All posts by Bonnie Anderson

Bonnie and Kim Go to Yosemite! (Part 1)

Preface: If you are a regular reader, you know that I travel a fair amount, usually with my husband. This is helpful in many ways, but none more than in his ability to read a map and know which way is north. I am directionally challenged and get overwhelmed when I’m taking in a lot of information. He keeps me headed in the right direction and has almost an eidetic memory when it comes to geography.

“Really?” you may ask. Well, that is my opinion but don’t tell him because it will go right to his head. Even if he doesn’t, he makes his claims of what-is-what with such certainty that I rarely question him. Then I can go merrily on my way to whatever comes up next.

On this trip, Bob was not my travel partner. I was privileged to travel with my friend, Kim, who is also somewhat navigationally impaired. But I digress. First let me tell you where I went, but savvy reader, I know you are quite the smart cookie, I’ll bet you already know. Following is the account of my trip:

Yosemite rocks! My jaw dropped at the fresh beauty of every turn, but after three and a half days of taking it all in, I remained confused as to the true identity of the granite wonders. You might take it for granted that I could identify the main rock formations and waterfalls since I have been to Yosemite twice, but it’s been twenty years, so I needed to refresh my knowledge. There are a lot of players, so I knew I’d need to smarten up a bit. No problem I have a smart phone.

Smart. That versatile little adjective. One can be a smart aleck, a smarty pants, book smart, street smart, regular smart, i.e. intelligent, or a smart dresser. While I may not be considered a smart dresser in my travel outfit, I made smart choices of walking sandals paired with compression hose for my cross-continental flight. Since San Jose, CA, was hitting 100 degrees when I landed, I could easily let my Florida feet out of their confines once I disembarked from the plane.

One can and likely does have a smart phone, which should make the owner appear even smarter with all the knowledge of the universe in the palm of your hand.

It doesn’t always work that way, though.

I was stoked to embark on a trip to Yosemite with my friend of many decades, Kim Sutter. Kim was having quite the adventure retracing the eight-week trip which her grandmother and her grandmother’s friend made from Michigan westward through many national parks in 1930. Unheard of at a time when most women didn’t know how to drive, these intrepid twenty-something year-olds drove a 1929 Model-A Ford Standard Coupe and were guided by a 1930 Shell Oil Company map. Kim and I traveled in an air-conditioned Toyota RAV4, which is quite the improvement.

Kim, who lives in Oklahoma and is a member of my zoom writers’ group, is writing a book about these parallel adventures and the impact her grandmother had on her life. Her journey was the best kind of research and extremely well-planned by my super-organized friend. As with any trip, there were a few things for which she could not have planned. Not unlike the deaths of celebrities, Kim’s changes of plans came close together and in a set of three.

Thankfully they weren’t as dire as someone dying, but they did involve a death of Kim’s original plan. Each of her two adult daughters and her mother had been set to do separate legs of the trip with Kim. All three of these women had circumstances prevent them from the original plan within about two weeks of Kim’s scheduled departure. Kim called me to give me the updates and I could hear the sadness in her voice. Yet, she was determined that God knew what the plan ultimately would be and that she would take the fifty-day trek on her own. She is brave.

As I recounted these new details to Bob and told him I wished I could go be with my friend, I could see that travel spark in his eyes. Within a couple of hours, we were on the phone with Kim proposing that I join her in Yosemite and encouraging her to take a few days to respond to our idea so she wouldn’t feel put on the spot. Long story short, I booked a flight to California.

It had been years since Kim and I were together in person. Our journey together was easy, and our conversations covered a wide span as we took in the beauty of Northern California.

Cedar Lodge in El Portal is one of the closer hotels to Yosemite National Park – a lovely 15-minute drive to the entrance. It affords exquisite views of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, some of which we could see through the gaps around the entry door to our room. If you are staying near the national parks, you should know that the hotels are pricey and may not have had updates since the Roosevelt administration, but that’s part of the historic charm of the areas.

We assumed that the flying insects around the light fixtures in our room, which must have found entry through our door-gap view of the mountains, were part of the outdoor experience. Kim admitted she did not pay extra for them. The insects were on the house.

Access to the internet should also not be assumed when traveling to these remote areas. I inquired of our innkeeper if there was a maximum number of devices per room to obtain use of Wi-Fi. He laughed out loud, which disturbed the lobby full of people who were trying to get close to the hotel’s Wi-Fi source. Kim and I found three usable outlets to charge our devices (one in the bathroom and another hidden behind my bed). Reminding yourself that you are roughing it and seeing some of the most beautiful sights which God created is helpful to keep things in perspective. Kim’s grandmother would have gotten a kick out of our lack of modern conveniences.

Although I can pull up a map on my phone that shows grids for ease of navigation, much of Yosemite was off the grid, so checking in with the park ranger is a smart thing to do. While their maps are not inclusive of every turn, they are vital to getting around because sometimes signage can be missed while you are gawking at the latest magnificent waterfall or rock formation.

