Author: Karebare42@aol.com

Last week I was at a very lovely outdoor party and got into an oh-so-serious discussion about an oh-so-relevant topic.  Yep, straws.  We’ve come to this.  Paper vs. plastic.  Rounded the corner on the grocery bags and finally settled on plastic or bring your owns, an announcement to the world that you are quite environmentally conscientious and probably just shop for your cat(s).  But now straws are the problem-oh-the-day.  Or as I like to say RPP.  Rich People Problems.  Similar to trash, we live in a country where people care too much about the logistics of garbage. What to do, what to do? This container, that container.  What goes where and why.  Think think.  My Manfriend even had the audacity to tell me I needed to break down my endless supply of small Prime boxes and risk breaking a nail.  He knows me better then that geesh.  Give me strength.  I don’t give a sh*t about sh*t.  RPP.  I recycle(ish). When I’m not busy and my trash bag is full.  When I’m done contemplating life and need to refocus on something totally mundane.  Zoos are the worst.  They have four different receptacles in which to dispose of your lunch.  And no straws allowed whatsoever.  Makes total sense to me of course, great for small children.  Right.  In many countries, especially the ones with way too many people, they aren’t very serious about garbage.  If there is a drainage ditch behind their house they think they have a bathroom.  When you’re struggling to survive the priority list is a bit different.  The ocean carries all that garbage away away which at the time makes perfect sense.  To people who have real problems.  Paper straws are not good.  They turn to mush and become unusable very quickly.  So then you get another and another and another.  More trash.  At the lovely party, one Person Of Interest received a metal straw from a friend.  With a case.  That you were supposed to carry around with you and reuse.  Dirty.  Enough said.  RPP.  I may or may not have laughed, shook my head, rolled my eyes.  All not too subtle gestures that I’m prone to do.  Somehow, I don’t think that’s the solution.  And it hurt my teeth to even think about.  This brilliant Boomlennial predicts we’ll paper straw for awhile, remember they suck, and go back to plastic.  End of discussion.  Not talk or blogue worthy.  RPP.  Be grateful.

This hot summer has dulled me a bit I fear and sure can’t let that happen. Yet. I’ve taken enough walks on the mild side so was trying to spice things up a bit in a very unwild way.  Let’s not go crazy here.  So I went to see Jurassic World and really liked it!  What’s not to like about big, amazing creatures that can have very interesting personalities.  And eat people.  Ahhhh to be an adolescent boy again. (For all you millions of followers I’m not announcing anything that wild here.)  I’ve seen a lot of movies this year which have been quite good.  And quite adult.  And slowwwww.  And made me think.  What’s with that?  Time for a change.  Going ‘out’ to see a movie was always kind of tricky.  The whole dinner/movie evening was just never a good idea. Dinner first, sleep through the late movie.  Movie first, struggle to see my watch in the dark wanting the movie to end so I could go to dinner #drink.  So the occasional movie I saw had to be a ‘must see’ and I think I just got bad advice.  Most award winners were bizarre, or trying too hard, and sometimes just sucky to this brilliant Boomlennial.  Now, however, I’ve mastered the perfect movie nightish.  That late matinee followed by #drinks and dinner is the way to go.  You get those senior ugh matinee prices, the theater is fairly empty, and you can be entertained with all kinds of random sh*t.  No high expectations.  Enjoy!  Soon the summmer blockbusters will be gone (and what does that word blockbuster refer to anyway???) and the more serious subjects of the deep, dark winter will be upon us.  (That was quite a dramatic sentence.  I do have electricity and heat geesh.  Settle down.)  For now, however, I’m going to expand my genre of movies and hope I don’t start playing video games next.  Or get zits.  Oops, still have those.  Better tread lightly here and simmer that young spirit animal down a bit.  Whoa Nelly.  Do they still make Westerns?  Now that would be ‘must see’.  Bonanza in 3-D hmmm….

