Reunions, relapses & red waves: looking for the right words

Recently I had a couple good days from this long covid and made good use of them.  I cleaned my apartment, did some online shopping, wrote a new blog, had lunch at the Senior Center (my second time back since February).  What you’re looking at is that lunch, broccoli & cheese stuffed chicken, orzo with spinach, green beans and fruit.

When I arrived and hugged Courtney (the young woman who manages the center), someone asked me if she felt like the old Courtney.  I said “Well, her back felt a bit more stout…”  The other ladies laughed and said “She’s 4 months pregnant!”   I asked her for a side view and saw a cute baby bump. 

And then, being the dork that I am, asked if someone could take a picture since I left my phone at home.  Not of Courtney which would’ve been nice to share here, but my lunch. 

I got to spend a couple hours with some lovely friends, and when I realized I didn’t have enough in me to make the walk back home, my friend Evvie gave me a ride.

Since then, I’ve had a relapse (inflammation, pain in my head & face) that continue still.  I know I’m past the halfway point on this so-called road to recovery, but these setbacks make it difficult to see an end sometimes.  At least I’m starting to get out of the house again.

This past Saturday I had a couple text exchanges with my (very political) friend Anna, who asked in a half-joking way why I was writing about Baby Boomers and the Brady Bunch on my blog.  Hadn’t I heard about Morning Joe at Mar-a-Lago?  I know she was just pulling my chain, but I felt a little guilty just the same.  I guess those last 2 blogs were my way of burying my head in the sand. 

The truth is, between the long covid this year and this “red wave” on Election Day, I’ve never felt so despondent.  The night of the debate between Trump & Kamala Harris, the choice was so obvious (to me and 40 million other Democrats) I was elated. 

She was awesome, he was a dipshit and I was a fool, thinking half this country had learned it’s lesson after Trump’s first reign of terror in 2017.  Back then, I really did try to see things from his supporter’s perspective. 

Now… I’m just going to do my best to steer clear of them. 

The other night I was sitting here at my computer with the tv on and volume turned down.  I looked up to see a middle-aged woman in distress, with a caption underneath that read TRUMP SUPPORTER WISHES SHE COULD TAKE BACK VOTE.

(It turned out she has a grandchild with special needs who receives funding from the Dept of Education—the department Trump wants to scrap.)

They went on to report that more of these “voter regret” stories were coming in, and Trump hasn’t even taken office yet.  I didn’t want to hear another word. 

I said I was taking a break from the news after the election, but also from shows like SNL and Jimmy Kimmel, and their “we’re screwed now, folks” skits and monologues.  There’s nothing funny about any of this.  I’m tired of it already and worried what lies ahead.

Well, I said I was looking for the right words at the top and I’m still not sure I found them.  I’m sorry for not ending this on a more positive note, but thanks as always for listening.  And Happy Thanksgiving everyone, including you turkeys out there.

 

Me and Generation Jones, we got a thing goin’ on...

This all began a couple days ago when I ran into Kuhn’s (my local market) to get a loaf of bread.  The checker rang me up, handed me my receipt and said “Have a good one.”  I said “Um, can I have a bag for my bread?”  She said “Do you really need one?  It’s only one item.” 

I said “As a matter of fact I need two.  I store my clothes and shoes in them, line my wastecan with ‘em, all sorts of things.”  She said “Okay Boomer” and I gave her the biggest scowl I could muster.

Before I go any further, I should add I know this checker—her name is Jessie, she’s 20 years old and sweet as can be.  ‘Ok Boomer’ may be a derogatory expression, but I knew she was just teasing me.

After we laughed, I said “I don’t feel like a Boomer you know… I don’t feel old enough.”  She said “My grandmother says the same thing.”  I asked how old her grandmother was, she said 73.  I said “I’m ten years younger!”  She said “Are you sure you’re one?” 

I said “Yes, baby boomers are anyone born from the mid-1940s to 1964.”  Jessie said that did sound pretty old.  Whatever!

When I got home, I went online to look up the whole age demographic thing and was surprised what I learned.  Apparently many experts agree the age range for Boomers is too wide, and people on the tail-end (I was born in ‘61) can’t always relate to the older ones in this category.

Do I remember pull tabs on soda & beer cans?  I sure do, I stepped on enough with my bare toes growing up.  Do I remember S&H Green Stamps?  Yes, we got those sticky things at the supermarket and gas station.  Do I remember duck n’ cover drills in grade school?  No, those were before my time!

In 1999, one such expert came up with a boomer subset called ‘Generation Jones’, for people born between the years 1955-1964.  When someone says the name Jane Fonda, do you immediately think of a) Hanoi Jane, Vietnam War protestor  b) the woman who started the exercise video craze or c) Ted Turner’s wife? 

If you said A, you’re a Boomer.  B, you’re a Generation Jones.  C, you’re Generation X (born between 1965-1980).  The Jane Fonda Rule is mostly for laughs, but does make sense. Still, the more I read about Generation Jones, the more I related to this category. 

Later that night, I was talking to my friend Diana on the phone and telling her what happened at the store and the “ok boomer” thing.  When Diana said she wasn’t fully comfortable being part of the boomer demographic, I said “listen to this” and told her about Generation Jones.

