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Covering issues on the Boomer Generation including original content for Boomers, bulletin boards, user comments, Sixties and Seventies music, Baby Boomer culture, health and coverage of issues for "Aging Hipsters."
July 3, 2008
Where Did the Time Go? A Boomer's Stroll Through Memories
If there's one thing that can remind us how time flies and yet how some things seem to stand still, it's a local community tradition. For us, it's our annual July 4th carnival, a major fundraiser for our volunteer fire squad.Held on a small field that spends most of the year overgrown and open, (and an excellent place to let dogs run), the carnival anticipation starts when we see the volunteers out there mowing. The banner goes up over the bridge, the rides seem to show up magically and suddenly it's carnival time again.
For an event with few rides and a layout you can walk in five minutes, it can generate up to 6000 visitors on a good night--the good nights being 'bracelet night,' when kids can ride all night without using up their college funds, and fireworks night. And for a teeny town, they put on a damn good show. One thing that never ever changes is the food. Believe it or not, aside from the usual fare, our landlocked carnival is known for its steamed clams.
Now here's the thing about time. I've been visiting the carnival for 23 years-- from the time my older son was in a stroller. With only a few exceptions, I've been there every year. I watched my kids graduate from the kiddy rides to the big boy rides, from us winning stuffed animals for them to them winning stuffed animals for me. From very long bracelet nights of ride after ride to keeping a watchful out for roving bands of young thugs---yup...my kids and their friends.
As a professor muses on the issues of aging in academia in the Chronicle of Higher Education, I was struck by the universality of the issues--whether one is a college professor or auto mechanic. Age-associated changes that affect 'teaching, learning and research' can ripple through our lives regardless of profession. Lennard Davis's article is a thoughtful....um..where did I put my nouns......essay on our declining powers.
You probably have an elevated level of skepticism when it comes to guarantees. In most cases it's a time limit, mileage or hidden prerequisites that slant the guarantee in favor of the manufacturer. Then, even when you've met all the criteria, try to actually get the retailer to honor it. Good luck.
So when I headed to Sears Sunday with my broken Craftsman ratchet, I was expecting a few hoops to jump through. After all, the rachet was part of a set given as a wedding gift over 30 years ago. But Craftsman has an unconditional guarantee - if it breaks, return it to Sears for a replacement. Yeah, right.
I went to the customer service counter and simply said - "this rachet is broken," and added "what do I need to do to get it replaced," thinking perhaps I needed the original sales receipt or would have to mail it in or some such nonsense.
The woman behind the counter took the rachet (without saying a word) and started rooting around in a couple of bins under the counter. Then she began comparing my rachet to several in her bins. Nothing seemed to match.
Still in doubt, I said, "so it's true?" "
"Yes," was her response as she continued to look for a match.
After comparing several, nothing matched and I began to have this sinking feeling that if there wasn't something in her bins, I was going to have to start hoop jumping. But she just called over the manager and told him there was nothing in her collection that matched my rachet. He took my rachet, walked over to the shelf stock, compared it to one on the pegs and handed over a brand new rachet.
"That's it? No complicated paperwork, no special order, no first-born clause?"
"Yer set," said the manager.
Bravo, Sears!
On a side note, I'd just like to thank my good friend Bob for this wonderful wedding gift from way back in 1978. At the time I thought it was an odd gift, but over the years, it is truely the one thing that has endured. The marriage broke up but I got the Craftsman rachet set (still complete with every piece). And thanks to Sears, it should go on into the next generation.
What? A hearing aid that's invisible, works better than conventional models and can be worn for months at a time.
Wait, did you say $3000 PER YEAR???
According to the New York Times, the Lyric hearing aids are placed very close to the eardrum creating a more natural sound, and because they are so small, the batteries only need to be replaced once every four months. But there's a catch. You don't buy them. You subscribe to them - for $2900 - $3600 per year.
It simply had to happen - aging Baby Boomers trying to hold on to youth for as long as possible will have a myriad of products designed to prop up their sagging systems - as long as you can afford it.
And because we have such great healthcare in this country - most insurance companies won't pay for Lyric - or any other hearing device. Sigh.
