Then: Mouse House Now: Mouse Pad

Posted on September 4, 2011 by janie

THEN:  MOUSE HOUSE

 

NOW:  MOUSE PAD

 

 

 

A mouse used to be just the name of a small animal.  One you didn’t really want in your house, let alone sitting on your desk.  And you didn’t want to have to depend on one to get your work done.   I mean, really.   Can you imagine your grandparents eavesdropping in on this conversation?

You say:  Ugh, my mouse isn’t working.   (Grandpa thinks:  what kind of work did they expect it to do?)
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Your husband says:  Try jiggling it.  (Grandma thinks:  Oh, for heavens sake.  I don’t want to touch that thing.   Let along jiggle it!)

You ask:  Is it  connected?  (Grandma thinks:  Connected to what?  To the trap?  I don’t want it connected.  I just want it out of the house.)

Your husband says:  Try a different mouse pad.  The one with the kids’ faces on it.   (Grandpa thinks:  What?   Let the mouse live on my children!)

As you can see, words have evolved quite a lot since our grandparents’ day.  “Mouse” isn’t the only one to take on new meanings.

“Boot” used to refer to something you wore on your foot.    “Cookies” were something we ate.  “Text” was usually a book.

Everyday new words are added to our language.    And then some have disappeared forever.

Anyways, back to my mouse.  It does have a mind of its own.  It  freezes up on me.  I have to move it over a bit.  Jiggle it.  Raise it into the air.   Curse at it to get the cursor back.   It’s so darn frustrating that this small device has so much control over my sanity.

If only I could coax it to work better with a bit of cheese!

 

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Then : 16 Now: 61 & Counting

Posted on August 31, 2011 by janie

Then:  16


 

Now:  61 & Counting


You wouldn’t think both these combinations of numbers would start off with the same word.   Six. *Six*teen.  *Six*ty-One.  But the English language is known for being a mind-boggling one to learn.

And just as mind-boggling is my having reached that second age and beyond.  How in the world did this happen so fast?

When I look in the mirror, it’s obvious that I am NOT 16 any longer.  As it was just as obvious to the salesgirl in the mall the other day.  I asked her a simple question.  What was she doing to the woman sitting in the chair across from her?   And the next thing I knew, I was getting a blue cream smeared on my cheeks and under my eyes.  And only on one side of my face, mind you.  Of course, I think the salesgirl picked the droopier side and so when she held up the mirror to show me the difference, I immediately agreed with her, whipped out my debit card and bought this miraculous eye surgery cream!  Everyone needs to buy themselves a  present now and then, don’t they?

But there are many times during the day when I still DO feel like a teenager. When I gossip with my good friends about other friends, it’s just like we’re still sitting on those quad steps. (Hey, don’t pretend gossiping stopped in high school.)  When I play with my grandkids, my younger self walks right in and takes over my mind, allowing me to crawl into tiny spaces, jump on a trampoline and run around the backyard looking for aliens.  And when I call my parents to tell them I’ve arrived home safely after only a twenty minute drive from their house to mine, I’m that teenager obeying orders.  Yes…that 16 year old is still alive inside me.

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At 16, I could do 61 sit-ups in 60 seconds.  Now I do 16 sit-ups in 61 seconds.

At 16, I could dance to “Satisfaction” all night.  Now, I’m satisfied to stay home, eat a good meal and watch TV.

At 16, my hormones raged over hot guys.  Now, they rage about every hour or so in one of those body soaking hot flashes.

At 16, I learned how to drive in the fast lane.  Now, I’m learning to listen to my body and to slow down.

At 16, I ironed the curls out of my hair to get it bone straight.  Now, I’m doing curls at the gym to strengthen my bones

At 16, I poured baby oil over my skin and watched the sun color it a shade darker.  Now, I pour myself a martini and watch the sun color the sky as it slips below the horizon.

At 16, I was sweet.  Now only not sweet but savory.  And saving room in my memory bank for all the good years yet to come.

