Author: Karebare42@aol.com

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

While staring at the ocean in a lovely spot with turquoise water, I was feeling quite smug about what I was seeing.  Then of course my Manfriend who sees the world through rose-colored glasses, literally, brought me back to reality.  In his world, the water wasn’t just a basic color.  It was neon, and glowing, and almost three dimensional the way it popped.  All the sudden, things changed for me.  I wanted His world.  Mine wasn’t good enough anymore, and I was lusting after something different.  (Of course I am sooooo getting some of those voodoo glasses.)   There are five regions in the world called the Blue Zones where people live a lot longer then anyone else.  They are constantly being studied so we can all share in that elixir that keeps them healthy into their hundreds.  Nothing they do sounds that extraordinarily  different then the blah blah we all hear.  And maybe even follow.  Until we get some horrible disease that makes no sense and leaves us wondering why we didn’t just smoke and eat dessert.  I would like to tell you where these areas are but you’re on your own for this one.  I sometimes wonder what happens to people who have asked me for directions.  I try to be helpful but I have to start marching to know my left from my right.  Left…left….left right left.  Can’t be brilliant at everything I guess.  Anyyyyyway, I have to think these Blue Zone people have to have a mental heads up greater than the general populace.   Just seeing the world in a different comfort zone.  As someone whose decision-making skills sometimes resemble those of a squirrel trying to cross the road, I think that’s how a lot of us live.  Or at least I keep telling myself that.  We stress about everything and nothing.  We stress about stress.    Especially in America, our ancestors had to have passed down some nasty genes.  Too much work to survive.  And not enough turquoise water.  No answers only more ponderings.  Will continue to enjoy my kale with a silent ‘k’, and snag me some of those magic bean sunglasses…..

 

Those are two groups that are quite distinct and will never co-exist.  Terribly territorial and never going to move out of their social caste no matter what life brings them.  Yes the I Have to pick up poop and the I Have Not ever going to do that.  If you’ve ever walked a dog in a public place you know what I mean and your shackles are already up thinking about The Other Kind.  I’m of the persuasion that dog poop is meant to be left on the ground along with the deer poop, goose poop, coyote poop, and all the other creatures who don’t carry around plastic bags to scoop it hurriedly up or face public recrimination.  And for all you non-dog walkers yes this is a thing.  BIG Thing.  Not long ago I was walking my dog in the kind of park without swings and slides but lots and lots of woods and ponds and wildlife that wasn’t on a leash.  My beast did the deed and I continued on when this old lady coming from another direction started screaming at me something I couldn’t really hear.  (She was probably young but when you’re yelling about sh*t it ages you.  Keep this in mind plastic bag fanatics).  I finally got it and was totally speechless which was amazing in itself.  I took my dignified smirk and just kept walking.  She probably hasn’t slept since.   I almost get it if you live in a neighborhood where children play on their lawns and rolling in sh*t is not cool.  In the summer.  When there is grass not covered by a foot of snow.  Yes I am a multiple offender.  When the parks were impassable, I had the brilliant idea to go to a very ritzy neighborhood where they of course would shovel their sidewalks or have their villagers do it. As a bonus I could peek in their windows since it was such a dark day and there would be lights on inside.  Wrong on all counts.  Not that I would actually peek in windows.  What kind of person do you think I am??   (Ok I am).   Anyway, as I’m trying to s-l-o-w-l-y make my way down the icy sidewalk once again my beast gets the calling.  Before he was barely done this youngish guy comes running out of his house yelling at me to pick up the sh*t.  What was really hilarious is the whole time he’s also carrying on that he’s not the type of person to sit in the window just watching for a perpetrator.  Yea, you kinda are.  I was polite.  Told him to get me a bag and I’ll clean it up and maybe he should shovel his sidewalk because I could feel a big fall coming on$$$$.  I cleaned it up.  And walked on.  And walked back.  And threw the bag-oh-sh*t in his bushes and took off.  Don’t tell.  I slept really greatzzzzzz.  Bottom line.  Of course it buys happiness#firstclass#seasontickets#prettyshoes

