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Archives for July 2023

Pre-Internet

July 28, 2023 By admin

transistor radioSomeone on Reddit posed the following question:

How Did Older Generations (I read that as Boomers and GenXers, mostly) Have Fun Before The Internet.

Over 9,000 Redditors responded and the following are some of the best, with some editorial comment.

“Waiting for the radio to play your favorite songs so you could record them took a big chunk of time.”

And how about making your own mix tapes…ON CASSETTES!! That you could play IN THE CAR!

“Mostly video games.”

It wasn’t my thing, but I knew a lot of people who were into Dungeons and Dragons back then.

“Being a latchkey kid gave me so much time with my parents’ records. If it weren’t for that time alone with Sam Cooke, I’d be clapping on the first beat like a neanderthal.”

Yep. Playing 45’s with one of those plastic adapter rings so they would fit on the little spindle.

“I have a hope chest full of bad poetry from when I was a teenager. I don’t know what to do with it! I’m genuinely afraid of anyone finding that shit after I die — and frankly, I don’t trust the dump.”

I’ve got some fiction somewhere that I thought the New Yorker would want to publish.

“Lie about where the Victoria’s Secret catalog is.”

Hmmm. Boys were perusing any number of catalogs in the late 50s.

“Hanging around outside with my best friend was pretty much what I did every day, and it was bliss. Yes, there were times when I was incredibly bored out of my mind, but it never lasted.”

And you could be gone all day without anyone freaking out about it.

“Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll…without the sex and drugs. But definitely lots of rock ‘n’ roll. Also, riding bikes, camping, and summer jobs. I only saw my room when I was sleeping or it was raining outside.”

And our parents were quite happy to have us out of the house – for hours at a time. The closest we came to anything bordering on technology was a little transistor radio that you could sneak under the covers and listen to music from far away places or Jean Shepherd on WOR in Chicago.

Go back in time and I’m sure every boomer could come up with a list of activities that filled all our waking hours, and never once did we have to worry about whether we had WI-FI service.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon.

Filed Under: ARTS

Condo 1.1

July 28, 2023 By admin

castle drawbridgeI moved into a 55+ condominium after my wife died. Nice place. I’m in a quiet courtyard with eight other units surrounding a tiny patch of grass. A guy also named Joe lives directly across from me. I like to think we guard the drawbridge for the six widows in the remaining units in our castle-keep. I’m not sure who we’re guarding these ladies from. And actually, the more I think about it, I might need to be guarded from them. I keep getting presents from them. Think — your cat dropping off mice at your doorstep. Casseroles, cookies, potted begonia plants on the stoop. There’s something new practically every day. In some ways it feels kind of nice to be so noticed and appreciated. But then I remembered a joke.

A lady of a certain age, wandering past the reception desk in a Catskill hotel, spots a newcomer. A man. She stops to engage him in conversation.

“So, you’re new here,” she begins, “where are you coming from?”

The man chuckles, “Prison.”

“How long were you there?” she pries.

He furls his brow. “Twenty years.”

“And why were you in prison?” the lady continues, eyes fluttering innocently.

“I murdered my wife.”

“Oh, so you’re single.”

Reminds me to not feel flattered considering the male/female demographics of us seniors. It’s probably more about ‘supply and demand’ learned so long ago in college. There aren’t many knights in the castle grounds at our age and it’s not our rusty armor that’s creaking. Still, it’s not all bad to be noticed. Maybe the ladies are just being friendly with a new neighbor. That’s sweet. Or maybe I’m a fourth for canasta. Or someone to call on to change a light bulb. Who knows what the draw is beyond the excitement of a new neighbor who wears pants?

So, I enjoy the attention…to a point. Because as often as not, along with chip dip, I also get lots of instructions on ‘how we do things around here.’ Who knew you should crush boxes for the trash containers to conserve space for all the others? And all trash has to be in bags not just dumped in loose. And of course, (this one is logical) you can’t just leave your port in the communal garage open in case you’re going to go out later. Ha! New place. New rules. I’m the new kid in the classroom.

Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. In, Pinata Belly, and other tales of later love, Novara reminds of the limits and ultimate hope for online dating sites.

Filed Under: ESSAY

Mac and Cheese, and Laryngitis.

July 28, 2023 By admin

macaroni and cheeseFrank sat in his recliner, his right leg up, his big toe attacked by gout. He was far from happy. He was miserable, hungry, and in pain. Edna was in the refrigerator – that is, her head and upper body – looking for Thursday night dinner.

“The toe’s terrible,” complaint Frank. “It’s as bad as the time we were at Niagara Falls.”

“It was at the Grand Canyon you had the gout, Frank.”

“The Grand Canyon? I knew it was someplace big.”

He was subject to gouty arthritis and other conditions for which medications occasionally worked. Then, there were side effects. Frank had trouble following the nightly news on the flat screen. Edna had trouble at the back of the refrigerator. What would happen if she could not find the mac and cheese?

“I’m a little sick to my stomach,” said Frank.

“Is it a side effect, Frank? Or is it something else?”

“The pills that Dr. Fruman prescribed don’t seem to be working. I’m really queasy.”

“Can you eat? You’ve got to eat.”

“I feel as bad as I did the week we stayed with your sister.”

For a large part of that week, Frank recalled being in the bathroom, unable to eat his sister-in-law’s brisket and goulash. For some reason, she served brisket followed by goulash.

“I think you’ve got it wrong, Frank. It was when we were with your brother and the second wife who divorced him.”

“Is it mac and cheese again?” he asked.

“I can give you mac and cheese or something that’s very green at the back of the refrigerator here,” offered Edna.

Frank coughed. “Remember when I had bad laryngitis?”

“That was at Niagara Falls, Frank.”

Niagara Falls – he thought about the cascading water and what he had missed.

Edna put a dish of what appeared to be mac and cheese into the microwave.

Laryngitis – when the larynx doesn’t work right. A week without talk at Niagara Falls. Edna set the timer. Pain, stomach upset, mac and cheese, and laryngitis. She realized that’s how things are – the bad, followed by the good.

David Sydney is a physician. He has been published in ‘Little Old Lady Comedy’, 101 Words’, ‘Microfiction Monday’ ’50 give or take’, ‘Friday Flash Fiction’, and ‘Entropy Squared’.

Filed Under: FICTION

Old Is Old

July 14, 2023 By admin

speech bubblesLet’s talk about age, shall we? Not our biological age. No, not that. Let’s talk about the words used to talk about our/their stigma about getting older. Many of the words regarding aging are just rude and crude, but we mostly shrug them off. Maybe it’s time to push back when we’re feeling like we’ve just been disrespected.

“You look great for seventy-five.” Okay, that’s just insulting. Want to compliment someone on their appearance? Just say “you look great” and leave it at that. Better yet just tell them you like their blouse or the color of their sweater.

Then there’s the dreaded “at your age” caution. “You’re going skiing at your age?” Yes, because that’s what they enjoy doing and they don’t need anyone’s approval. If you’re really worried about them, just tell them to be careful and have a good time, while omitting the age factor.

Know someone in their 70s who dresses like they are in their 40s? Leave them alone. They’re happy wearing short skirts or tight tees. Why not let them enjoy wearing that fashion while they still can instead of telling them they’re too old for that look.

If you want to get into the nitty-gritty of semantics, we should think about the term elderly. Even if you’re on the leading edge of boomerdom, you don’t want to be called elderly. Even senior is better than that, and older adult is okay.

All of us experience memory lapses in which we are unable to retrieve the name of a singer or the vacation spot from 5 years ago. We have a lot of stuff stored in our gray matter, so it should not come as a surprise that it can be difficult to access all those facts. When it happens to someone you know, rather than remind them it’s happening because they are old, it’s much kinder to admit that it happens to you as well. And more often than you’d like.

Jokes about old people? Not funny if you feel like you’re the butt of the joke or you’re the one doing the joking. Getting old is still a lot better than the alternative of not experiencing aging at all – because (sorry to be harsh) you’re dead.

