The Boomer Rants

THEN:  BIG SKY CAMPING

NOW: WIFI  CAMPING

I used to love to go camping.  In college I went with my best friend.  We’d pitch a tent, get out that bottle of Boonesfarm Apple Wine, eat something out of can, and talk and talk and talk.   We would watch the stars sprinkle the sky like drops of  powdered sugar and make wishes for our future.

Later, after I was married, my husband and I took our kids camping, often to Bluegrass Festivals. We’d pitch our tents, set up our Coleman stoves and settle into our “home away from home”  for the next few days.  At night, we’d get out our bottle of vodka, play music and talk and talk and talk.  We would point out the Big and Little Dipper to our kids and make wishes for our future.

The best part about camping was being away.  Away from work.  Away from the TV.   Away from the phones.  On one of my camping trips, I was actually laid off from work.  No one had any way of contacting me, so I had a wonderful four days

Just last month, my sister went camping with her husband.  Not only camping, they went hunting.  So you would assume they were in the middle of nowhere.  Or at least in some wilderness where the deer and the antelope roam.  And when I last checked, wildlife  (other than those that hang out in bars) does not communicate by cell phones.

 
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So imagine my surprise when my sister called from her mountaintop, letting me know that she had arrived safely.  The next day, she sent me an email describing the vibrant sunset and how magnificent it was to get away.  After writing me, they were going to have dinner and then settle into their tents to watch a DVD.
Where are you? I asked.  You have cell service in the middle of nowhere?  Yes, she said.  Can you believe it?

No, I couldn’t.  It seems that camping today has taken on a whole new twist.   Why, if I had had a cell phone way back when, I might have been contacted about my job status while on vacation.  That certainly would have changed my mindset.  The hobo stew we were eating might not have seemed like a treat, but as something I might have to add to my weekly dinner menus.

This got me to thinking.   What about the kids today?  Will they ever go away somewhere without their laptops and iPhones?  Where they may have to play cards at night for entertainment.  Or just sit and watch the sky.  Make up stories about the constellations.

There has to be someplace, somewhere that is still considered the middle of nowhere.  Going into outer space won’t help, because out there we are even closer to the satellite dishes that keep Cyberspace alive.

I know that being disconnected from all things technological can be a real culture shock.    And it can bring on withdrawal systems.  Fingers moving uncontrollably over imaginary keyboards.   Ringtones swirling around our heads.  Sweating over what we’re missing, thinking it just can’t wait.   But it can.  And every now and then our bodies need that shock.

Just as our electrical devices need to be charged in order to operate properly – we need to get away and recharge.  Re-energize our mind, our body, and our soul.

Think about it.  When was the last time you recharged?

Then :  S & H Green Stamps

Now:    Going Green

Before coupons and member reward cards, grocery stores gave away trading stamps.  Remember those?  The most popular ones where I lived were S&H Green stamps and their competitor the Blue Chip Stamp.

I can’t tell you how many hours I spent licking those stamps and placing them into the stamp book.  I have to say, those were wonderful times even though my sister and I would argue over who was going to paste which stamps where.  Go figure.  I guess sisters can fight about anything.  And I certainly don’t know what the thrill was in all that licking.  It definitely wasn’t in preparation for any future occupation.  It was just one of  those sisterly moments

Once the books were complete we would go with our mom to the Redemption Center.  A large building offering all sorts of items ranging from toasters to dog bowls.  But it didn’t really matter what product we got by trading in our stamps.  The act itself was a symbol of  “life in the 1960’s.”

Today, rather than “saving green”  we are supposed  to be “going green” in order to save our planet.
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Lately, I’ve been wondering why we’re going Green.  Why not Blue?  I mean isn’t this whole business about saving the atmosphere and the last time I checked the sky was blue.  Or why not White?  Let’s go White!  White reflects the sunlight off the earth. And isn’t that the purpose of going green? To preserve the Earth from the sun and global warming?

But okay, so we’re going stuck with calling it Green.  I suppose because vegetation is green and that’s the color we think of when thinking about Mother Earth.

But whatever color we call it, it is everywhere.  From the products we put on our bodies (lotions, creams, sprays,)   in our bodies (food, vitamins, water) over our bodies (blankets,  umbrellas, roof tops) to those under our bodies (seat covers, carpets, fertilizers). From cleaning our sinks to sending greeting cards.  From changing diapers to watching TV.  Nothing is exempt.

And this does get expensive.  If you have a choice between buying your kids new shoes or buying organically grown toilet paper, well, is there really a choice?