Bridalveil Falls was the highlight of the waterfalls for us, mainly because the other falls we could have seen were dry due to a prolonged dry season. You can see from the picture how wide the falls typically can be.

One day while we were finalizing our plans with Ranger Mark, I asked him to help me identify the main rock formations. My smart phone was driving me crazy.

Half Dome

Three of the most famous rock formations of Yosemite are Half Dome, El Capitan, and the Three Brothers. Half Dome looms large over the park at 5000 feet over the valley floor. My iPhone is obsessed with Half Dome. I showed Ranger Mark my picture of what I thought was El Capitan, which I had captured outside of the Yosemite Valley Welcome Center. I clicked the little i icon and it revealed the landmark Half Dome. I clicked on a different picture of El Capitan, and it said Yosemite National Park. Ranger Mark assured me that my picture was not Half Dome, as my alleged smartphone claimed. It was El Capitan. Half Dome may be the big deal of the day, but it is not everything!

El Capitan

My conclusion is that my smartphone is not all-knowing and Ranger Mark agrees. He said I should report it but that sounded like work to me, and I was on vacation!

Instead, I bought myself a handy-dandy rock identifier to help me along my way. But now I have doubts, and I am still semi-obsessed with having my iPhone identify things correctly.

This morning before I sat down to write this post, I took a picture of a bird on my feeder. I used my iPhone, of course, and zoomed in and then clicked the stupid little icon to identify the bird. It said, “Look up landmark.” This was not helpful, but I did take the time to report it to the good people at Apple. They need to get their act together before the whole world is unable to tell the difference between El Capitan and Half Dome. At least the phone did not identify the bird on my feeder as Half Dome.

For now, I’ll leave you with a cliffhanger appropriate to the park. Will Bonnie ever figure out the names of the rocks? Part 2 is to come…

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by Bonnie Anderson on October 31, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in Friendship, National Parks, Stuff I Go Through
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on October 31, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/10/31/bonnie-and-kim-go-to-yosemite-part-1/

Burp

The party’s over. We had a good run – one with a lifetime guarantee against chipping, cracking, breaking, or peeling. Tupperware has filed for bankruptcy.*

I wish I could give a 21-bowl burp salute to Earl Tupper, the chemist who in 1946 brought us the polyethylene bowls that would change the way people stored and served food, and the man who taught us to burp the air out of our Tupperware bowls to seal in freshness. Separate honors should go to Brownie Wise, who created the Tupperware home party.

“What is a home party?” the young person asked.

It’s a form of direct sales that took place in the second part of the 20th century which consisted of a dealer (not drug dealer) of particular merchandise who would bring their wares into a home for demonstrations. The dealer would arrive at the home of a hostess (in my four years as a Tupperware dealer I only had one male host a party for me). The hostess would invite friends, neighbors, and workmates. I’d play games with them, have giveaways, demonstrate our products, and sell plastic containers.

When I was a young mom, I attended many different home parties. There were Longaberger baskets, which Bob discouraged me from because they were super pricey. Mary Kay was popular. There was Princess House, which sold crystal. Having a family of four young kids didn’t exactly draw me to those parties, but I was always drawn to Tupperware. It fit my lifestyle.

At one point in the late 1980s, I was trying to figure out how I could augment our family budget without going back to work. I loved being a stay-at-home mom, so when I was at a Tupperware party and the dealer talked to us about possibly doing this ourselves on our own schedule, I was intrigued.

I talked to Bob, and we decided to give it a go. I say “we” because it would require me being gone at night to do maybe two parties a week after he got home from work. We would do a tag-team thing and see how it worked out. Our four kids ranged from one to nine years old.

It was more successful than I could have imagined and suddenly I had more parties than I truly wanted, but we looked at it as God’s provision for helping us knock out our debt. It was work, but it was fun, too. I loved playing games with the guests at the parties so they could win the prized kitchen gadgets. Demonstrating the Tupperware products was second nature as I was constantly in the kitchen at that time of life.

The practical luncheon plates, cereal bowls, and bell tumblers came in four different colors. This was perfect for our family as I assigned each child their own color, thereby making it easy to see who had not cleared their dishes. My daughter was assigned pink, which she hated, but she was the only girl and using a pink plate was her cross to bear. Plus, it made a fun story at parties. I sold a lot of plates.

Me demonstrating a colander at an outdoor party circa 1990.

Tupperware introduced a microwave cooking product line – Tupperwave. I taught microwave cooking classes at some of my parties. The irony of a person who only had a microwave for a year or two and mainly used it to reheat or employ its easy-to-use timer is not lost on me. I learned along the way.

Soon I was approached to manage my own team, which I did not want to do. It required more time away from the family in the way of team meetings. Tupperware franchise owners had goals to meet, so I was granted manager status without having to attend those extra things. I’m sure that didn’t make me popular at the time, but it did afford me the opportunity to qualify for the Tupperware minivan. I was hitting my stride.

