Exciting News: Down and Out and Ready for a Miracle is Now Available!
Cheers!
I am thrilled to announce the release of my latest book! After many months (okay, years) of dedication, procrastination, creativity, and passion, my new work is officially available to readers everywhere. This book represents a slice of life of those who are reaching their finish line and is inspired by my husband’s family. The story follows Jacko, a middle-aged homeless man, as he forms connections with a disjointed group of senior citizens—especially the unpredictable Oscar—experiencing humor, heartache, and inspiration along the way. Jacko learns that you are never too old to start again, especially if you find a community that will come alongside you despite the crazy and possibly dangerous friends which have become a package deal for him. Laughter and tears are inevitable as two ways of life collide in a delightful and quirky neighborhood which most people have forgotten.
Themes
This new book delves into themes of personal growth, friendship, family, faith, and aging. Readers are invited to follow Jacko as he inserts himself into the life of Oscar and his neighbors. With his not-so-well-meaning friends bringing chaos along the way and threatening his hope of a new life, Jacko learns to trust and find faith in others and God.
Availability
Available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.
Get your copy today and join me on this new adventure!
I have been punked by WordPress, the very website that hosts my blog! I run a modest little blog here. I have a faithful group of followers. I’m not breaking any records in readership, but we laugh together here.
A little backstory – WordPress puts out statistics so I can see how I’m doing (at least by viewer numbers. They don’t ask any personal questions about my general wellbeing.) On October 28, my stats were surprisingly good considering I had not put out any content in a couple weeks. By November 1, WordPress was telling me that my stats were booming, and I was getting more traffic than usual with 69 hourly views. I had my largest “readership” ever on that day, but something seemed off. I wasn’t getting any comments. Also, when somebody new finds me, they usually look at a few different posts. These were one different post view per visitor.
Initially I was excited that my blog was booming, but we all know that if something seems too good to be true, it’s probably not true. That was the case here. AI was “reading” my blog posts. I guess they have a lot of time on their non-hands, so why not.
I asked my faithful blogging friend at www.theromanticvineyard.com if she was having any unusual activity on her blog. She was and she looked into it. (I love friends who will dig around and get an answer.) WordPress allowed AI to read its blogs and try to learn from them. I can’t imagine what they learned from my blog, but I guess even AI needs a sense of humor.
Six days later, and I’m back to my normal level of activity, so I guess I’ve been mined for all the gems that AI could find. If you find anyone out there that sounds a lot like me, ask for some identification please.
On a side note, my ever supportive and optimistic husband said that he thought I was getting bleed-over from when I posted on Facebook a poorly lit video of a bear eating from my camera/feeder in the backyard. It has 595 views so far, more than I ever have received from any blog post. So, to wrap up my story and for your viewing pleasure, I’m including the clip here for you. This happened at 4:30 one morning last week. The bear ripped the feeder off its post and then munched on bird seed for a while. You can hear him chewing. Also, I think he may be upside down in the video because some friends thought he was a pig. Nope. A pig could not have reached that high, and Mr. Bear ate a modest amount of birdseed, so nope in that vein as well. This must have been a dainty bear, because he didn’t even touch the other near-by feeders.
Speaking of big things happening around here, I am getting ready to release a new book! This one is for grown-ups! It will be out before Thanksgiving, and you know what that means! It means my Christmas shopping is done! Tune in to my next blog post for more about it and how you can get some of your Christmas shopping done, too.
My husband has a head for numbers. Golf scores. Football scores. Route numbers. Banking. Anything but our kids’ and grandkids’ birthdays, though he does have a ballpark idea of those. When your family grows, it gets harder to keep track. Combine that with getting older, and it’s much harder to keep track. But he has me, and so far, so good with me remembering the important dates. (Full disclosure, I keep them written down as a failsafe. Don’t tell Bob.)
Remembering these dates is important in order to celebrate with our family and show them some birthday love, but it’s also important to gain access to our house. We have combination lock entries, and I love them because we can tell our code to people who need to get in if we aren’t home, and we also don’t have to carry a key. I hate them because sometimes the batteries die, and we have no idea where the “key” is in case that happens. Of course, it only happens when we are trying to get back in the house – never when we’re leaving. But since we have multiple entries with combinations, we have not been locked out yet. Or I should say I have never been locked out.
Bob told me I could pick out the combinations as he knows numbers vex me. Figuring out a code for our entry keypads was almost as bad as having to come up with a gazillion other passwords to keep our banking, Facebook account, streaming services, Amazon account, different doctors, hospital, funeral home, and on and on ad nauseam. Therefore, I came up with a plan that I would never forget because of the way I think. As it turns out, that also means that Bob will never remember because of the way he thinks.