I just returned from vacay and never felt so accomplished.  I finally did the deed and can now talk freely about it without remorse.  Gratitude actually.  I did absolutely nothing and that’s ok.  Grandiose even! All my vacations (I use that term loosely) as a child involved one day trips riding coasters or biking around an island looking for another winery.  As an adult, I can still get into that but have always had A Plan.  And many layers within The Plan.  A beach was always my go to, but needed snorkeling or fishing or horses or throwing up in helicopters to make sure I got the whole experience.  Camping and fishing trips were fun until I realized the ground is fricken hard and ended up with more bruises than actual fish.  And who wants to clean and/or eat those smelly things anyway?  So this Bomlennial has given up themed vacays for now, and really did enjoy doing nothing as A PLAN.  Of course one must have a pool and someone serving adult beverages or that would just be a SILLY PLAN.  It’s ok to do nothing(ish).  Walking is fine until you call it hiking and that has to stop.  Pleasant to be on a boat or near a body of water as long as it involves soaking up the ambiance instead of too much water up the nose.  I used to laugh at the people in my childhood hood (will fix that later) who used to just sit in their garages on folding lawn chairs and do nothing.  Or stare at neighbors waiting for something  intersting to happen.  It didn’t.  And yes I would still laugh at them but they are mostly dead and that’s not really a laughing matter, but sitting was an activity to them.  And doing nothing.  I can seldom just do one mindless thing.  I can watch TV, but also have to read a magazine or paper or look at my phone speaking of absolute mindlessness.  So I guess it’s ok to have a week of doing nothing but enjoying my peeps and not worrying about A Plan.  However, I’d really like to go white water rafting.  And my knee hurts.  And I don’t have any bruises whaaaaa.  And just what is at the top of that mountain hmmmmmm.

…..eyes in the back of your head.  I was watching a Person Of Interest backing up a cherry red Bentley into a huge parking space and it was a no go.  Hilarious.  I thought he was purposely trying to take up two spots for ahole reasons, but no.  He got out and mumbled ‘not even close’ and started up once again.  My MF and I just stared in awe.  I may or may not have laughed.  We know the POI so it was ok.  I think.  What was funny/not funny is I do that on a daily basis.  Sober.  I can’t back up.  Dang.  I have cameras and pictures and traffic light colors and bells and whistles and uglier sounds all for naught.  On the line, off the driveway, in the grass, lost in embarrassment even when alone.  Over the years, my garage has taken the brunt of it, followed by mirror(s), mailboxes, tires, curbs, dignity.  I like to think there’s an evolutionary reason for this and I’m on a much higher plane where this skill set is deemed unnecessary.  Huh?  (Sleep on it.)  I even have tricks.  I turn the radio off.  Open the windows.  Decide between watching the camera, mirrors, or just neck aerobics.   All for show, no go.  Once I lost my hearing for a few weeks and someone should have taken my keys away.  (Advice time…..don’t fly when you are sick.  The ear drums don’t respond well.  Of course the other passengers don’t mind a bit).  Say what?  What??  I can’t heeeeear yoooooo.  Anyway, because I couldn’t hear I also couldn’t judge distance and backed right into another car.  Yes that still makes sense to me.  And because no one in the Target parking lot saw it (please don’t be a follower please don’t be a follower) I took off.  Slooooowly.  Looking around.  Still not quite committed to fleeing the crime scene.  But how could I have a conversation with someone like the popo when I couldn’t hear, right?  I wasn’t even old yet so couldn’t fall back on that cliche.  Now I can hear fine.  But still can’t backup.  And don’t have a Bentley.  Or witnesses.  Shhhhh…..

The other morning I was awakened by that horrible sound much earlier then I was prepared for.  And I’m not talking an alarm clock.  If you’ve ever had a lot of construction or yard work at your home you know what I’m talking about.  The dreaded big truck backing up beepbeepbeep?!$?!  It is not a pretty sound.  And it made me cranky.  For awhile.  Then, as is my forte, I tried to put it in perspective.  Sometimes people say they’ve had a bad day.  But, is it really a bad DAY, or a bad five minutes that you’ve  milked for the rest of the day?  Down from the ledge I talked myself.  Be grateful that someone is cutting your lawn.  Why that 7:30 start time is necessary, hmmmm?  I could take a nap later if I’m tired.  Do I ever really take a nap later, no, but I’ll  just throw it out there for myself.  The Boomlennial could have things to complain about if they so choose, and many do.  Yes you might have some physical this and thats, but you also might have some disposable income to get people to cut your grass, plow your snow, or clean your house.  Or you let the snow and dust pile up and hope your neighbors are forgiving or helpful with the yard.  If you want to be really grateful for being so ‘mature’ compare yourself to a teen.  You can no longer get pregnant because your eggs are powdered.  I guess the male species could still manage that task if they have a younger partner who provides a channel that isn’t an echo chamber.  You don’t get carded and don’t have to drink 3.2 beer, which there probably still is but they put an Ultra label on it to pretend it’s tasty.  You can stay out all night, or ten o’clock, whichever comes first.  You have no curfew which the dog understands, an annoyingly forgiving beast.  Be appreciative of the wisdom you have now.  If you had it before,  those teen years would have been a lot less fun.  Or if those teen years weren’t that great, get off you a$$!  Fail better now.  I am wanting to take a riverboat cruise where there are no sickening waves, unless there are some rapids which would be a sight to behold.  The website said awaken your pioneer spirit and I’m there!  Awake!  Awake!  It’s just beneath the surface wanting to float out.  I can churn butter.  Shear riverboat sheep.  Perhaps eat good food and drink great wine, a task I am most proficient at.  And remember wherever you’re at……there is no complaining on the yacht.