My biggest week of sales was over $3000 dollars. That was in the late 1980s. The delivery method started with the dealer going to the dealership and picking up all that Tupperware, which was thrown in large boxes to be sorted. I barely could fit them in my car. Before I could do inventory and pack out individual orders, I came down with the flu and was in bed with a high fever. Poor Bob had to pack all the orders. We were a team.

Late 1980’s me at a national Tupperware convention in Orlando.

As the saying goes, Tupperware has been very good to me. I’ll bet if you look in your cupboard, you’ll find some well-used pieces, too. Most of mine are over thirty years old and still going strong. We particularly loved the gadgets. When I found my Tupperware funnel in the garage being used for oil replacement, I was glad I was a dealer and could replace the coveted item. Bob was glad, too. Now, if I can find out what he did with my one-cup dry measure. I know it’s out there somewhere!

Tupperware freezer mates keep 1:25 lbs. of ground beef frozen. I don’t know what I’d do without these.

Recently I was posting on Nextdoor, and I was contacted by a woman who asked, “Do you remember me? I was one of your dealers while I was in college?” I did remember her. Now she is a grandmother. That was sobering!

We all get older if God allows. We change. We don’t look or function the same way we did decades ago. Sometimes we burp out loud or smell like Listerine and Icy Hot. Sometimes we get icky sticky like a vintage Tupperware bowl. There is no amount of baking soda paste that can get rid of that. If that’s combined with that funky old-Tupperware smell, against which there is no guarantee, it gets chucked into the garbage.

Like me, Tupperware lives on, even if at some point that lifetime guarantee cannot be claimed. (My lifetime guarantee is Jesus, so I’m good.) We still have function even if our fashion has changed. And if we get to smelling funky or feeling sticky, like we’ve been out cleaning debris from a hurricane, we can take a shower and start again the next day.

*This doesn’t mean Tupperware is completely gone. As recently as this week I have contacted them to have a cracked piece replaced. I figure it might not pay to wait. There is also a report of Tupperware potentially being bought.

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by Bonnie Anderson on October 24, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in Current Events, Family, Stuff I Go Through
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on October 24, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/10/24/burp/

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Go O’s! My family are lifelong Oriole fans, and my mother is the leader of the pack. I have fond and confusing memories from when I was a kid back in the sixties. I would knock on her bedroom door late at night and find her listening to the ballgame on the radio in the dark while wearing her glasses. She said it helped her to focus, and you do what you do to keep your eye on the ball when it’s dark and you can only hear the game.

A few weeks ago, Bob and I ventured to my home state of Maryland for my fiftieth high school reunion. It was held in Annapolis, just down the road from where I was born and close enough to Camden Yards in downtown Baltimore for us to stay over a few days and catch a game.

I was super excited. Bob and I had on matching orange Oriole shirts, and I donned my thirty-year-old Oriole earrings and a brand-new, flowered Oriole ballcap. We had front-row seats down from the third baseline near the foul pole – a great view of our favorite left fielder, Colton Cowser. Unfortunately, he didn’t start that day.

That was the least of the disappointments for us that drizzly Tuesday night in Baltimore, but there was a silver lining on all those rain clouds and all that was required to take advantage of it was showing up at the stadium two hours early and waiting in a light rain to take advantage of the first ever Oriole’s Yard Sale. Usually, you have to pay for things at a Yard Sale, but this one promised free overstock giveaways. That was right up my alley and totally worth a long wait in the rain.

We made friends with people in line who were season ticket holders, and they showed us the ropes, including how to sneak a cowbell into the stadium. They were our escorts to the “sale.”

The cowbell was a gift from my sister Linda to Bob and was in honor of Colton Cowser. When Cowser comes to the plate, the entire stadium moos (not to be confused with boos). People come dressed like a milkman and there are cow prints dotted throughout the stadium. Linda gave Bob a cow-print hat, too. It was a shame that Colton didn’t start. He was one of many not in the starting line-up due to injury or manager’s decision.

The Oriole mascot showed up in the stands behind us. Note the cow headgear.

But back to our SWAG. Our arms were overflowing with 6 t-shirts, 2 ball caps, 2 mini tote bags, 2 water bottles, 2 Oriole Hawaiian shirts, 2 ski caps, and 0 bobbleheads (You can’t have everything!)

After standing in line for quite a while to receive our SWAG, a nice young man escorted us to our seats and even used a chamois to wipe them off for us, but our hands were so full and everything was so wet, we could not put anything down. Bob managed the loot while I hightailed it to the Fanatic Store to buy a tote bag, which they did not have on supply, but they happily gave me a big shopping bag.

We crammed our stuff in the bag and were able to sit down and take in the enormity of the stadium. The distance from home plate to the outfield corners and the center field wall is much greater than it appears on television. The distance from our seats, which were protected by a net to keep us from being beaned by an errant outfield hit, was also greater than we figured it would be. Bob and I looked at each other and said, “We’ll never be able to see what’s going on from out here.” The one thing we could appreciate from our angle was how fast the pitches were. Amazing.