Without giving you access to our home, my thinking went something like this. Start with my age when Bob and I started dating and find the square root of that number – round up. That’s the first digit.
For digit number two, start with the number of times our daughter texted me that week and subtract the total number of times that our sons texted me. Divide that by four and round up.
For the third digit, I measured the hypotenuse of the smallest triangle that hangs over Bob’s workbench. Easy.
The fourth digit was tough, so I used the combined age of Bob and me when we were married and then subtracted that from our current ages. I used the first digit of that number just to keep it simple.
Seriously, I don’t even understand half of what I just wrote. I had to look up the word hypotenuse! But, I did use information about our family as the keys to our code, and I filled Bob in on these magical numbers that my amazing mind came up with. The end result: Bob was locked out one time too many, so he created a separate code just for him. These keypads take more than one code! That’s a marriage saver!
This past year has brought some physical challenges to Bob and me. You might say that our accumulation of birthdays is catching up with us. Bob had neck surgery last year and gets regular shots in his fingers for arthritis. He has various aches and pains that are consistent with a healthy guy in his early seventies.
I get weirder stuff – things that I can barely find the words to describe so that makes it hard to find what doctor to talk to. Everybody is a specialist, but I wish there were a doctor of weirdology. Somebody that you can talk to about those in-between places that have no specialist of their own. I guess that’s the PCP (primary care physician).
I have had some complaints over the last few years, but they were resolved with PT, or I just gave up on figuring them out. But last year when my knees started acting up, it was just a matter of time before I had to find a knee guy – an orthopedic, if you will. I had two meniscus repairs in one knee and the promise of the other knee needing work down the road. I will wait that out as long as possible.
But now I have a new body part acting up. Bob and I went down our list of doctors and realized that we have an eye doctor, a dentist, a chiropractor, a primary care physician, a neck guy, a shoulder guy, a hand guy, a back guy, and a knee guy. We have no hip guy, and it’s time to find one. I thought my knee pain was radiating up, but it seems it’s hip pain radiating down. Sigh. Either way, I’m not walking as straight as I used to.
Facebook got wind of my growing hip pain and is doing its level best to fill my feed with all the hip reliefs they have to offer, but I’m not ready to bite. Fool me once…
It’s clear I could have arthritis, bursitis, tendinopathy, or maybe even rheumatism. It’s most likely an “itis” or an “ism,” and I’m going to have to figure it out. I remember having growing pains as a kid, now it seems there are growing old pains. I expect some of that, but come on!
I have made adjustments in the way I function since my knee surgery back in May. I can’t kneel on my left knee and squatting is a bad idea, but mostly I get along just fine.
Mostly being the operative word. A few nights back I was struggling to sleep so I popped in an earbud and listened to The Big Bang Theory. I used to watch the show if I couldn’t sleep, but since Bob struggles to go to sleep with the TV on and I love to go to sleep with my eyes closed and the TV on, using earbuds and my phone has been revolutionary for our marriage.
Until one morning Bob left early for a meeting, and I dropped my earbud on the bed. I got up, turned the light on and put on my glasses. It was nowhere. I shook the sheet and felt a little plop on my foot, which indicated the earbud bounced off it and went under the bed. Our bed has about an inch of clearance from the frame to the floor, so I slipped my fingers underneath. Nothing. I stood back and shined a flashlight under but could see nothing. The only way to really check was to get on the floor. I haven’t been on the floor since January.
Of course, I could have waited for Bob, but I thought, how hard can it be?
Getting down was tricky but I did it. Unfortunately, it was a waste of time because the earbud had gone under the nightstand, and I could have reached that by bending at the waist. In all fairness to me, the sun wasn’t even up yet, and I was not fully awake, therefore, my decision-making skills were not intact.
So there I was – sitting on the floor wondering how to get up. I can’t kneel on my left knee and my right hip is acting wonky, so I could feel myself getting anxious. It’s not a true emergency. Bob would be home in another two hours. Maybe I could just grab a pillow and sleep on the floor. No, those days are over. I calmed myself and grabbed a pillow, placed my right knee on it with authority and hoisted myself up.
I am glad we don’t have any security cameras in our bedroom as I’m sure that was not pretty, but it worked. I didn’t feel proud of myself for this amazing feat of strength and dexterity – mainly because I was stupid not to wait for Bob, but mission accomplished anyway.
Later, Bob and I were relaxing in the pool – just standing around talking, when he said, “Don’t move.”
