, by the way, is a lovely city in Humboldt Co., Iowa that had 4,792 citizens as of the 2020 census – up 340 people since the census of 2000.)  I am also wondering now about Jacksboro, TX. I will have to do some research. There were also a bunch of calls that came up on Caller ID as SPAM RISK.  Duh… The best though is that I received yet another call from myself. It is startling to see your own name come up on Caller ID.  Those "to self calls" are the ones I like the best, and I am actually tempted to answer to see with whom I am speaking. I know for sure I would not be talking to myself. I don't need a phone for that. Whoever is on the other end of the line, I bet they are concerned about my car warrantee, think I need a reverse mortgage, or are calling because there is something wrong with my computer and they need access to fix it. Oh, and just last night the Fraud Department of Amazon called from the 716 area code and left a message.  They were fearful that a recent charge for an expensive computer had been made to my account.  Surprising really.  I think they usually just email from Uzbekistan or somewhere.  I forget. 

This day in age one would think that technology could help with this.  They would be wrong – obviously. Spectrum's NOMOROBO doesn't even work that well. Or -- perhaps technology could help, but doesn't -- on purpose. Technology has taken on a life of its own. It's a bit unnerving.

If my grandson is here, he sometimes answers such calls in Spanish or... in a made-up language or... pretends he is someone who reminds me of that banjo playing savant kid from the porch in Deliverance .  In this modus operandi he tells them that I am out feeding the pigs. (I may have suggested that.) Actually, he has a variety of approaches. A couple of days ago when he was here, he answered in his normal voice and then just listened with no response until the spammer hung up on him. I personally rarely answer any of these calls. Instead, I just slide my finger to block caller. What's frustrating though is that there seems to be no end to the numbers they call from, and I wonder what would happen if I block the number they are using and it is the number of someone I know and would never ever want to block.  Then there is the case when a friend’s name appears on caller ID, I answer, and it is some spammer. So annoying.

One time (a very long time ago – even before cell phones) when I was telling an FBI friend about creepy "breather" phone calls I was receiving, he told me about trapping a line.  The phone company can do that or at least they could at that time. Once the line is trapped – the caller could be identified and be unable to make calls - at least I think that's how it worked.  It was a long time ago.  Ah – the good olde days. I never did get a trap on the line.  I just told the creepy "breather" caller that I had one and the calls stopped.  I think, by the way, that the creepy caller was the same person(s) who was/were breaking into my house and creepy crawling through in the dark while dropping lit matches along the way.  Double creepy. Never caught him or/and his buddy either. I always knew who they were though. Still do.  But I digress....

Alas... this is the age of the spam caller.  The times that are the worst are the days preceding a primary, midterm or Presidential election. Bet you already noticed that this week.  Here we go.... 'Tis the season…  The 2022 Pennsylvania primary is the 17th.  Oh -- by the way  -- if you live in Pennsylvania, get out and vote. Maybe the people you elect now to run in November can eventually do something about phone spammers.  Fingers crossed, but not holding my breath on that one. Guess they figure they have more important things to accomplish. 

Ferlis Haddidistori... Wait. What?

 

Years ago, when I first moved back to my home town, I taught English and French in a garage behind a small community school in a lovely town a few miles away. It was wonderful, and ... for a few weeks before they cut a man door, the students and I had what we called natural air-conditioning. We also had flies and assorted other bugs that would hang out a bit. (I never did get a chalk board or a teacher's desk. It didn't seem to matter at the time. Another teacher (Thelma) taught Math on the other side of the wall separating the two halves of the garage. Thelma and I were considered overflow from the main building. It was cozy. We even had a garage heater. It was a fun and a unique part of my teaching career.)  Anyway -- I spent mornings there – two classes of English -- one of 9 students and one of 14) and one even smaller class of French. Then lunch.  Lunch, by the way, was homemade – including the most delicious soups and pies one could imagine. People called the cook "Ma". She was wonderful. Oh... and lunch was served on real plates with real silverware. No plastic. (Those were the blessed "pre-popularity of Styrofoam" days.) Then after lunch I traveled to another school within the district – a good placement, but not nearly as fun. 

The thing is – during those garage days, I met a woman who was one of those special people.  She worked in the actual school building -- a large two-story brick structure that housed k-12. She was also an English teacher, but one with way more experience. She was also "gifted" with quite an unusual and memorable (some might say "harmlessly twisted) sense of humor.  For example, she introduced herself to me as “Lucy”.  I found out months later that her name was really “Mary” … much to my surprise … and a bit of harmless humiliation.  She also stealthily placed homemade bread on the passenger side front seat of my car from time to time, and it was literally years before I knew where those loaves came from.  Unfortunately for those of us who knew her, she passed away -- way too young.

I dreamt about her this morning.  She was sitting in a restaurant with a bunch of other teachers from my past and she looked wonderful.  In my dream I didn’t remember that she was gone.  Anyway – I went over to talk with her, and in the course of conversation, asked her what she was reading these days and she gave me a name that I would love to be able to remember.  I spent the rest of the dream trying to remember it so that, when I woke up,  I could look up the author to see if it were a real name. You see, it was one of those dreams (early morning) when you know you are dreaming.  Of course, the name was a multisyllabic and complicated name -- seeming to be, perhaps, of some mysterious foreign origin.  It was something like Ferlis Haddidistori….  Even though I kept spelling it in my head as I finished the dream, I did not manage to remember it. Drat that.

Anyway -- I Googled variations of the name as soon as I got up. I mean – what if it were really an author’s name?  How weird would that be? And how fun. Did you know that you can Google authors with last names that start with H?  You can. No luck. (I did find some interesting books about an architect named Zaha Hadid though -- so there is that.)

I can’t help but wonder if Lucy/Mary is messing with me from another plane of existence.  It would be like her to do something like that.  I am okay with it. Totally okay.  By the way, if you are aware of any fiction authors with names similar to Ferlis Haddidistori, please let me know.  Thanks.