Our original plan was to eat at Boog’s BBQ. Boog Powell is the renowned Oriole first baseman of my childhood during the glory days of the Orioles. He was quite the power hitter, and I met him once at Boog’s BBQ 17 years ago. I don’t think he remembers. The garage sale took too much time, so we opted for chicken nuggets, a cold hotdog, fries and drinks. This was one of the most expensive meals of our trip, but we were at a ball game!

Two years ago, the Orioles showed signs of being a good team again. It had been a long rebuilding time. Then came last year. They were exciting from the get-go, and we followed them all the way to the playoffs. Shortstop Gunnar Henderson was named rookie of the year. I was proud to wear my Oriole shirts in public again. In prior years whenever I wore Oriole garb, I was greeted with shaking of heads and maybe next year. It was rough.

This year they started off with a bang, which led to a fizzle after the mid-season All Star game in July, which I blame partially on ESPN giving Gunnar Henderson custom-made shoes with a Lego motif. Gunnar’s game fell apart like an imitation Lego tower. Poor Gunnar. (I hate you ESPN.) Thankfully, we had such a big lead in our division that it was enough to keep us in the playoffs even if we didn’t win the division. (As I type this, our season is over much too quickly. Maybe next year!)

Going to a ballpark is a different experience from watching a game on TV. While television is preferred if you want to see everything, have a bathroom handy, not pay $12 for a hot dog, or not walk through the streets of Baltimore at night on your way back to the hotel, there’s nothing like the roar of the crowd and the sound of the organ to put you in the mood for a game, plus they showed us o TV.

Where else but at an Oriole game would everyone stand and actually sing the National Anthem. I mean everyone. I loved it. At the part of the song that goes “O, say does that star-spangled,” everyone yells “O.” It’s Oriole tradition. It’s fun. It’s America at its silliest and finest. I love it and I’m glad we went, regardless of the 10-0 loss. Maybe I’ll go again in another 17 years.

Bob and I, no worse for the wear, on Eutaw Street after the game.

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by Bonnie Anderson on October 16, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in People that I Meet, Sports, Stuff I Go Through
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on October 16, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/10/16/take-me-out-to-the-ballgame/

Cozy Conflicts

As I sit at my computer typing this post, I am looking at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park and my backyard. The view of my backyard needs no explanation, of course. My water bottle cozy which dons a rendering of that national park explains the rest. Plus, it makes me happy. A pair of nene (Hawaiian geese) are observing the eruption and yet somehow choose not to flee the scene even though they can fly. I smile. Silly goose. Silly artist.

Two years ago, Bob and I visited that park, and we saw the nene. Now I can look at it from the cover of my sweating water bottle all the while keeping my hands dry. It’s a modern-day, neoprene convenience which is underappreciated. I mean, no more wet hands from drinking a cold drink from a disposable can or bottle, plus you know which drink is yours. It truly is the simple things that can bring happiness.

I used to collect mugs from places we visited, but that practice filled our cabinets to overflowing. Transporting the breakable and bulky souvenirs in my luggage was also problematic. I need to confess right here and now, though, that I do on occasion grab a mug from our travels. When I do, I promise myself that I will get rid of another mug to keep the mug population down to a minimum. That reminds me, I need to go throw out a couple of mugs when I finish writing this, but I digress.

Collecting can koozies® just makes sense, except for one thing. That is the great controversy surrounding their names. Koozie is a trademark. Similar products may be called a coozie or a cozy, but they are simply avoiding trademark infringement. I’m not sure how that all works, but to me it’s like calling a tissue a Kleenex or a copier a Xerox machine, or even worse since I am a former Tupperware dealer, a plastic container Tupperware. You get the picture, and there I go again.

I don’t like to bring up the past, especially if it makes me look like an out-of-control idiot, but collecting things makes me happy. Can koozies offer a great improvement over other things I’ve collected, such as the over-priced yet adorable Lizzie High dolls, or Great Era and Christmas Barbie dolls which needed to remain NRFB (never removed from box), and two of which are currently on a top closet shelf, largely forgotten and their fate undetermined since all my granddaughters have outgrown that stuff and I forgot to pass them along. Or there were the happy meal toys which I collected when my kids were young. I always got myself a meal so I could have the satisfaction of completing the collection all the while eating cheeseburgers and fries every Friday with my kids.

Now I try to limit myself to collecting koozies and friends. The koozies fit nicely in a kitchen drawer and the friends fit nicely in my life without taking up cabinet space.

My friend, Doug, knew of my cozy collection, so he added a couple of dozen freebees which he had gathered over the years. That’s why I have some random racing cozies, which I try to relegate to my car, because I don’t care if they get left somewhere. Sorry, Doug.