I’m  all for saving the environment.  Don’t get me wrong.   But I’m also for saving my sanity.  And that calls for savings those greenbacks that I get each week and spending them in the thriftiest way possible.  Even it means every now and then I have to go—ungreen.

I’m not being unpatriotic or uncaring.  I care about this earth as much as the next person.  In fact, I’m still using the clothes basket that I got from that stamp center so many years ago.  I fill it up with papers, cans and bottles and carry it to the recycle bin outside.  And each time I do, I see my sister and I bonding together just as tightly as those stamps stuck to the page in the trading book.

Then: Kildare and Casey

Now:  McDreamy and House

Is it just me?  Or are TV doctors more accessible and way better looking than the ones in real life?

Back in the day, we had Doctors Richard Kildare and Ben Casey.  Not bad too look at with fairly good bedside manners.  Today, we have McDreamy and McSteamy working at Seattle Grace Hospital, the hunks that working Off The Map, and my favorite, Dr. Gregory House – irreverent, controversial, and nearly always right with his diagnosis.  Someone I’d want working on my case, if I ever get some obscure disease.

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Today, the only “doctors” that actually make house calls are the ones that arrive with their black cases full of routers, mother boards, recovery discs, power cords, memory chips and whatever integral parts are needed to cure the virus in our ailing computer.

Yes, it’s sad but true.  Our hard drives can count on being repaired in their very own homes.  Yet when we, their owners, need recovery from the virus weakening our power,  from a hacking cough, or a slipped disc we must drive ourselves to the ER (where you can bet the doctors aren’t as handsome as those on TV) or to our family practitioner.

Which brings me to my current dilemma – that of finding a good doctor.  Oh, I never miss my annual female inspections.  You know the mamm and the pap, as I call them.  Just as I could never forget those folks who took me to the doctor when I was sick:  mom and pop.

But what I need now is a doctor for a wellness exam, preferably one that takes my insurance.  These days that seems harder and harder to find.  I know our current administration is promising to make changes in our medical coverage.  I’m hoping it’s sooner than later.  Because even though my boss pays quite a hefty sum for my insurance, I still have a lot of out-of-pocket expenses.

So, I asked around.  I got a referral from my orthopedic  surgeon.  Yes, that type of doctor, I do have.  I seem to break my bones a lot more than the average person.

And with name in hand, I did what we all do these days, I went to my computer (free of all viruses) and I googled him.

Wow!  What did I find?   Site after site about this great doctor.  He never lost a patient.  Treated his nurse with respect.   He was a hunk.   Went to work every Thursday night.  What?  Once a week?  Of course!  I had stumbled upon one of the lesser known fictional doctors at Seattle Grace.  I continued reading anyway.  Only to find that he accepts every insurance plan.  And never turns down a patient.

Now if I could just get myself an appointment!

Then:  Clearasil

Now:   Clearly Desperate

We all want to look our best.  I remember when looking my best involved spending more time on my hair than on my face.  One cleanser, one moisturizer and my face was good to go.

Now?  Well, lined up on my shelf are a variety of creams, gels, lotions, vitamins and fluids with promises to firm up, reduce puffiness, erase lines, tighten skin, wipe away wrinkles, restore elasticity, hydrate, energize, revitalize and even hypnotize my face into looking younger.

You name it.  I’ve bought it.  If product X doesn’t take away that wrinkle under my eye, product Y is sure to do the job.  I have an alphabet of miracle potions to choose from  each morning, with ingredients ranging from avocado juice to Queen bee pollen.

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Every product makes the same claim…to stop the aging process.

But wait!  Sometimes they promise much, much more.

Why, with my younger skin, I’ll feel better.  I’ll cook better.  I’ll stop forgetting words.  I’ll get a raise.  I’ll read faster.  I won’t get indigestion.  I’ll have more energy.  And all of these changes will take place in within twenty days after application!

Well, I’m not positive about all these creams.  Last time I checked, the Fountain of Youth, still only exists in science fiction.  But I do believe in the power of positive thinking.  And that age is just a state of mind.

We may worry about how we look at age forty…at fifty…at sixty …but when I see a woman in her eighties, I expect to see lines and wrinkles.  Every line tells a story in that woman’s life.  Laugh lines around the eyes tells me she’s had an abundance of happiness.  Lines near the mouth says she’s had many stories to tell.