I wondered if I had a bee on me, so I froze. Bob came up and flicked a frog off my neck. It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out, but I think I’m getting braver. The last time I had a frog on me in the pool, I nearly pulled my recently operated on knee out of joint trying to get away from it. These frogs are small, but that doesn’t matter to me. I should note that Bob has never had a frog on him while in the pool. It’s a mystery.
That’s what is going on with me. Wondering about misbehaving body parts, making dumb decisions, and avoiding frogs. Oh, and I am working on my inspirational humor fiction book, which should be available before Christmas. Lord willing and the frogs don’t rise.
I’m writing this from my dining room table, not the Seminole County Jail. Since returning home from Alaska last week, I’ve been catching up on everything – laundry, sleep, correspondence, sleep, grocery shopping, sleep, and one bit of business that my mom, who lives with us, saved for me to do for her.
While we were away, Seminole County Supervisor of Elections had postcards delivered to verify our street addresses and signatures. Mom’s was a little different because she likes to vote by mail. She signed the card verifying the address and I sent it off for her. It was also time to re-up her request for a mail-in ballot. I tried to do it online, but encountered a glitch (truth be told, I put in my dad’s last four instead of hers) and couldn’t complete the form. They are very picky about getting the facts straight, and I’m glad.
I got my numbers straight, but still the site wasn’t cooperating, so I went old-fashioned and used the phone. Mom prefers for me to make her appointments and handle things like this for her as she does not have a smart phone, and those flip phones are exhausting to operate. Usually, I just say I’m her and take care of business. It’s easier and she doesn’t care. Her dermatologist doesn’t care; Walgreens doesn’t care; her hairdresser doesn’t care. But apparently the Seminole County Supervisor of Elections Office cares.
When their office answered my call with “who am I speaking with,” I gave my mother’s name. I tried not to sound too peppy because Mom is 97. I answered all their questions just fine until they stumped me and I needed Mom’s help. As I was walking into Mom’s room, the conversation went like this:
Me – “I’m sorry. I’m lying to you. This isn’t really Pauline, it’s her daughter. Mom can’t handle the prompts of press this number or that because she has a flip phone. I’ve just walked into where she is. Mom, please state your name.”
We were met with silence, obviously hung up on. You know how when you accidentally give someone misinformation and then you realize it and say, “Oops, I’m lying,” and set it straight? Perhaps one shouldn’t do that when dealing with anything to do with a political election.
I tried their website again, but it continued to glitch, so I had no recourse but to call, this time with Mom by my side and we set the record straight. I even told the woman who answered this call what had happened, and she seemed understanding. Perhaps she cares for a nonagenarian like I do. Either way, Mom is all set up to vote by mail in the next general election.
As the day went on, I thought better of impersonating my mom by phone when dealing with government agencies. Those thoughts rang loud and clear when a knock came on our front door mid-afternoon. We weren’t expecting anyone, and we’re in the back of our neighborhood, so we don’t get many drop-ins. So naturally I thought, it could be someone from the Supervisor of Elections coming to take me in. Thankfully, it was a friend bringing flowers to my mom. I’ll keep her in mind in case I need a character reference down the road.
It was a simple procedure – an arthroscopic fix of two tears in my meniscus. The doctor said he’s done this same surgery on many of his colleagues, and they are typically back at work in a matter of days.
It’s a good thing I don’t have a job to go to. I also wonder about the peer pressure inflicted on the poor chaps who work at an orthopedic surgical center and who must go through repairs themselves. I’m sure many brave faces accompany those folks who wish they were home with their feet up.
As for me, my doc, who I really do like, said I’d be on crutches for a couple of days to ensure that my knee didn’t buckle and cause a fall. I’m happy to report that I never fell, even though I did have the occasional knee buckle. That was to be expected, so I was told. He also said that after six weeks I’d feel pretty much like my old self. I thought it inconsiderate of him to mention that I’m old, but you don’t have to have great bedside manner to be a good surgeon.
After six weeks, I paid a visit to my doctor. I felt like I was letting him down in that I had pain and swelling, but he assured me that I was on track. The pain I was feeling was arthritis – another reminder of the serious number of birthdays I have accumulated. He offered a shot of cortisone, but I decided to wait it out as he said it takes three months to fully recover. I know myself, and I never finish anything early.
Since our household was on the upside-down side between my knee and my mom’s long recovery from shingles, I was relieved that I didn’t have to go to physical therapy. But I did exercises at home. I amazed myself at my commitment to get better. I haven’t exercised this much on my own since, well let’s just say it’s been a while. I also haven’t done regular things like weed around the birdfeeder. The evidence of this , I am quite enjoying. I never planted sunflower seeds, but the birds discard a lot of them. 