By now you have probably forgotten the name of this post and how it fits into this rambling story. Cozy conflict is what happens when I accidentally drink out of Bob’s koozie-covered water bottle right after he has taken his daily dose of dozens of pills, including fish oil, or worse when he accidentally uses my water bottle to take his pills.

Lightbulb moment: I have just come to the realization that while I have collected weird stuff in my life, for instance bottle caps when I was a kid, Bob collects pills – both prescription and supplements. His collection is large, but it seems to be keeping him alive, so no complaints there. But fish oil leaves an awful taste in my mouth, that is why I refuse to take it. When Bob accidentally picks up my Hawaii Volcanoes koozie instead of his Sedona, Arizona, one, which looks strikingly similar to Hawaii, I know there has been fish oil in the proximity of my water bottle.

Of course, Bob is emphatic that he doesn’t backwash, and I choose to believe him. Fish oil seems to have an overwhelming presence that defies all backwashing principles and gets its essence into Bob’s water bottle somehow. My disdain at tasting fish oil is always obvious and confusing to Bob. How can I be that sensitive? Yet, he chooses to believe me when I tell him that I sense it like a dolphin senses whatever dolphin chase down to eat. (Forgive me for not googling that.) This is why we have a strong marriage.

While we’re on the topic of water bottles, I apologize to the planet for the number of them that we use. We do recycle, but it’s dubious how effective that is. Bob, on the other hand, will use the same water bottle all day long. He refills it from the filtered water in the refrigerator. Sometimes he may use the bottle for multiple days until I see a police-like line-up of them in the refrigerator – his way of keeping them cool. Then some will mysteriously disappear with a slight-of-hand my magician father would have appreciated.

None of this is a big deal in our 49-year-old marriage. It is part of the quirks which I get to share on my blog but he does not because he doesn’t write a blog. To sum up: Bob drinks a lot of water and has no concept of can koozie etiquette. It’s his one and only fault. (Need I mention here that Bob reads my blog?)

So, if you come to my house and find or leave a water bottle around, no worries. Bob will take care of it for you unless I find it first and water the plants with it. Bob would just drink it or put it in the line-up.

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by Bonnie Anderson on September 12, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in marriage, National Parks
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on September 12, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/09/12/cozy-conflicts/

Always Looking for a Sign

The signage in the United Kingdom is wee bit more polite than here in the States. I particularly liked this first sign, which was at the soup bar at the Royal Aberdeen Golf Club. I thought this reflected the idea of living in the moment quite well. Anybody can plan for a soup of the day, but this sign tells me that things can change anytime. How exciting!

Then there are confusing, weird signs. I did not see any pelicans, humped or otherwise as we walked the streets of Inverness, Scotland, but I’m told this is just a pedestrian crossing with a light where you can push the button to gain right-of-way and cross the street. By the time we made it to the actual crossing, I wanted to cross the street like a pelican, but that wasn’t the correct direction for us, and besides, I can’t fly. That brings the question of why pelicans would need a crosswalk at all.

Yield! That’s so abrupt it’s borderline rude. How about we give way to each other instead.

I don’t think the US would use signage like this. Somebody would get offended, and an exact definition of elderly would be debated to death. Then again, there would be those who want to take advantage of a crossing area if it were exclusively for the elderly, and they aren’t really old enough to be considered elderly yet – like asking for a senior discount when you’re not quite there yet. But this sign on a street in Aberdeen, Scotland, is not just a crosswalk. It puts you on alert that the elderly are around, and you better watch out for them. Take that to mean what you will. Be observant of elderly people as they may not move quickly or hear well. Or, watch out for the crotchety old person who may hit you with a cane.

Contrast these interesting signs with a recycled (reused) one in my neighborhood. The primary election is over, so why not put a difficult to read sign along the road to make people slow down and possibly rear-end each other. I asked Bob to pull over so I could snap a photo.

Kitten Crossing – Drive Slowly!

I read the sign to Bob. “Kitten crossing. Drive slowly!”

Bob – “If they’re worried, they should leash the kittens.”

Me – “They don’t lease kittens. You have to buy them or get one free somewhere.”

Bob – no words. Just the sound of me laughing hysterically.

Enjoy your day!

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by Bonnie Anderson on September 5, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, The United Kingdom
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on September 5, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/09/05/always-looking-for-a-sign/

50 years of Pinochle

At 15 years of age, I was not yet allowed to go on a proper date, but Bob could come to our house and hang out. That was the set-up for double dating with my grandparents, who lived with us at the time.

I had long observed the fun my parents and grandparents had while playing that weird card game with the funny name, pinochle. Not only did the deck consist of 48 rather than the standard 52 cards, but they only spanned from nine to ace, and there were two of each. There was bidding involved, after which they would put down and count their meld (the cards that were shown on the table before taking tricks). Counting meld values was not like anything I had seen before – 2, 6, 21, 28. Not too educational and above my head as a kid. Then they’d pick up the meld, place it back in their playing hand, and start the trick-taking part of the game. Points would be counted and then they’d see if they “made” their bid.