Well, they won't pay for glasses either, but at least I can hold on to my old specs and learn sign language.
Many of you will remember that we lost our dog-friend, Max nearly two years ago. After a period of mourning and a rather lengthy time without a dog, we decided to "just see" if we could find another friend we could welcome into our home.
About a month ago we rescued a wonderful dog named Cole. He is everything we wanted in a dog - smart, active, affectionate and friendly. He's all that and more. Cole is a Whippet/Pointer mix and he has only the best characteristics of both breeds. He has no smell, is as fast as greased lightening and loves to lay round the house - mostly Whippet characteristics. As far as the pointer is concerned, he's tireless at checking the wind for game and will routinely point (with a leg up) to anything that moves.
The added benefit of Cole is his escapability - Max NEVER went through the electric fence. Cole on the other hand, is willing to take the hit provided there is sufficient distraction (read squirrel) on the other side. So he's gotten us up off the couch for three 30 minute walks a day.
We've really fallen for little Cole and a great big thank you to Keith and Stephanie of Rogers Rescue for their kind assistance.
Many of us Baby Boomer men have been collecting the things that define us for a lifetime. From tools to trains. We started with a little corner of the basement and somehow this collection obsession has evolved into the places we go to be - well, men.
I'm assuming here, but to many women, our spaces look disorganized, random and down right filthy. But pick up any random thing in my man-space and get a story (or an excuse about why I kept a broken thing-a-ma-bob). Frankly, it only looks like a mess to someone else. Need trumps order, nostalgia naturally gets dusty and whether or not I can actually find something is irrelevant.
Someone recently suggested that she could do wonders with my office helping organize, categorize, sanitize and de-randomize. Fine for her, but if I'm relegated to a single room, it's going to be the way I want it - and the way I want it is exactly the way it is. Free-form.
The pile of gravity-defying stuff at the door isn't there because I like stuff so much, it's a physical barrier. It says (very loudly) "you really have want to come in here." Besides, the element of risk adds a certain masculinity to the cave entrance, I think.
Which brings me to a book - written by James B. Twitchell called "Where Men Hide." Last Sunday, we attended the opening of an exhibition by the photographer who Illustrated the book - Ken Ross. Ken is a friend who's been a photographer and teacher (and by the way is retiring this year). While I connected with the words - the photographs had me nodding in appreciation for the various ways we men decorate our grottos.
I actually believe I have genetic disposition for this sort of thing. My father had his own space (at the farthest reaches of the basement) where he hoarded a collection of off-sized pieces of mahogany salvaged from the Chris Craft plant down the road. According to dad, the short cut ends of planks were piled so high in the factory yard it looked like one of those giant salt mounds at the DOT garage.
Dad saw the value in gluing up all those little pieces into bigger pieces - which supposedly were to become something grand one day. But looking back, I think it was the mere fact that he had those treasures - and not necessarily what he was going to do with them.
Then there was Mr. Draper, our next door neighbor. Mr. Draper (I don't know his first name because he will forever be "Mr. Draper" to a five-year-old) had what could only be described as the palace of men's spaces; called simply, "The Doghouse." He had a WWII Jeep that ceremoniously guarded the entrance, and the mother of all workbenches on the back wall.
He would let my brother and I sit in the Jeep, toot the horn, pretend to drive and occasionally turn on the wipers (individually controlled with their own tiny electric motors).
But to behold his workbench was to look upon heaven itself. Each tool (hundreds, I'm sure) had it's own space on the pegboard - represented by a painted outline. The bench had a HUGE vice that could crush a head (yeah, we tried). And lining the ceiling were at least 1000 baby food jars with their lids screwed to the ceiling joist. Each jar filled with a single-sized screw, nut or nail. It was the perfect solution - visible, out of the way and accessible. Brilliant.
I'm sure Mrs. Draper was proud of how organized and efficient Mr. Draper was. But somehow I'm not sure he cared. It was a reflection of himself and a monument to a lifetime of collecting. Bravo, Mr. Draper.
If you'd like to purchase Where Men Hide check it out on Amazon.
