General Stuff

Trash and Heat – A Love Story

Posted on by bgeren

IMG_0249Garv and I recently celebrated our thirty-ninth anniversary. No one can stay married this long without accepting each other’s idiosyncrasies.

Some couples are annoyed by spousal back seat driving, over-spending on shoes, or crappy television preferences. Oh…wait…that’s our list. But two of our constant mutual irritations have morphed into games in which we both strive for mastery.

In our first week of marriage, we didn’t argue about sex, checkbook balancing, or whether or not to buy a dog. We argued about trash. Turns out, Garv preferred the trash to be emptied when it barely reached the top of the waste basket. I preferred the mound method.

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The Tao of Mary Richards

Posted on by bgeren

MaerandRhodaBecause we used to hang out on Saturday nights, I need to say a good bye and thank you to Mary Tyler Moore.

The central message of The Mary Tyler Moore Show was about female empowerment and independence, but I most cherished the messages about female interdependence. Mary and Rhoda taught me a good deal about friendship and about having and being a bestie.

When besties first meet there is a soulful recognition.

Mary and Rhoda meet in the initial episode of the MTMS and are instantly at odds, arguing over who should get the studio apartment. Before Rhoda leaves, this dialogue promises that they are destined to become besties.

Mary: “You know what? In spite of everything, you’re really a pretty hard person to dislike.”

 Rhoda: “I know what you mean. I’m having a hard time hating you too. We’ll both have to work on it.”

Spark. Chemistry. Kismet. The minute they meet, besties just…know.

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Dear Sunshine Cab Company…

Posted on by bgeren

taxitv

 

…I left something irreplaceable in cab 804. Will you see if you can find it?

A few Fridays ago my husband was gone for the evening and I inherited full control of the remote. Turning on the TV, I perused my watchlist and queued up the first episode of Taxi. By the fourth note of the Taxi theme song, some kind of bizarre Hulu voodoo occurred. I found myself having…I don’t know…a transcendental experience?

I felt like I was in our first home, curled up in the corner of our pseudo swanky sectional. It was fall of 1978 and I was twenty-something. Suddenly I felt euphoric with that “happy butterflies in your stomach” sensation. This trance-like state persisted until I heard a woman say, “Goodnight Mr. Walters”.

Was the show that good? Did I have an unresolved crush on Alex Reiger? Did I eat something iffy for dinner? I watched the second episode hoping that sense of euphoria would return. Indeed it did return and continued to do so during the third, fourth and fifth episodes.

I watched the entire first season and realized that Taxi triggered a memory of the consistent bliss I felt in my twenties.

Where had that bliss gone?

What am I doing wrong that keeps bliss at bay?

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“It’s Late September and I Really Should be Back at School” – Rod Stewart

Posted on by bgeren

Ty

I made up a song to remember four items I needed at the store. As I walked toward the office supply aisles, this little ditty played inside my head.

“Batteries, pens, tape and printer paper. On the way out I’ll grab a Necco wafer.”

Getting closer to my destination, the sound of munchkin voices jumbled my lyrics. I rounded the corner to discover that the office supply aisles had been transformed. The now “back to school” aisles were teeming with kids and their mothers.

I watched the kids select their notebooks, backpacks and iconic yellow #2 Ticonderoga pencils. Based on excitement levels I assigned each child to a category: those who were happy school was about to start, those who were indifferent and those who did not care one iota about scholarly enlightenment.

Then I watched the mothers. They fit into one category: moms who were overwhelmed. They were slumped over their carts. Their glazed eyes struggled to focus on the supply list at hand. As I wondered why they were not doing the back to school happy dance, I had a flashback to 1999. I saw myself writing check after check for school supplies, shoes, sport registration fees, yearbooks, haircuts and school pictures. I remembered that, for parents, back to school mathematically equates to:

 Family budget – Back to school costs = Eating spaghetti for the rest of the month

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Those Young Whippersnappers at the Parks Department

Posted on by bgeren

Last fall during an open forum held by our city’s Mayor, I made a humble request of our Park Director. I asked if programs could be added to appeal to those of us over 50. He publically assured me that his team would make a “concentrated effort” to add programs for my age group. Then he proudly announced that six new pickleball courts were recently installed at one of our parks.

Having just read the latest issue of my park’s Fun Guide, I am revisiting that night in my memory. Was the lighting in the conference room that harsh? Did I not sleep well the night before? Did I borrow my mother’s lavender Alfred Dunner polyester, elastic waistband pants to wear that night? I don’t know what exactly, but something I said or did evidently prompted the Park Director to jot in his notepad: “Note to self: plan park programs for senior citizens.”

True to his word, there is a section in the guide titled “50 or Better”. After a quick review it is obvious “concentrated efforts” focused more on the “Better” side of “50 or Better”.

Here are some of the programs being offered.

 Lunch & Learn: Cremation –Join us for lunch as we discuss the growing popularity of cremation.