Diana said “What does the Jones stand for?”  I said I didn’t know.  She said “Well, I don’t think I want to be part of Generation Jones.”  I said “You don’t get a choice in the matter—you’re the same age as me and you’re one whether you like it or not.”

Diana just laughed at me.  Why do I bother! 

I did learn the name had to do with younger Boomers having a cultural upbringing similar to their older counterparts, and wanting the same level of affluence after reaching adulthood but being met with a recession and stagnant economy instead. 

We “late boomers” had to work harder at keeping up with the Joneses, so to speak. 

Makes sense to me.  All I know is, most of my friends are boomers or older.  And right now I am jonesing for a sandwich on this Mancini’s bread. 

Hey it’s going to a good cause… right?

The other morning on the TODAY show, they were interviewing some of the kids from The Brady Bunch (Barry Williams who played Greg is now 70 years old) and I couldn’t help but stop what I was doing to watch. 

They were helping raise money for the charity No Kid Hungry with a contest:  for the price of a $25 ticket, you’ll be entered into a drawing.  Five winners will be selected, and those winners (and their guests) will be flown to Los Angeles for a tour of the Brady Bunch house recreated by HGTV, followed by brunch with the Bradys in the house. 

What’s on the menu?  Pork chops and applesauce, of course.  Hotel accomodations and meals are included in the prize.

I know a lot of bad things are happening in the world right now, this country included (more like this country ESPECIALLY); but as someone who grew up with this show, I’d love the chance to see that house in person.

Having lunch on the premises with the kids, including Eve Plumb (who played middle daughter Jan)?  That’s the icing on this groovy cake.

I’ve shared this story too many times to count, but will just once more; the night this show premiered in September 1969, I watched it with my family on our new Zenith Colormatic console tv.  Afterwards our mom said to Dad “What I want to know is, who do they think is going to watch this #%^&?” 

Dad pointed down at the floor, us 3 boys and 2 girls and said “Them.” 

(A few years later when Mom gave birth to our sister Courtney, we’d be just like those Bradys, kids-wise.  Three boys, three girls.)

If you don’t already know, five years ago the owner of the real home (used for filming exterior shots on the show) passed and her son put the house up for sale.  Several celebrities stepped up with offers, but HGTV got the house for 3.5 million dollars.

They spent an additional 2 million dollars ripping out the interior and recreating an exact duplicate of the Brady house, right down to the vintage… everything.  It was a summer-long series on HGTV, and the most-watched HGTV show in the history of the channel.Say what you will, but I dig this pad just as much now as I did 50 years ago; if they handed me the keys to the house, I wouldn’t change a thing here!

After the renovation series ended, HGTV put the house on their website where you could study every square inch of the interior if you so desired.  I’m sure many of those obsessive fans did just that and hey, do you know I spent over 3 hours on there and could find only one clock in the entire house?  A small alarm clock on Alice’s nightstand in her bedroom off the service porch.  Isn’t that crazy?  The one clock I mean… cough

I guess I should include the website where you can buy your own tickets, click here.  I’d say good luck, but you know I wouldn’t mean it. 

 

 

Hopes and prayers, that’s all I’ve got right now—a whole book of ‘em

Not that long ago, I asked my friend Diana (a devout Christian) if it was acceptable to say a prayer for oneself.

It sounded a little selfish to me, but I’d been living with the pain & inflammation from this long covid disorder for over 10 months now, and was feeling pretty desperate for some real relief.

She assured me it was perfectly acceptable to ask God for an end to the suffering.

That night as I lay in bed, I said aloud “God if you’re listening….”  I suddenly felt silly, talking to the chief deity in the darkness.  What would I say?  I rolled over and went to sleep.

The next day—honestly, not the next week or month, the next day—I went downstairs to get my mail and took a quick glance in the adjoining parcel room where the ‘Free Table’ is. 

(It’s a table where tenants in my apartment building leave canned goods, old romance novels, candles, anything & everything.)  And that day, the only item there was this brown leather book, “Prayers for Men”.

Of course it was just a coincidence.  But when you’re searching for words to say to God and then THIS turns up the next day… at least it gave me something else to think about.

That’s what I’ve been doing these last couple of days, a lot of thinking.  Between the long covid which has been making life miserable since January and now the results of this presidential election… I’ve never felt so defeated.  I’ve been feeling like a stranger in my own body, today I feel like a stranger in my own country. 

I’m not going to share what I think of Trump, I did enough of that several years ago.  Nothing he says or does surprises me.  I’m just dumbfounded how so many people chose to overlook so much and vote the man to be our president again.

If I do say any prayers in the days ahead, they won’t be just for me.

This morning I got up, came out here into my livingroom and turned on the tv.  No news.  Not today, not tomorrow.  I’m taking a break from all that for awhile.  I put on FreeVee, Amazon’s free streaming service where I’ve been watching The Waltons. 

(The show ran for 9 seasons, from 1972-1981; I’ve been watching one episode a day this past year.)  I’m currently in the final season.  It’s the year 1944, where even up on Walton’s Mountain they’ve felt the effects of World War II in Europe. 

John Boy is somewhere in France, his brother Jason is fighting Nazis in Germany.  But as awful as things were in the world then, much like now, at least our country felt like a beacon of hope.