Grace was a fine woman. I loved her and her taste in men…after all, she liked me. When you both are widowed, there’s a kind of openness to a mature relationship. We’ve both ‘been there/done that’ with long sincere marriages, children, retirement. It’s a kind of agreement to enjoy the moment while we can. So, there we were in the formal garden of the Alcazar palace in historic Seville. Beautiful. Serene. Chest high, carefully trimmed hedges created a twisting, turning maize of pathways into the exotic world of Arabian nights.

The only problem was that I had to take a leak and we were on the ground level and the lavatories were up and behind the surrounding second-story balconies. Not wanting to break the enchanted mood by a sudden departure, I leaned close to the hedges in our narrow lane and watered the plants.

Grace said, “Do you hear water running?”

I zipped up and sighed in relief.

Her forehead wrinkled. “Wait,” she said, “did you just…?”

I just squeezed my lips and shrugged.

You know, there can come telling moments in relationships at the most unexpected times. Turns out this was one of them. Grace didn’t speak to me over our snack of coffee and rolls, and during our walk back to the hotel, and actually for the rest of the day. Who knew that my sweetheart was so sensitive? But I guess every relationship finds a moment when attitudes and feelings get exposed for the first time. Too bad we had to cross the Atlantic and enter an 8th century Muslim palace to find a tell-tale moment of truth.

I tried to keep my cool. I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to justify or deny what I did. I also wasn’t going to apologize. The little boy inside of me was chin-out and stiff jawed.

The next morning at breakfast, I accidentally knocked over my water glass. Our waiter grabbed the towel off his wrist, sopped up the spill and then squeezed the wet rag into the flower pot on the table. I caught Grace’s eye, lifted my shoulders and eyebrows…as if to say ‘see, guys know how to deal with excess fluids.’ It took a moment, but her lips curled slightly. Then we chatted happily for the rest of breakfast.

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. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/

There are loads of issues that can divide millennials from boomers, but one of the most curious to me is printed books vs Kindle. For a generation that’s hardcore when it comes to being online, texting, Tweeting, etc., it comes as a surprise that so many of them seek the pleasure of reading a physical book – that is words printed on paper.

Some millennials explain this fixation with paper books as a means of snuggling up with a digital-detox tool. Okay. I find that strange but valid. Some millennials admit to making notes in the margins and/or folding corners of pages that they want to come back to (presumably they own the book rather than defiling a borrowed tome).

It’s hard for me to not sound like a cheerleader for Kindles (especially since the parent company involves/revolves around he whose name cannot be said out loud), but the darn things are just so convenient.

You can read in a darkened space (think bedroom or airplane) without disturbing your bed/seat mate. Along with that feature, you can go to dark mode so that the type appears as white on black, making it emit even less light while still being highly readable. When you close the cover, it saves your place. Conversely, when you reopen the cover, it takes you back to where you left off. Libraries have oodles (Merriam-Webster still indicates that is a real word, meaning a lot.) of Kindle books that you can download directly to your device – for free. Yes, the paper editions are free as well, but require you to drive/walk to the library to pick them up and take home.

Regular Kindle users will note here that I’ve saved the very best advantages for last. A Kindle allows you to change the size of the font. It sounds like such a small thing, but as our eyesight degrades, it’s a big deal that one can boost the font size. Not only can it be enlarged, one can also select what font you would like. As if that’s not enough, you can also alter the contrast to make the type darker black or the background a brighter white.

With the impending doom of artificial intelligence totally wrecking our lives, I think it’s comforting to know that the simple, modest Kindle does everything I need. Plus, now I can use my bookcase to store my collection of papier-mâché chickens.

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.

This morning too cold for my stiffening heart, I’m on the treadmill in my basement, forced to imagine frost across front lawns, some ice in roadside ditches, my breath held a few moments on the air. Or there could be flurries by now, the last grey leaves shuddering in December wind.

A glance at the odometer tells me that by now I would’ve passed the pond where herons nested earlier this year, and in a few more tenths of a mile reach the little bridge across that unnamed creek. Instead, I press a button to simulate a bracing uphill climb, making a virtue of the virtual.