Think about some of these common slights the next time you’re with anyone older than yourself. The day may soon come when you’re the target of someone’s misguided assumption that you’re just too old to walk, talk and chew gum. And that kind of mistreatment gets old.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

Filed Under: ESSAY

Outage

July 14, 2023 By admin

empty grocery shelfOutage, as in “We’ll soon be out of yogurt if the power doesn’t come back on. And skinless chicken breasts, ground turkey, mayonnaise, and wild pacific king salmon direct from Alaska.”

Outage? No, outrage that at our age we still have to deal with life’s annoyances, little ones and omg those telephone trees!

Outage: at our age, I spy shortages in collagen, bone mass, heart beats, insulin, t-cells, and just ordinary plumpness and rosiness, in non-drooping apple cheeks. We’ve lost touch with bosom buddies, myriad secretions we now understand the purpose of, and our own waist. Parts are sagging beyond the power of any contrivance to remedy. Weary, we fail to find our balance in a world more alien by the hour, cell phones, keys, and masks notwithstanding. Are we even speaking the same language as those around us, the kids with their memes, tropes, and “random” sprinkled like sugar over our morning cereal? Do they even guess what words can convey?

How we long to join the conversation but lack the necessary vocabulary and swiftness of expression. Our thumbs don’t come equipped lie theirs with sharpened cone-like tips that trip nimbly over keyboards to produce perfect little texts.

A constant see in this brave new world of ours that has to be acknowledged: LOSS. I won’t elaborate but it’s where outage invariably leads…

Can we not pronounce this word, for a bit pretend and rejoice in plentitude? Chubby-cheeked red tomatoes sprouting in our garden patch, black-eyed susans bullying our delicate honeysuckle bush, fat bees flying overhead, drinking deeply, almost colliding with shy hummingbirds? Even green fungus reminding us they’re thriving?

So don’t talk to me of outages. Hey, why is there no outage of virus, the only outage we’d enthusiastically endorse? C’mon, you owe us that much.

Janet Garber is a little outraged about the outage

Filed Under: ESSAY

On the Beach

July 14, 2023 By admin

Seagull spreading wings on the beachMy first week in Massachusetts, I spread out my beach towel at Wingaersheek Beach.

All around me I hear the Massachusetts accent. The “aw” sound is distinctive, easily recognizable and so different than the “o” sound in words I know, south of the Mason Dixon line. There are clusters of people on blankets, under umbrellas, in beach chairs. A couple strolls by me toward the water, their hands linked together. I feel conspicuous, like anyone who might glance my way would pity me; a loser. All alone at what is obviously a glorious beach day.

I was sixty-three when my government service changed. I had worked in an area I enjoyed, public affairs. My office was located in the executive suite with wall to wall carpeting and a receptionist who screened my calls. Then, I was transferred to the corner of a mouse infested fifty-five-year-old garage. The person whom I replaced – in the facility’s garage – was being prosecuted for theft. Unable to fill the position because no one wanted it, I was assigned there. I shared a restroom with the maintenance crew, pumped gas and parked cars.

Since my salary was not reduced along with my circumstances, I stayed until I could retire with a pension. Then, I sold my house and moved to Massachusetts.

A year later, I obtain a summer parking pass for Crane’s Beach.

In early June, the sea air is cool as I spread out my towel. The crowd is sparse, there is no one in the water. A couple walks past. I can hear snatches of their conversation in the accent to which I have grown accustomed. When he lies on his side on their blanket, she sits perpendicular to him, resting her head on the side of his chest that faces her. It is so intimate; I can’t take my eyes off of them, until the shrill of a seagull makes me look up.

White wings spread out; he soars. I don’t see another anywhere. He lands near me. Folding his white wings onto his back, he has ribbons of gray feathers down each of his sides. The seagull cocks his head and takes a few web footed steps toward me before his spreads his wings out again and flies off.

Scanning the fluffy clouds, I cannot see him as I rise to walk along the water.

Caryn Coyle now lives in Massachusetts

Filed Under: ESSAY

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