And at 16, I couldn’t wait to turn 17.  Now…well…I’m looking forward to another birthday, but does it have to happen so quickly?

 

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Then: Four Doors and Air Now: Vibrator and Voice Activator

Posted on August 21, 2011 by janie

Then:  Four Doors and Air


 

Now:  Vibrator and Voice Activator


 

I don’t know about you, but in my case, buying a car has never been a good experience, or a short one at that. No matter how well prepared I’ve been, it always takes about an hour to find the car I want (even when I get to the lot with the exact model in mind) and then five more to get through the financing.  So, we’re talking the better part of a day.

Usually upon arriving the salesmen descend upon me like vultures.  More often than not the car I’ve come to look at, isn’t even on the lot, or if it is, it comes with so many catches that I’m soon looking at another model.  And I try to stick to my original intentions of putting X amount down and paying X amount per month.  But this too, always gets changed, once the sales guys starts running the numbers.  That’s when I want to run away.

But every time I try to leave, he reels me back in like fish on a hook.  And just like that fish, I always feel like I’m floundering around without enough air while making what the salesman calls the “deal of a lifetime.”
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Throughout my life, I’ve been through many such ordeals and nothing has changed.  The only thing different is the actual car I’ve purchased.  And in this respect there is a world of difference between my very first car, way back in the day, and the ones on the market now.

My first car, a 1960 Falcon, came with a key, windows that rolled up manually, an AM radio with six buttons for setting the stations, windshield wipers and of course tires, an ashtray and lighter.  Back then “luxury” meant four doors, electric windows, an electric antenna and sometimes an electric motor for convertibles.  Oh, and tinted windows and leather seats.

Now- well- it’s a whole different ballgame.  Gone are the ashtrays and lighters and in their place are a slew of features right out of an old science fiction novel.

There is a digital readout telling you what song is playing on the AM/FM radio, CD or your iPod.  No more guessing what music you’re listening to.  A GPS system to guide you to your destination. Hands free Bluetooth for using your cell phone with voice activation, so that you don’t even have to dial any numbers.  Driver Memory.  Smart Cruise Control.  You name it.  The car has it.

Some cars even come with discs, instead of keys.  This disc can be programmed to not only unlock the car as you approach it, but to roll down the windows, open the convertible top, unfold the side view mirrors (which had been folded-in when putting the car in Park) turn on the iPod, adjust and warm the seats.  All before you’re within a foot of your vehicle.

With all this, I’m expecting a vibrator to come out and give me that happy feeling before the car takes me off to my destination.

Because I’m sure that’s what the future car will be like.  Totally hands free.  All we’ll have say is, “Take me the beach.”  And off the car will go.  “Play Satisfaction”.  The music will start.  “Top down.”   Down it comes.  “Warm my butt.”  On goes the seat warmer.  “Call in sick for me, will you?”

But there is one thing that technology can’t improve on.  And those are the memories one makes while driving in their car.  It didn’t matter that my little Falcon had manual windows and only two doors.  And it didn’t matter that the seats were sticky in the summer and cold in the winter.  What mattered were all the hours I spent driving around with my friends creating memories that have lasted forever.

Maybe the next time I buy a car, I’ll be dealing with a robot!

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Then: Friendly Skies Now: Jet Blues

Posted on August 14, 2011 by janie

Then: Friendly Skies


 

Now:  Jet Blues



 

I remember my very first plane ride, back in the day when PSA (Pacific Southwest Airlines) was in business.  A smiling stewardess dressed like a “Go-Go” girl handed my sister and me pins announcing to the world that it was in fact our very first flight.

Once seated, we were given soft pillows and were told to please ask if we needed anything else. Soon after take-off, our parents lit up their cigarettes and were served cocktails, which they did have to pay for, but everything else was free.  From the movie to the meal to the peanuts.  And it really all did come with a smile.