For my parents and grandparents, it was their “thing.” My siblings and I were never allowed to play, but I can remember standing next to my grandfather (the kindest man in the world) and watching. I remember laughter – lots of it. Now and then I heard my feisty grandmother accuse the guys of cheating when she and mom would lose a hand. (The ladies always teamed up against the men.) Sometimes she would get up and walk around her chair to change the outcome of a game if she and my mom were losing. You do what you can!

Mom and Dad never offered to teach me to play, and I get that. It’s a little complicated and this game was a way of relaxing for them. Teaching teenagers a challenging game at the end of a workday would not be relaxing; but when Bob started hanging around our house, my grandparents taught us. This is my best example of how grandparents, having more time on their hands than parents, can be more patient and long-suffering with kids and, frankly, give the poor exhausted parents a little break. We had a blast with them.

Bob was not around his grandparents much when he was a kid, so my grandparents became his. My grandfather loved Bob, and years later when Bob asked me to marry him, he got the blessing of my grandfather who told me that Bob was a good man. When Grandpop’s health began to fade and it was time to pass things along or throw things away, he gave Bob his “office.” This consisted of the desk that Grandpop sat at to pay his bills and do correspondence. It was a cheap old thing but packed with meaning.

In 2014 my daughter, Dena, and I chalk painted the desk and it has new life at her house. With four children, you can always use an extra desk.

My children watched Bob and I play pinochle with my parents their entire childhood. When they started dating seriously, they asked us to teach them. At least I think they asked, Bob and I may have forced it upon them. Playing cards is a great way of spending time getting to know each other. Also, if you can’t hold your own playing a game with us, you really should know that before becoming part of our family. They needed to go into marriage with eyes wide open. I’m not saying we’re competitive, but our friends would.

We play pinochle regularly with three out of four of our children. Perhaps we were too worn out to teach the youngest to play. I do remember offering when he was engaged to be married, but that was a time when all kinds of new-fangled games were coming onto the scene, and somehow, we never pressed it. Thankfully, we have other games to play with them, so the day is saved!

Our daughter’s children have asked if they can learn to play, and she has told them that will come when they have an intended spouse. It’s either a rite of passage for them, or Dena and her husband are waiting for Bob and me to teach them. It’s hard to say.

I’m not sure I’m ready for that because since those days of playing single deck (48 cards) with my parents and teaching our children, we have upped the difficulty by playing double deck – that’s 80 cards. The nines are removed and now there are four of each card jack to ace. You have 20 cards to hold in your hand at the beginning and that’s challenging in itself. The bidding is competitive instead of one bid per person. I confess to loving this game even more than the original, but my hands get tired and it’s challenging to shuffle all those cards, Still – worth it!

My first and only time getting quadruple pinochle back in 2017. That’s my “take that” look as Dena and I collected the 150 points for the quadruple pinochle plus an additional eight for double marriage in trump. If you don’t play the game, you may be getting an idea of how complicated it is.*

Just last week Bob and I were at our son, Jesse’s, house playing with him and his wife. Dacia and I always team up against the men, just like my grandparents and parents did before us. The guys won the first game (we play to 350), but it was relatively quick, so we played another. Dacia and I were losing badly when I got the hand. THE HAND! I could not tell my partner, of course, but I was ready to bid all night.

You may know nothing about pinochle but let me tell you that when I got a double run (150 points) with other meld to boot, we went from the cellar to the ceiling and won the game in style. Take that! Yes, gloating is an important part of this game. It is expected and tolerated, because if it’s not your turn to gloat this time, there’s always the next game. And I mean always.

*We have found variations of scoring in different websites, but as with so many friendly games, we use established house rules. That’s to keep us kind.

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by Bonnie Anderson on August 29, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Family, gaming, grandchildren
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on August 29, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/08/29/50-years-of-pinochle/

My Apologies, Edinburgh

In one fast-paced moment of banter with my grown son, I have lost my opportunity to become the poster child for American Ambassador to Scotland. In the category, I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth, on one fine, Sunday evening in June, I proved to waiting diners on the streets of Edinburgh that Americans are full of themselves.

My fellow Americans, I’m sorry. I did not represent you well.

In my defense, I have been fielding set-ups from my son, Jesse, for most of his 45 years – at least the last 30. So, the fact we were surrounded by strangers in a foreign land didn’t stop my brain, which has been programmed to instruct my mouth to play along with my adult children’s comments, from issuing a quick, snide remark. Evidently, there is no stopping it.

Allow me to set the scene for you. It was the final day of our two-week Scotland trip, which was mostly a golf trip for my husband, son, and two grandsons. Not that my daughter-in-law, Dacia, and I didn’t have a good time. We did, in spite of the fact that I not only contracted food poisoning from the supposed healthiest choice of dinner that I made the entire trip, but also came down with COVID. The latter was unbeknownst to me. I figured I was taking my typically long time to recover from jet lag combined with a head cold. The day I slept until 6 PM should have been a clue, but I think the drizzly, cold Scottish weather literally put a damper on my thinking skills and made it easy to sleep the day away.