Yikes! No thanks. While I don’t want to tempt fate, I assume I have another twenty years or so before I need to pre-plan my funeral. And if I asked my boss for an extended lunch hour to learn about cremation it would likely give her pause to consider my long term commitment to the company.

Tai Chi is offered from 10 – 11 am on Mondays and Wednesdays. Or, you may enroll in Beginning Line Dancing , held from 2:30-3:30 pm on Fridays. Oh but for that pesky 40 hour work thing again.

But, here is my favorite offering.

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A Writing Workshop

Posted on by bgeren

Typewriter

I clicked the “Pay Now” button to enroll in a Women’s Non-Fiction Writing Workshop offered by the Indiana Writers Center. Immediately the fight or flight portion of my brain fired up, alerting Fannie Fearful. (Fannie lives in my head. She’s in charge of making sure my comfort zone stays very small and safe.) Fannie’s an expert in warning me how situations will not go well. She began to rant.

“This workshop’s for younger women. They’ll show up wearing lululemon and their phones will constantly ping with texts, tweets and play date reminders. They’ll write about their young children, difficult husbands and how they can’t find rewarding work related to their Masters degrees.”

“WE’LL BE OUTSIDERS!”

“WE’LL REMIND THEM OF THEIR MOTHERS…WEARING OUR ADIDAS SWEATS AND KEDS!”

“THEY’LL ROLL THEIR EYES WHEN WE SHARE OUR WRITING!”

 In an effort to calm Fannie, I made her a deal. I told her we would go to the workshop and if she was right, we’d never go back.

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My Friend Made the Cover of Time

Posted on by bgeren

Barbie

A childhood friend of mine recently made the cover of Time magazine. It seems she’s had some “work done”. I would still recognize her by her long, platinum blonde hair and blue eyes. But her face has changed with plumper cheeks and a softer chin. One could describe my aging face in the same manner, but she flat out wears it better. I can’t help noticing that her bust is smaller or maybe it just looks that way due to her expanded waistline. And her derriere? Well, as most of us over fifty can attest, her new bottom line will not age well.

I was sad to discover the cover photo credit did not belong to Annie Leibovitz;  she does a magnificent job capturing the essence of cultural legends. Perhaps Time asked her, but she declined in order to stay clear of the controversy constantly swirling around Barbie. The controversy stems from a theory that Barbie has the power to plant a seeds in little girls’ minds that self-worth lies in a small waist, large breasts and straight, blonde hair. If these seeds take root, it may cause a young girl to see herself as worthless when she discovers she cannot attain physical perfection.

Well, if nothing else Barbie has expanded the definition of plastic surgery.  I find it a little sad and ironic that ultimately she caved to pressure, altering herself to better align with society’s definition of beauty.   And wasn’t that the crux of the original controversy?

For several years I spent nearly all of my free time with Barbie. But, as sometimes happens with childhood friends, we drifted apart. I needed to meet new friends and expand my world. Barbie was happy with her life just the way it was. So we went our separate ways with no ill feelings and I always held a deep appreciation for our friendship.

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Snowplow Tao

Posted on by bgeren

I don’t know why exactly, possibly driven by the caffeine from the espresso or maybe the loveliness of fresh morning air, but as soon as we turned into our driveway I inexplicably wanted to return and lend a hand. I got out of the car, grabbed a couple of paint brushes and got behind the steering wheel. As I pulled out of the driveway, I saw Garv standing in the driveway, holding the basil, peppers and peaches we bought. He looked as confused as I was as to what had just happened.

It was the start of a typical Saturday when Garv said, “If you go to the Farmers’ Market with me, I will treat you to Starbucks”. I don’t share Garv’s enthusiasm for the Farmers’ Market but I wanted to be a good sport so I agreed. And, truth be told, I’d go just about anywhere if it entailed a Mocha! So, we drove over to Starbucks and then to our local Farmers’ Market.

We taste tested our way through the market, chatted with some neighbors and ran into some old acquaintances we once spent a lot of time with when our kids were in school.   We bought some produce and headed back to the car to leave. Just as I was about to get in the car I noticed something very out of place happening in a parking lot behind the local library.

There were people sitting cross legged on drop cloths, surrounded by gallons of paint in front of two white snow plows. Half in and half out of our car I stood there for a while trying to figure out what they were doing. I decided to walk over to inquire.

As I approached, I saw sketches on the bucket of each plow. One was a beach scene with toucans roasting snowmen marshmallows over an open fire. The other was a smash up of minions. One of the women sitting cross legged greeted me. She introduced herself as the artist and a teacher at one of our middle schools. She explained how the local Arts Council had underwritten a grant for two of the city’s plows to be painted every year. The first two plows completed the previous summer survived the winter favorably with little chipping or corrosion. So they were now painting the second pair of plows.

She asked if I would like to help paint. I declined saying I was not an artist. I told her I thought it was a very cool project and thanked her for her creativity and vision. We returned to our car and headed home but my mind fixated on the snowplows.

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