If I haven’t lost you yet now might be a good time to bail.  There are certain subjects that you just can’t dress up or find a funny take.  But I will proceed with gusto(ish).  I imagine most Boomlennials have had their crack at caregiving along the way with a host of friends and family that just aren’t as filled with pizzazz as you’d like them to be.  And it’s hard work.  Everybody is focused on the needy one of course, otherwise your job title would be extinct.  Wouldn’t want that to happen, right?  Some days are a complete waste of makeup.  Lou Holtz, a legendary football coach, had a great quote.  Although now that I said legendary I don’t really know what that means.  Or what the legend is.  Could Google of course but I’m thinking I really don’t care that much about him.  Pick your battles.  Anywayyyy, he said “Don’t tell your problems to people.  Eighty percent don’t care, and the other twenty percent are glad you have them.”  I might even reverse those percentages and it would still hold true.  One of my dearests was asked for advice from a younger collegue.  He was struggling with making conversation and small talk in a business setting and wanted some advice.  Even though you won’t find this in any text book it rings true.  Just ask them about themselves.  That’s what they really want to talk about and given the slightest poke they’re off.  True that.  Then you can just sit back and have an imaginary cigarette. Puff.  Who was an imaginary dragon who lived by the sea and frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honilee. People care about themselves sniff.  A topic I’ve toyed with before and can never really find much evidence to refute.  So back to caregiving.  It sucks.  Which is a force of nature or we’d all fall off the earth.  You have to think what another persons needs are above your own. It’s exhausting.  And not fun.  Manure Occureth

I was attending a conference recently where three speakers were on the afternoon agenda, and I gleamed some very valuable insight.  First being, don’t ever sit in the front!!!  I am by nature a back row sitter and that’s where I do my best work.  I try to pay attention, but when my thoughts head south that’s all right.  At peace with my wanderings.  No harm, no foul.  But sitting in the front row is its own special type of hell.  (Too dramatic??)  I sometimes attend church with one of my specials, not for my benefit but because I seldom turn down the first request.  A telemarketers dream child.  In theory I like a rousing hymn, but this particular music is numbing.  Every song has forty-six verses but only twenty-one words.  It repeats and repeats and even the hand raisers and swayers finally give up.  The minister is very charismatic and Greek godish (yes a word)  however, so that keeps me engaged.  Except I usually end up thinking of olive groves and red wine, not the celestial experience I probably should be having at that moment.  But there comes a time when I just long for those three transcendent words, Let Us Pray.  My head drops!  My eyes close!  At that moment I must look like the most devout worshipper.  But alas.  Just a Boomlennial desparately seeking a quick nap.  And it feels so good!  Hallelujah!!  When the praying is over I’m the last to lift my head, and it’s sometimes a feat.  Others are probably praying for me at this point thinking I’m dealing with a lot of struggles.  Oh I’m struggling alright.  Crying out for the next prayer so I can close my eyes again.  So devout!  Okay  back to the conference.  All I wanted was one little prayer.  And to get out of the front row where I had to keep my eyes open and my head upright.  People were encouraged to tweet throughout which I find absolutely rude, but I was ready to dig out my phone and beg forgiveness for whatever might happen next.  Peace be with me.  Amen