When I finally emerged from my room, the kind waitress had the chef make me a scone and tea, which is always good for what ails you.

But I digress. Sorry.

Somehow on that last evening, my husband and I were in the front of our six-person pack of Americans as we walked to our chosen restaurant for dinner. Our grandsons were behind us and Jesse and Dacia a bit behind them. As we approached the restaurant, we could see a gathering of people at the door. We weren’t sure if they were waiting to get in, reading the posted menu, or what; but we were happy we had made a reservation.

Noticing nobody standing at the podium inside the door, Bob and I excused ourselves as we parted the Red Sea of people and opened the door to go inside. That’s when I heard my son’s voice yell out, “Hey, no cuts.”

With no regard to the public place that we inhabited, I answered, “We’re Americans. It’s okay if we cut in lines.”

I whispered to the man closest to us that it was my son back there and we had reservations, but he didn’t appear to hear me. In hindsight, he was probably a wee bit appalled by my wry statement.

Meanwhile, Bob didn’t hear what was going on between Jesse and me as he was already getting us checked in. He turned and hurried me through the door.

This left Jesse in the midst of a group of flabbergasted people fielding comments such as, “Do you think she really meant that?” “Is this a joke?”

At this I think Jesse just shook his head and refused to come to my, or for that matter America’s, rescue. He may have even joined them in their dismay of my retort before he joined us inside. This was likely one of the highlights of our trip for him.

So, if you go to Scotland, particularly Edinburgh, please try to make up for the goodwill damage which I caused in one playful moment with my son. The people of Scotland are some of the friendliest I have ever met, so I think they’ll forgive me. I bet I gave them a good story about a stupid, privileged American though! I know my son enjoyed it.

Victoria Street, Edinburgh

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by Bonnie Anderson on August 22, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in Europe, Family, The United Kingdom
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on August 22, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/08/22/an-american-in-edinburgh/

Sometimes I Could just Scream!

January started off active for Bob and me. He had been suffering with issues from pinched nerves in his neck for some time and finally succumbed to fusion surgery. It went well, and he was told to rest and no driving for six weeks. Several days after the surgery, he noticed one of the veins in his arm had become more pronounced than usual and was uncomfortable. We were off to get an ultrasound – doctor’s orders.

It was convenient for me to drop him off as I had a doctor’s appointment just a few miles away from the imaging center. (Such is life for the over 65 crowd.) It was even more convenient when, as I was talking to our doctor (who’s also our friend) at the end of my visit, his nurse received a call saying that Bob needed to go to the ER. That place on his arm was a blood clot. I was literally talking to the doctor when the call came in. I would be there in less than 10 minutes.

I don’t know much about blood clots except they can be serious and you don’t want one. I picked up Bob and we arrived at the ER in short order. The ER insisted on running their own ultrasound. I guess they don’t take just anybody’s word for anything. It was a busy evening at the ER, so after the imaging, Bob and I opted to get away from all the people coughing up their lungs and blowing noses like they had stock in Kleenex. We waited outside on a bench with a heated blanket provided by the kind nursing staff.

As we huddled under the blankets on this atypically chilly January evening, a young man walked by. I read his shirt and obeyed.

He looked at me when I screamed, “Ahhhh!” He seemed a little taken aback, but he kept walking.

Bob shook his head and very soon we were called in to get the official word. Yes, he had blood clots in his arm, but no they were not in a serious area and not life-threatening. We were sent home with instructions to use a heating pad on the area several times a day and they should resolve on their own, which they ultimately did.

As we walked through the parking lot to our car, that same young man with the scream shirt passed us. I greeted him. “Hey there. Do you know why I screamed when you walked by us earlier?”

“Not really. I just thought you were crazy,” he replied.

“You may not be far off,” I laughed. “I just read your shirt and did what I was told.”

He smiled and we went our separate ways until I almost immediately turned back to him as I felt that prompting that I should say something else. He was smoking when he walked past me. “You know you should really give those things up. They are so bad for you.”

He responded politely that he had tried in the past and it didn’t work.

“Do you know Jesus? Talk to God and ask him for the help to quit,” I said.

He told me that he had prayed in the past and that he would again. He thanked me and we went our separate ways.

I’m thankful for my impulsive response. I have no idea why I screamed when I read his shirt. That was even a bit much for me, but how else would I have had an opening to talk to a 20-something-year-old guy without screaming to get his attention first. I love how God gives us little opportunities in our life to speak to people and encourage them toward him. What funny openings have you had that gave you an opportunity to speak into someone’s life?

Just for fun. My grandkids said Bob looked like Darth Vader when he wore his neck brace. Bob chose his shirt to accent the positive and submitted to a photo. There is good in him.