Ponder that one for a hot minute.  In our present news/fake news culture, I started thinking about leadership and what makes a good leader.  I couldn’t really sort it out.  There’s just some abstract quality that’s hard to pin down.  Similar to pornography (okay nothing like pornography), it’s hard to define but you know it when you see it.  Some leaders are bad bad people but they still have that gift to command an audience.  Charisma.  Je ne sais quoi.  I was thinking of people I know who I consider great leaders.  Totally subjective but hey it’s my blogue.  Many had/have a bit of the crazies in them, which might be a good thing.  Not a cliche.  New voice.  Often times people have a love/hate thing with their leaders because they’re just so compelling.  Tell me don’t tell me.  Guide me don’t guide me.  It starts at a very young age on the playground as the cliques start forming.  In a weird set of circumstances, I became friends with a legendary Ohio State football coach who was a powerful leader on and off the football field.  People were just drawn to him and he knew it and embraced it.  I heard him speak about leadership and his command of the room was amazing.  People were riveted and nothing he said was very profound.  Practical things.  One interesting tidbit I do remember had to do with physical health.  He said if you look back at the good periods of your life, you were probably in good shape.  Everyone smiled as they walked back through the tunnel, and nodded in agreement.  Kind of a mind over matter thing.  If you’re at a good weight, sleeping, eating right, taking care of yourself, the bad things are just a bit easier to deal with.  Taking control of your life.  Being a leader in your own world with your family,  coworkers, friends.  Enemies.  Today a quote popped up on my Facebook page that I’m desperately trying to work into this narrative, but somehow my mind keeps coming up with porn references which are quite funny btw but trying to keep this classy.  And thought provoking.  “You don’t know strength until strength is the only choice you have”  -not Larry Flynt

Not really.  That would be one lame party.  I have lost all perception of time.  Prince died two years ago but it feels like it could have been two months ago.  To his dearests (which he didn’t seem to have too many of hmmmm) it probably seems like a lifetime ago.  I just can’t put things on a timeline anymore without a lot of deep thought into whowhatwherewhen.  I was talking with a group of pretend people the other day (got called out for kind of naming names so being careful here) and got into the ‘age’ discussion.   The PP are younger than me so have their own time awareness. They had gone to the 9/11 Memorial which I would imagine is pretty chilling to those of us who remember every bit of that life-changing event.  Our innocence of the world was gone and made flying an annoying experience.  (Yes I’m quite shallow.)    The PP were saying though how the ‘young’ people at the Memorial were taking selfies and playing around and had no perspective because they didn’t live the event.  It was probably just a history test or term paper to them.  Lost in time.  Most Boomlennials remember the Vietnam war in different ways depending on your age since it dragged on so long.   Even though more than 56,000 young people were killed it’s been pretty much glossed over.  I went to the Vietnam Memorial as an adult and just cried because people were leaving tennis shoes and ball gloves and ‘toys’ and it made me realize for the first time these were KIDS that were being plucked out of high school and sent to the jungle to kill other kids.  As a twelve year old it just seemed like Big Men Soldiers.  No one younger than the wise Boomlennial even understands what a military draft is and it’s scary as heck.  You turn eighteen, get a random draft number, if it’s low sucks to be you byebye.  So back to time perception.  Or lack thereof.  Too hard to place things without some kind of context.  Maybe that’s natures way of clearing out some of the clutter in your brain to keep it current.  Does it really matter when Prince died?  And what is Purple Rain anyway?  Delete

And Facebook.  Yes there is a correlation and I’ll get there eventually.  I hope.  Facebook and Mark Z have been lambasted for privacy issues and basically selling your darkest secrets to the world.  Although I am a truly brilliant Boomlennial, did anyone really think all those targeted ads were just popping up randomly??  I don’t even think FB was trying to hide that it is a data-seeking machine that almost screams at you to tell more….  I have taken a quiz or two (or twenty) to find out where my doppelgänger lives.  Or what my manfriend’s tie length says about him.  (All true).  Silly stuff that is fun and games until it’s not.   The blatant information cultivating surveys don’t even try to sneak in the back door.  You are asked ‘what are twenty things no one knows about you’ or some other data beg.  People answer.  And strong arm their friends into answering with some threatening language alleging you really don’t care about me if you don’t play.  The ads just start popping.  Red lips you say??  Try this gorgeous color that Melania also wears.  George Clooney does want you.  (Also true).  Join this dating site.  Yet Mark Z was grilled by grand-standing politicos who didn’t seem to quite understand what Facebook is,  and MZ was cleaned and shined and used his best serious voice while trying hard not to roll his eyes.  I did it for him.   Geesh.  Maybe because I work in a field that is data driven, I know how little privacy I have.  Unless a person is totally off the grid without a phone or address and eating berries and wiping with leaves, everything/everywhere/everyevery is tracked and pretty easy to buy.  While MZ took the heat, the other gazillion apps wiped their brows.  You might think it’s the beginning of the end, but more like the middle of the end.  Quietly quietly churning through data.  Which brings me to The Four Food Groups.  (Bet you forgot tsk tsk).  FB had one of those little quizzes asking what one thing could I give up.  Choices:  coffee, chocolate, cheese, wine.  Noooo I cried!  More choices!!!  I’ll give up chicken!  Tastes like chicken.  Beef!  Gives me the meat sweats.  Fish!  They are cannibals that eat their own and taste like it.  What is FB trying to learn from me by digging into my modis operandi??   I didn’t take the survey because sadly my will to live would have gone with it.  But it probably would have benefitted me somehow because I actually like targeted marketing.  Let someone else do the leg work.  Here’s a tip I learned too late.  If you are looking for sporting apparel, don’t type in Dicks.   That can never end well….