Now, how things have changed.  I know some of these changes are necessary.  I don’t mind all the post 9/11 security.  In fact, I welcome that.  I wish we could still greet our friends and family at the gate, but I’ve learned to live with these new rules.
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It’s all the other “consumer unfriendly – more costly” changes that have me ticked off.

First, we now have to pay for our luggage.  Unless of course you just take a carry-on bag.  But what woman is going to anywhere without her face creams and hair products? And those cannot be carried on board.

So, when I flew to Hawaii for my daughter’s wedding, it cost me twenty dollars for my first bag and would have cost an additional thirty dollars if I took a second one.  Which seems backwards to me.  And if I carried one larger suitcase it would have weighed too and been oversized and that would have cost extra.  It’s a no-win situation.

Once in my seat, I sat back and relaxed, knowing that my luggage was safe in the baggage quarters.  Hopefully.

After I finally got a cocktail, during which transaction a serious faced flight attendant  asked for a credit card (what happened to Cash is King?), I flipped through those exciting magazines, knowing that soon we would be offered a movie.

“Sure,” I said.  “I’d love some headphones.”

“Five dollars, please.”  The flight attendant held out her hand

Right.  I decided to just watch and lip read.

After all, the meal would be served shortly.  What?  Of course, how I could have forgotten?  We now had to pay for an exciting box lunch consisting of processed turkey on a huge white bun, two cookies and chips.  Or I could have bought the chips alone at three dollars a can, which boils down to about ten cents a chip.

Money better spent on a glass of champagne or two, because after all this was celebration.  And how often do we get to celebrate our daughter getting married?  Oh right. In my case, it was the second time around, but that’s a story for another day.

So, I sipped my drink, looked out window at the clouds and remembered the good old days when soaring through the air really was a friendly experience.

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Then: Military Boot Camp Now: Feminary Boot Camp

Posted on August 7, 2011 by janie

THEN:  Military Boot Camp


 

NOW:  Feminary Boot Camp


 

Back in the sixties (and earlier)  Boot Camp always meant those intense months of initial training given to new military personnel.

As the years passed it also became known as a correctional facility for adolescents who found themselves in the penal system.

Jump ahead to the computer age.  Boot Camp is now a utility software used to help Macintosh users install Windows X or Vista on their computers.

Take another jump, literally, and you’ve landed in a group of women gathered in the park – running, jumping, stretching, lunging, plunging.  You are in the middle of  the new fitness craze:  The Boot Camp.

This encompasses strength training, cardiovascular exercises, flexibility, mind-body disciplines and even some nutritional counseling.  We women love to stay in shape. But let me tell you, this is not a quick and easy thing.  This takes work, perseverance, strength, dedication,  Bengay and I might add, a little vodka to relieve the muscles.  You know what they say:  “No pain, no gain.  Feel that burn.”

I remember Cathy Smith and then Jane Fonda shouting that mantra at me a million years ago while I did my workout listening to their albums.  Yes, I did say listening.  I used to play Jane’s record on my stereo and listen to her counting out my sit ups, encouraging me to keep going.  Work till it burns!
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That record got a lot of play and became so scratched that 50 sit ups turned into 150.  You know how records would get caught in a groove and repeat…repeat…repeat.

I soon graduated to Jane’s VHS tapes, which did make doing the exercise a bit easier, since I could watch what she doing and not have to guess if my legs were at the correct angles while doing leg lifts.

Throughout the years I’ve tried many different forms of  exercising.  I even tried the Crutch Method – twice.  Each time I built up my arms and tightened my stomach muscles.  But I wouldn’t recommend breaking a bone as the preferred method of getting in shape.

And I’ve joined various gyms, including those belonging to the eternally young Jack LaLanne (rest in peace) and more recently Curves.

In my past life I even went to see Richard Simmons, but that memory is so embarrassing that when I think of it my minds shifts into a senior moment.

I haven’t yet joined a boot camp, but I’m fairly certain I will, especially now that my daughter is a personal trainer.  Thing is, she is harder on me than most of her clients.  My daughter has become a slave driver.  Literally.  Working my muscles to their limit.