I want to grow old gracefully (and not too wrinkly) but I know we can’t freeze time.  Sure, I’ll keep on applying all these anti-aging creams but I still want my face to show that I’ve lived a full, rich life.  Like I said, it’s the roadmap that I show the world.  How about you?

Then:  Breadbox

Now:   xBox

You’re probably wondering what a bread box and Xbox have in common.  Well, absolutely nothing.  And that’s what most people who have owned a bread box know about playing Xbox and what the Xbox generation would say about a bread box.  Nothing.

I’m right there in the middle.  My grandparents had a bread box and my kids play Xbox games.  And if you ask me,  the bread box definitely serves a greater function.

I never know where our bread is because it doesn’t have its own place in our kitchen.  Sometimes it’s on the counter. Sometimes on the washing machine.  Sometimes on the kitchen table.

And inevitably, the last pieces always end up in the back of the fridge, tucked behind the milk carton and the orange juice.  At least once a month I find a few slices that have turned into some sort of science experiment.  And then there is that loaf that ends up shoved into our tiny freezer and falls out on my toe every time I open the door.
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The bread box was a simple invention.  No cords.  No charging.  No batteries.  No guessing where the bread was kept.

While I’m at it, the Xbox generation probably doesn’t know what an icebox is either.  By the time I was born, the icebox had been replaced by the refrigerator, but my grandparents always referred to our refrigerator as an icebox.  And I knew you couldn’t open up an icebox very many times in one day.  That’s probably why my grandfather always yelled at me when I kept the refrigerator door open for longer than two seconds. I think he feared that the milk would spoil and our milkman wasn’t due for another day.

Ah..the milkman. Some mornings I wish I could open my front door and find a fresh bottle of milk, instead of having to drive to the market because someone finished the carton during the night.  In fact, there were lots of services that I wish still made home deliveries (including the doctor) but that’s another story entirely.

Thinking of my grandfather reminds me of the ice cream man.  Not that he was one, but he was always there with that needed quarter (yes, a quarter) when the ice cream man came down our block.  I still see an occasional ice cream truck go by every now and then, but our ice cream man was as predictable as the sun coming up each summer morning.

On those hot summer days we’d jump out of the pool when we heard his jingle come down the block.  Because that’s where we spent our days.  Outside.  Swimming.  Walking down the block with our transistor radios.  Sitting on the front lawn talking with our neighbors.

Not inside in front of a video game.  Back then, the Xbox was still a figment of someone’s imagination.

Those lazy summer days found us using our imaginations, playing all sorts of guessing games.  And when my best friend guessed what I was imagining about, her first question was always,  “Is it bigger than a bread box?”

Then: Springing Forward

Now:  Marching Forward

I used to look forward to Daylight Saving Time.  It meant that after dinner my kids could still go outside and play for awhile.  I could take a walk.  Neighbors could gather on front porches and talk.  And best of all, it meant that summer was just around the corner.   After all, we were Springing Forward.

Now it’s not even spring yet!  March has yet to really get going.

We could still have more  rain and in some parts of the country it is still snowing.  Who needs an extra hour of daylight when the weather still says it is winter?Another hour of sleet and snow and rain!  On those days, I like staying inside, cuddled by the fireplace with my family.

I know this early Daylight Saving is supposed to save energy.   But after three years,  I’m still trying to  get used it.

But that got me to thinking about the concept of time.  Wouldn’t it be great if we could save time itself?  If all those Daylight Saving hours were actually saved in personal Time Bank accounts?
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Every Daylight Saving we would add another hour, not be used until we turned forty, or of an age when we could really appreciate time.  Our hours would accumulate and then each fall when we turn the clocks back, we could go to our time bank and withdraw whichever hour we wanted.

I might take an hour from a day in high school when Billy smiled at me.  To remind me of how young love felt.   And that I could feel all hot inside without having a hot flash.

Or an hour from when my daughter was born and I cradled her in my arms.  A day I never tire of remembering.  And would love to experience again.  And again.

Or maybe an hour from when my foot was broken to remind me to slow down.

If we are feeling sad about something, we could take a “happy” hour from our bank to remind us that life is all about ups and downs.  We could take an hour to help us through a tough situation.  Or spend time again with someone who is no longer with us.

If need be, we could borrow against these hours, taking them out when we needed extra minutes to meet a deadline.  Or maybe even trade hours.  To experience how it really feels to walk in someone else’s shoes.  And how about loaning hours to someone whose life is being cut short way too soon?

Ah, the possibilities are limitless.  That is – if it were only possible.

Think about it.

What hour would you withdraw from your Time Savings Bank?