Hard to feel Wordsworthian down here, hard to channel a line from some great ode, so little I can see of nature that is mine, or anyone’s, as I walk in place, numbers glowing on the console in front of me, hovering half an arm’s-length away no matter how many steps I take, speed and distance and calories burned displayed onscreen, my pulse there a little hopping ball.

Meanwhile my mind keeps playing versions of those old cartoons, scenes in which I’m caught and flattened on this contraption, dragged under before rolling around and around, a mere stain on the turning belt, helpless against such a machine, this tired metaphor for modern life, for the world—let’s face it—too much with us and somehow not enough.

James Scruton

Tired of reading/hearing how baby boomers are ruining the economy, sucking up resources, and hoarding houses and wealth? It’s almost like people have forgotten all the positive things our generation contributed: the peace movement, civil rights, gay rights, feminism, environmentalism. Instead, the storyline seems to be that we’re greedy bastards just taking everything we can get.

The problem with blaming boomers for being greedy is that it’s complete bullshit. In fact – this is the key takeaway here – baby boomers put in more than they take out. How do we know this? Because the facts tell the story.

Boomers are working longer, well past what used to be considered the conventional retirement age. Remember when your parents and their friends retired at 65? Not many boomers fit that stereotype. Yes, the pandemic pushed some to take retirement early, but it also encouraged many more to stay on the job. That means that we are paying payroll taxes for more years. We might not ever see any of that money via social security, but nonetheless, we’re still paying into the system.

Even boomers who are drawing social security are not sucking the system dry. We still pay taxes on our income (including social security). We pay for supplemental medical benefits. We pay sales, property, state and local taxes. There’s no escape!

Bear in mind also that retirement is essentially self-funded. Vacation and holiday costs are out-of-pocket expenses, and they help stimulate the economy to boot. AARP discounts? Big deal. You get a little off on your rental car or dinner, and those discounts are coming from the private sector that is trying to earn your business, not your government.

Last but not least in the argument that boomers put in more than they take out, here’s the bottom line. When we die, our offspring and/or our designated charities are going to get whatever cash is left, which will most likely be substantial sums. We really can’t, as the saying goes, take it with us.

The next time you read an op-ed that blames greedy baby boomers, be sure to go to the comments section and set them straight with the simple fact: we put in more than we take out! You’ll feel better when you do.

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.

My grandsons were taking turns with a video game when one of them stopped and began shaking the remote control. Then he tapped it gently. Nothing. Next he tapped it on the table. No response.

Then the ‘man the inventor’ gene kicked in and one of them used a small Phillips screwdriver to remove the lid and peek inside the battery slot. They looked like primitive soothsayers in search of clues as they thoughtfully poked and separated the internal wiring of a sacrificial offering. They took the two AA batteries out, then reinserted them and replaced the lid. Then, with lips jammed tight in apprehension, they pushed the ON button. Still nothing.

At that point, I looked up from my ‘reading the papers’ facade and asked, “What seems to be the problem, guys?”

“Battery’s dead. Shouldn’t be. We just put fresh ones in a couple of days ago. They were working yesterday.”

“Hmm, mind if I take a look?” I asked before catching the pre-teen glance and mild smirk that seemed to say, how would an old fart know anything about hi-tech gaming-hardware. But then, the years of my caring and loving kicked in and the oldest boy shrugged and said, “Sure Gramps. Why not?”

They fiddled with the gismo, removing the screw while I put on my wise-elder face and studied the elctronics guts. The two shiny batteries reminded me of organs…sleek, shiny organs in fresh dressed game…but I digress….

Just to let you know…I love these guys and have no desire to put them down or show them up. But I did want to help fix their problem. I might be playing the ‘out of it’ old fart, but that wouldn’t be the first time, like when they let me play touch football in the backyard with them or when I whiff at whiffleball.

I popped the batteries out, licked my tongue on the positive posts and dropped them back in place. I pushed the on button and Bingo…game on.

I got a quiet stare from the guys¬—as if I’d shone them how to make a fire by rubbing sticks together. Somebody has to be the custodian of throwback technology.

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. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/