The other day she asked me what I was doing as I struggled to stand upright while the weight machine pulled me forward like it was my long lost friend. Some friend!  “Are those too heavy?” she asked.  Well, duh.  “What do you think?”  I said, as my feet skidded across the floor.

But I love working out and I know I’ll sign up for her Boot Camp.  I just have few routines I’d like her to add to the regiment.

1. Fan Flickering – to strengthen the wrist for use with  that ever-handy “Hot Flash” fan
2. One Arm Sweater Removal – to help with agility when removing clothes during the onset of a hot flash while driving
3. Mind Maneuvering – to help control tears brought on by hearing a certain song

And then of course, all workouts must be followed by a leisurely lunch and an extra-cold, extra-dry martini.

Anyone care to join me?

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THEN: A Bridesmaid NOW: Mother of the Bride

Posted on August 1, 2011 by janie

Then:  A Bridesmaid

 

Now:  Mother of the Bride

Aunt of Bride        Grandma of Bride          Mom of Bride

I can’t tell you how many times I was a bridesmaid.  Or how many times I stood in front of a mirror in one of those chiffon dresses hearing the bride exclaim that all of us bridesmaids looked just lovely in the same dress.  One that we knew couldn’t and didn’t look good on all of us.  Some of them didn’t look good on any of us.

And then there was the cost of all these dresses.  The bride always said that we could wear the dress again.   I even said it myself when it was finally my time to be the bride.  I assured my bridesmaids that, yes, they would definitely wear that Rhoda-type head scarf again.

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What was I thinking?  Obviously, not much.   Not one of those dresses ever saw the light of day or the twinkle of a starry night again.

Ironically enough, though, my daughter did wear my wedding dress (it was purple, not white) to a Fall Formal.  But that’s another story.

The thing is, we expect to be bridesmaids more than once in our lives.   And to layout the money in order to walk down the aisle with a good friend.  But we don’t expect to be the “mother of the bride” again, not if we only have one daughter.   In that case, we hope for one wedding.   One reception.  One “mother-of-the-bride” dress.   Because let me tell you, shopping for that dress isn’t easy.

Not only do we want to look good, but face it.  We want to look better than the mother of the groom.   Who I’m sure wants to look better than the mother of the bride.  It’s just the way we women are.

So, I walked in and out of dressing rooms, trying on clothes that fit the body that I wished I had.   Such as breasts that actually formed a cleavage.   Arms that didn’t jiggle like jelly.  Feet that could still wear a decent pair of heels.   After many hours, I found  a dress that accentuated the good parts of my middle-aged body.

This wedding took place on the beach in Maui as the sun set over the Pacific Ocean.  It was a beautiful affair and even better, I have worn this dress again.

I just hope I never wear the label “Mother Of The Bride” again.  At least, not in this life.   And so far, it’s looking pretty good.

 

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Then: Sun Bathing Now: Sun Spots

Posted on July 24, 2011 by janie

THEN:  Sun Bathing

 

NOW:  Sun Spots

 

When I was in high school, my girlfriends and I would spread out our towels by a pool or at the beach, turn on our transistor radios, slather our bodies with baby oil and lay in the sun for hours and hours.  We talked and laughed, sharing our most intimate secrets.  It was the perfect way to spend a summer day.  And the perfect way to abuse our skin.

Not that we knew that fact then.  And if we had, we may not even have listened.

We would sizzle in the sun, moving over a few inches every half hour or so,  as the sun moved across the sky.  As if we wouldn’t be getting enough rays if we weren’t directly facing that big ball of heat.

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Today, I’m paying for that behavior.   A recent trip to the dermatologist reminded me of my reckless sunbathing.   It seems that the majority of the spots on my arms and face  were caused by too much sun.   Several were pre -cancerous, most of them were not.  And I say “were”, because thanks to my doctor, they are no longer decorating my skin.    Using his nifty liquid nitrogen tool, he approached my body like a little boy with a toy gun, zapping away the dangerous discolorations.