As I gear up for a huuuuuge anniversary, I thought it was time to revisit all the blogue posts from the past year and see if they reflected the Boomlennial experience. We’ve repurposed our lives in many unique ways, and I hoped to be a voyeur of our collective journey.  Since I am unencumbered by critical thought, this is the Readers Digest review.  One thing I learned…..I write in really LARGE FONT.  And when I read on a device with normal/small font what I thought was two pages is one way too long paragraph.  Which is okay since every word is brilliant.  Brilliant.  A word used way too often but what’s a brilliant author to do?  It left me sounding more like Dr. Suess than Enest Hemingway, and not quite the tone I was after.  I am currently reading another book about one of Ernest’s four wives and they all had some really cool experiences.  I want to be The Paris Wife not the Love and Ruin one.  Historical fiction but if you are looking for a beach read these are pretty good.  Ernest was quite the scoundrel but bet those women could have written one hell of a blogue.  I digress.  Which I do.  A lot.  The weather affects what I talk about and my mood but I think a lot of us deal with that.   Sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy.  Rainy days and Monday always get me down.  Green eggs and ham makes me sick.  When I’m cranky, I like to talk out my grrrrr in ways that don’t call people out but generalize the situation.  There are many things that frustrate us, some rational, some not so much.  I’ve been trying not to hold grudges because I can go wayyyyyy back.  And do.  More and more I realize, however, that you just become irrelevant.  And that is a better shelf to put you on.  Don’t drink the poison.  My book deal is not quite finalized, so I’m in search of new meat.  Leaving that joke alone.  My followers usually give me some really good material, but the lame stuff somehow finds a voice too.  Such is life.  “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”  #idowanttobedrsuess #hashtagsaresoeasyitscheating

If your head immediately went to Charlotte’s Web and that frisky little spider Charlotte,  you are one lucky dog lucky dog.  It is one of the greatest books of all time that I have read way too many times to brag about.  I also may or may not have read it as an adult. Salutations. As Charlotte says to Wilbur, it’s just a fancy way of saying hello.  And I rather like that greeting a bit better then hey what up?  But just a bit.  My gripe here is about Memorial Day and how we approach it.  Memorial Day was once commonly referred to as Decoration Day.   It is the day to remember and honor those who died while serving in the armed forces.  Cemeteries were decorated with flags on the deceased soldier’s graves.  Over the years the plastic flower and cross business got on board and people visited cemeteries just to remember their own deceased,  as if you need a special day for that.   Over time, however, the day has become the unofficial kickoff to summer and the first long weekend where you don’t have to bundle up or wish you still skied.   Happy happy!!  But…..Happy Memorial Day?  As I was greeted by that last weekend it just had a bit of that ewwww factor.  What is happy about fallen soldiers or dead people?  Wasn’t quite feeling it.  But I have to admit I was enjoying the sun and heat and just being outside.  Happy happy!  Maybe I’m being a stickler here but there has to be a more appropriate greeting to the day.  I don’t really know what that is.  Somber Memorial Day!  Painful Memorial Day!  Many Tears Monday!  Ok I got nothin.  Just a random thought about how the day has evolved over the years.  Unless you have a personal connection, I doubt if you gave fallen soldiers much thought.  No judgement.  I’m sure that’s the norm.  Of course as someone who doesn’t care who dies in a movie as long as the dog lives, I probably should be judged.  I still can’t read Charlotte’s Web without a box of tissues, hello?  I mean Salutations sniff.

While watching a recorded basketball game on TV where it is really all about me and I am featured predominantly or so I think, I had one of those come to Jesus moments.  Wait.  That can’t be right.  I mean I know my dearests are all grown-upish and they named those cool jeans after me, but what up girl?  There was a woman of a certain age in my seat!?!$!! And she looked like she wanted to eat her young, even though the game was fun and exciting.  I just saw the movie Book Club which featured four actresses who are all of that certain age, and they looked gooooood.  I mean Jane Fonda is eighty and except for a scene where she was scurrying out of a hotel like a much younger lass, she pulled it off.  Body doubles need jobs too ya know.   I get good doctors, good lighting, and all the accouterments of bipity bopity boo, but still. Made me kind of cranky and no one wants that.  The movie was actually pretty good once they exhausted every cliche and stereotype of ‘that certain age’.  My Manfriend fell asleep which was probably for the best.  As he likes to remind me ‘you don’t have to tell everything’.  Good point.  Let’s just say the TV camera lies.  Enough said.  Now I’m lusting after the Queen Mary tiara that Megan the Duchess of Sussex wore during her wedding.  The royals know how to showcase themselves and have no problem with more is more, less is a bore.  We should all have titles and I’m constructing one of my own.  Hope it catches on.  Maybe then I won’t be so concerned that riding a golf cart on the course after it rains causes irreparable damage and indentations to the grass. #facesofacertainagearewetsod  #thatswhywedrink