I came across this opinion piece about the differences among the generations and about change in general. It got me thinking about the classic animosity Gen x-ers have towards us Boomers and how the same just isn't true about the Millennials starting to become adults and entering the workforce. The writer mentions talking to someone about a recent study:
The fellow said some experts predict there will be tension in the U.S. economy as the Boomers begin retiring in the tens and hundreds of thousands. Many of their jobs will be filled by Millennials. According to the study -- which like all massive studies only applies in general terms -- Millennials are more capable, brighter and more optimistic than either of the two generations that preceded them.
Well of course they're capable, bright, and optimistic--some of those front-end Millennials are our kids!
I have a problem with Mike Huckabee and everyone who supports him. My other half is tired of hearing about it--'tiresome' he called me, 'paranoid' I believe was mentioned once or twice. I think the latter was invoked when I announced on Super Tuesday that I would never live in a state where Huckabee won the primary.
I'm not a Republican, never was, never will be. What I am however, is a non-Christian. When I heard the excerpt from Huckabee's Michigan speech, a chill went down my spine.
"I have opponents in this race who do not want to change the Constitution. But I believe it's a lot easier to change the Constitution than it would be to change the word of the living god. And that's what we need to do -- to amend the Constitution so it's in God's standards rather than try to change God's standards so it lines up with some contemporary view."
OK, perhaps there are certain types of Jews who may be a bit touchy about the kind of coded language that aims to exclude and/or diminish us. Perhaps there is something genetically implanted that might make one sensitive to the nuances of anti-Semitism or to the thought of living with the Christian American version of Sharia. So, do I dismiss him and his supporters as the lunatic fringe? Or is some measure of paranoia realistic? We all know where complacency gets us: think of the pre-war urban upper-class Jews who didn't believe that lunatic Nazi party would ever affect them. Or the Japanese-Americans who considered themselves Americans first, Japanese second-- right before they were rounded up for the internment camps. Or, for that matter, Muslims living in this country who are about as likely to be terrorists as your local PTA chapter.
Huckabee and his supporters are the kind of Americans who force me to think as a Jew first and an American a distant second; who invoke a fight-or-flight response. I ask both Christians and other non-Christians out there; does anyone else feel paranoid when an estimated 70 million Americans call themselves evangelicals? and roughly 20% of of Republicans planned to vote for Huckabee according to a USA Today poll? I'm definitely not feeling the love.
Joe Conason's article in Salon analyzes Huckabee's "biblical reformation of every aspect of American society' in a way that chills me further. It also brings to the forefront an aspect of the evangelical movement that I have long found abhorrent, which is the assumption that God speaks only to them, God favors only their causes, and, if you will, God has taken sides. Of course, all faith requires certain immovable conviction. I for example, cannot be convinced that Jesus was the Messiah. However, unlike such religious paradises as Saudi Arabia and Iran, this country's Constitution is pretty straightforward about the separation of church and state. Huckabee's Michigan speech says to me nothing less than he is an extremist of the worst kind--he smiles with affable charm and then tells us he'd basically like to overturn the Constitution. People have ended up on Gitmo for less.
If Huckabee still doesn't freak you out, here's some suggested reading:
I was scanning a shoebox-size load of pictures from my father's vast collection and after scanning about 6, I decided there had to be a better way. I mean, 6 at a time on my little flatbed scanner, then into photoshop and finally burning them to DVD. Geeze.
Yes, Virginia, there is a better, nearly as fast (or faster depending on your scanner prowess) and worthwhile way to get all those photos scanned and safely on digital media.
So, at the risk of sounding like an infomercial, I found these guys who will scan, organize and burn all your photos to DVD (there's even a TV-DVD option) and believe me, it's WORTH every penny.
I was a little hesitant to send the whole shoebox, but they held my hand the whole way, even emailing me when the box had arrived. What I got back was a DVD full of memories - and another for my brother.
Now, the only thing we have to decide is what to do with the originals.
This has nothing to do with being a baby boomer--unless our message to the world is 'Slooooow down." Or unless you remember political theatre and 'happenings.' It's another nugget from Mark Hurst's newsletter, goodexperience.com, which directed me to ImprovEverywhere.com, where you can read the story. See the video here:
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check it out on Amazon. 