It’s a little strange now to look down at my skin and not see the brown spots which, believe it or not, I had come to accept as part of the “older me.”  My hands do look a bit younger, but certainly not young enough to justify my resignation in the senior citizen club.

I left the doctor’s  office loaded with knowledge about sunscreens.  It appears that the one vital and necessary ingredient for a good sunscreen is zinc oxide.  Which, by the way, I did to apply to my nose back then.  Thank God.  My nose peeled enough times to qualify for onion status.  I can only imagine how it would look today if I had not used the zinc.

So, now when I go out to the beach with my friends, we stretch out in the shade, turn on a CD player and slather our aging bodies with high powered sunscreens.  We enjoy each others company, laughing and talking, sharing our most intimate secrets.

The best things haven’t changed at all.

 

 

 

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Then: Armageddon Now: Carmageddon

Posted on July 17, 2011 by janie

THEN:  ARMAGEDDON

 

NOW:  CARMAGEDDON:

 

 

Armageddon – The great battle between good and evil, the end of the world.

Carmageddon – The fifty-three hour time period during which the Los Angeles 405 freeway is closed from the 10 to the 101.  Drivers are urged to stay at home.

Well, we battle the traffic everyday and given a reason not to go anywhere seems more like a bit of heaven to me than the end of the anything.

For the past few weeks, Los Angeles has been preparing for Carmageddon.  It’s been on the news day and night.  How are we going to get by without this stretch of freeway for so long?  OMG!  No 405 in LA?

So, just like everything else in this City of the Stars, Carmageddon has been hyped like an upcoming summer blockbuster.
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The local news stations played clips of our highway system, over and over as if each time it would be different.

According to Einstein, Insanity is “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

I think it was insane to keep watching this story!

Those interested could even buy a helicopter ride over the freeway.  What a thrill.

Staring down on the empty stretch of 405 highway, watching a humongous crane knock into the Mulholland Bridge is about as exciting to me as watching a raw egg transform into a hard boiled one.

Restaurants, boutiques, spas, grocery stores, – you name it.  They all began advertising Carmageddon specials.   Discounting everything from cocktails to manicures.   Visit your local bar.  Happy hour from 2-6.  (That’s more than an hour, but who’s counting?)  Buy one sweater, get a second one half-off.  Indulge yourself with a facial and get a massage for free.

Fact is, we are now nearing the end of Carmageddon and nothing catastrophic has occurred.  At least, that I know of.  Two cyclists rode their bikes down the empty stretch of freeway, living out one of their fantasies, I suppose.  That’s certainly not one of mine.

Now with Carmadeggon coming to an end, we’re being told to stay tuned for the sequel.  Coming to your local TV in the near future.    Next time, the media is going to have to find another angle to amp up the attention, since this event hasn’t caused much havoc.

It will just be another weekend to stay in your neighborhood.  Isn’t that what we should be doing more often anyway?

 

 

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Then: Moon Explorer Now: Internet Explorer

Posted on July 10, 2011 by janie

THEN:  MOON EXPLORER


NOW:  INTERNET EXPLORER


On July 20, 1969 we sat around in front our TV’s watching as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin left the safety of Apollo 11 and walked on the Moon.  After ten long years, the United States had won the space race.  It seemed really unbelievable that man was actually walking on that celestial body and that we were watching it happen. It was a reality show, long before that term was coined.

For many years after that, we continued to put men and women into outer space, but it seems that the moon was destined to be the only body we would set foot on.  And as far as I know, no aliens have landed on Earth.  Although parents of teenagers might have a different opinion.  I know I did, when my daughter was a thirteen.

But back to the Universe.  Its endlessness is a mind boggling concept.  I can’t really understand something going on forever and ever and ever.

I have a similar feeling when trying to understand Cyberspace.  A place that has no limits.  That goes on forever and ever and ever.