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by Bonnie Anderson on August 13, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in Faith, Family, People that I Meet, Stuff I Go Through
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on August 13, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/08/13/sometimes-i-could-just-scream/

Why I Keep Blogging

I’ve been thinking about how long I have been blogging and why I keep doing it. Is it just for me to get the words out with the hope that they uplift, encourage, or entertain somebody along the way? Or a way for me to keep a record of my life over the years? It’s more than that.

It’s a way to spread some magic.

And hopefully bring a smile.

But this morning, as I looked in my memories of this day in 2011, I more clearly remembered why I started.

Since those early days 13 years ago when I wrote under the name A Ship Bound for Tarshish, I have had a lot to say. I realize that many of my current friends – both physically in my life today and on social media – may not realize that I do this pretty much weekly. If you’d like to subscribe, you can follow me (see the box on the right) and you’ll never miss a post.

Here’s a link to my 2011 post to sum up what my blog is all about and why I write it. As always, I appreciate everyone who reads my stuff! There’s a lot out there to take up your time! Thank you.

P.S. The cuties in the pictures are two of my precious grandchildren, but I’ll bet you guessed that already!

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by Bonnie Anderson on August 6, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in Faith, Stuff I Go Through, Writing
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on August 6, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/08/06/why-i-keep-blogging/

Edinburgh – A Place for Writers

After we toured Edinburgh Castle, we strolled down the bustling Royal Mile, popping into a shop or two while listening to a bagpipe being played on the corner. The Royal Mile is the much-traveled cobblestone street that connects Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace, Scotland’s official residence of the British monarch. It was on the chaotic side, which may have been due to the warmness of the day – a balmy 60 degrees, the highest temperature of our trip. Everyone was out soaking in the sun.

Bagpipes sound charming for a little while.

Bob wondering how he will cross the sea of people to get to the other side of the Royal Mile.

The iconic British buses winding up and down the streets – I wondered how nobody got hit by one as people seem to share the streets with them without a second thought to their safety. Perhaps it’s because they are more polite to pedestrians in the UK.

Along the streets there are alleyways leading to closes. The openings are so narrow and lined by tall buildings on either side that it’s easy to miss seeing these passageways, which lead to off-the-beaten-path courtyards (closes). As we walked by Lady Stair’s Close, I noticed a sign stating something to the effect that this was the way to life in Old Edinburgh. I almost didn’t notice the beckoning sign but was glad I did! It made me realize that I probably miss a lot when I travel because there is so much sensory overload.

Bob relaxed on a bench, and I wandered down with anticipation of stepping back into history. To my delight it opened to Makars’ Court, a literary monument to Scottish writers. There are quotes from great Scottish writers inscribed in the courtyard flagstones and a lovely museum dedicated to the works of Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Burns.

The museum inhabits Lady Stair’s House. Built in 1622 and renovated at the turn of the century (1897-1907), it is a grand mansion in the Old Town portion of Edinburgh and such a fitting place to honor the three above-mentioned literary legends.

This building celebrates my favorite 2 of the 3Rs. I leave the ‘rithmetic to Bob.

My golf-weary husband whose body was rebelling against any further walking was willing to come on down, especially since there was comfortable seating inside.

This type of stairway was common in the 1600s. It served as a type of alarm system as they would construct the stairway with one step that was extra tall (notice the white step). This would prompt intruders to trip and make noise thereby alarming the sleeping residents of impending trouble.

I inquired about my favorite author, the recently knighted Sir Alexander McCall Smith. He resides in Edinburgh and has a huge volume of work, but I guess he is too current to be included in the museum, at this point anyway. This was a lovely interlude of quiet in the midst of an active day in Edinburgh.

There are more celebrated authors who are not yet included in this Edinburgh museum. Harry Potter is not in a genre that I typically read, but I do admire J.K. Rowling. My understanding is that she also currently resides in Edinburgh. The Elephant House is a “magical café” where she wrote some of the Harry Potter novels. It is known as the birthplace of Harry Potter.

Unfortunately, the original location, which was a gathering place for local writers, burned in 2021. It was located on George IV Bridge not terribly far from the current location, which was just a few doors down from our hotel. I was thrilled to literally stumble upon it as we were looking for a place to lunch – a perfect, dare I say magical, find!

Hoping some of Ms. Rowling’s writing magic will rub off on me.

The re-creation of J.K. Rowling’s writing nook was impressive. A niche in an upstairs room with a desk and guest book and the actual chair which she used set the mood, but the mural through the window depicting the scene from the George IV Bridge made it feel authentic. I sat in the chair, signed the guest book, and wondered why she didn’t choose a more comfortable chair. To each their own, I guess.

One last stop before we left the restaurant because one must never miss a free toilet opportunity, and besides you know I’m fascinated by toilets in Europe.

I chose not to go that way. We all have our own path!

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by Bonnie Anderson on July 30, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in Europe, The United Kingdom, Travel, Writing
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Posted by Bonnie Anderson on July 30, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/07/30/edinburgh-a-place-for-writers/

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