It’s such an immense entity, my tiny little thoughts get lost.  They start chasing themselves and I end up forgetting what I was thinking about in the first place.
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But not the explorers of today.  They are “getting it”  and “getting into it.”  Instead of discovering new continents or landing on new planets, they are discovering virtual places, worlds only known in yesterday’s science fiction stories.

Facebook.   Twitter.  Linkedin.

Some of this I get.  Some I don’t.  I like connecting with old friends and seeing photos of family members living in different time zones.  I like sharing good news.  I get the part about  promoting oneself.   I enjoy playing games, such a scrabble, with people you’ve never met.  All good things, as far as I’m concerned.

But there are some aspects that I just don’t get.  I don’t want to be in a pretend food fight.  If I’m going to get mashed potatoes in my face, I want them in my face!  I want to know if they are lumpy or seasoned with garlic.  If I go on an African Safari I want to feel the earth beneath my feet and hear the lions roar.

What I am supposed to do with a pretend bouquet?  Put it in a pretend vase on my pretend windowsill?  And how do I know that the friend who sent it to me is even real?  Maybe it’s just a pretend friend.

Everyday, the virtual place is growing and growing.  And here goes my mind again into that circle of never ending thoughts.

Well, some say that man didn’t even walk on the moon.  That it was all pretend.  So who knows?

Maybe one of these days, one of my new friends will be transported from my computer screen into my house.  We’ll touch hands.  Hear each other’s voices.  Laugh together.  And take a walk to the local coffee shop, smelling the “real” flowers on the way.

 

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THE LANDING: A 4th of July like none other

Posted on June 29, 2011 by janie

Then:  The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere

 

Now:  The 4th of July Landing

Hamburgers.  Hot dogs.  Fireworks.  Parades.  To all of us here in the US, these things symbolize the 4th of July.  The day when we adopted the Declaration of Independence and broke away from our mother – cheery old England.

Not that Mom was so bad, but it was time to go out on our own.  Start our own customs and laws.

And one of those customs includes lighting the sky with explosions of color to celebrate the birth of our country.

It was during one of these celebrations when the event I am about to explain took place.  From hereafter it shall be known as THE LANDING.

We lived across the street from a college which put on a fireworks show every year.  Now, because we did live right across the street, we would gather on the railroad tracks which ran behind our house.  From there we could see the fireworks.  Of course, we couldn’t hear the patriotic music or hear any of the freedom speeches.  But it was free and we were free to drink the beverage of our choice – an ice cold beer, a glass of wine or some other alcoholic beverage which would not permitted were we to pay for front row seats.

So there we were – kids oohing and aahing at the exploding sky, dogs cowering in fear under our seats, parents talking and sipping their drinks,  when suddenly the air seemed to stand still.

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My mind jumped to that popular expression: It’s a bird.  It’s a plane.  It’s Superman.

Well, we all know Superman isn’t real.   But was this really happening?  It WAS a plane!

At first I thought it was a huge 747 coming toward us.  As it got closer, I realized is was only a small two-seater.  But still- a plane?  Landing right in front of us!

Utter chaos ensued.  I grabbed my daughter, the dog, my drink, my husband (in that order) and amidst shouts and screams ran for cover along with everyone else.

Somehow, the pilot managed to land safely in the middle of the street.  To our utter disbelief, he climbed out dressed like Paul Revere.  And  took off running down the street yelling, “The British are coming!  The British are coming!”

Well, the only uniformed people coming down the street were the police.   They caught up with him and dragged him away.     We poured fresh cocktails and toasted everything from our Founding Fathers to Buckingham Palace.

Looney as he was, the pilot left us all unscathed and free to go about our lives, free to watch many more 4th of July firework’s shows.

But, let me tell you, none of them have compared to the thrill, the fear, and the excitement of THE LANDING.

This post is part of the 4th of July Carnival at In The Powder Room.   Click on the link to view other fun stories.

 

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