Thing I learned from my knee surgery:
Our shower head can move. Since my first couple of showers were taken while sitting down, I wiggled the shower head mount to lower it to where I could reach it. I had a measure of success with that. I could then reach it, but only because I pulled the whole thing off the wall. Bob told me that the knob on the side was to loosen the head so it could slide to whatever height I wanted. This was information I could have used before he had to remount the shower head, and for sure would have been good to know before I was standing on one leg while trying to put the shower head back together. We have lived in our house for ten years, so it’s kind of sad that I didn’t know this earlier.
I don’t like to exercise. This was not new to me, but additional evidence of why I don’t use my gym membership.
Just because the exercise sheet says for me to stand at a counter and raise my involved foot to my butt and grab it (the foot) by the hand and pull until I feel a stretch, that doesn’t mean that I can do it. I stood at that counter and dangled my arm behind me like I was fishing, but I didn’t catch a thing. When I looked to see how far I was from reaching my foot, it was sad. I tried with my other leg, but alas that knee is on deck for its meniscus repair. At least I could reach my foot, even though it did elicit a fair amount of pain in my “good” knee. The big realization is that I don’t have a good knee and a bad knee. I have a bad knee and a better knee.
My bad knee is getting better and is becoming my good knee. Today I can reach my foot when I reach back, but I cannot yet pull it up. I rigged a yoga band to make a pully system for my foot, but all I managed to do was tangle the yoga band.
When you have swelling in your knee and try to swim in a pool, the knee tends to float thereby making it impossible to swim in a straight line. Actually, it was impossible to swim at all unless I flipped over on my back because I am pretty uncoordinated. I’m happy to report that I am swimming like my old self again. Yes, I used that word intentionally.
On August 8, I will reach my three-month mark, and I expect that I will have made enough progress to make me glad I did the procedure. When I think back, I already am in much better shape with much less pain, so I’m thankful. Bob and I will be in Alaska celebrating our 50th anniversary when I hit that date. That should be the official litmus test, especially if we have to run from a bear or a moose, not that I’m hoping for that. Really, I’m not.
Our youngest grandsons came for a visit, and I was prepared, except for the part where I wasn’t. I pulled out a few of our saved toys and placed the Brio train set where there was plenty of room for them to spread out and build a train village. And then it happened. Felix, our ten-year-old, wasn’t interested at all, but Oliver, who is six, sat right down and started creating. He put several tracks together and glided the trains around them. It took me back to earlier days when I’d watched his dad play with those very tracks. It was sweet, and after about fifteen minutes, it was over. I didn’t even get a picture!
When I say over, I mean the beloved train set which my children and older grandchildren had spent hours of enjoyment playing with, no longer was needed in our home. It was the end of the line. Our grands are so used to playing games on phones that these old relics didn’t cut it anymore. I began to notice the transition several years ago with our now 13-year-old granddaughter Layna. The five grands before her were more used to floor play and actual toys, but when they started to use video/computer games more, her interest in traditional toys waned as well. Felix and Oliver followed suit. That is the state of things. I shudder to think of creativity lost, plus the art of bartering for the favorite train. These were foundational play opportunities.
Hello? Is anybody there or are you already on your phone? I’m as guilty as anyone when it comes to time on the stupid cell phone. But I didn’t see this coming, which happens more often when your grandkids don’t live near you. You lose track of what they’re into at any given time. But for me, this was not only the end of the line – it was the end of an era.
Perhaps I could have prolonged the termination of our train set if I could have gotten down on the floor and played with Oliver. That is what I typically would have done, but my current knee issues have already derailed anything that requires floor time. Since my recent knee surgery, I didn’t think it wise to put my caboose on the floor and play lest I needed an engine (or in my case an engineer) to help me back up.
At the end of the visit, the train was up for grabs. I always thought I’d give it to the youngest grandkids, but they are not interested, and I am okay with that. That train has left the station, albeit all too soon for this grandmother. But, with only one text, it has been rescued from the certain uncertainty of Good Will by my daughter-in-law Dacia who is only too happy to keep it on hand for when her boys have boys and girls of their own. Success!
These boys are in their late teens now, but I love this picture of them.
I sat on the couch with Felix and watched him play some kind of card game on his phone. He wanted to teach me, but my meager capacity to keep all those numbers and cards straight was more than I wanted to admit to him. I told him I’d learn it by watching him; he could teach me that way. It didn’t take. Now I knew how Oliver felt after fifteen minutes of the trains. It was enough. I’m beaten on both fronts.
It’s a good thing we have a pool. The boys don’t have easy access to one from their North Carolina home, so it makes up for a lot. I did play Marco Polo with them, though I don’t move as fast as I’d like. They didn’t care. We had great fun.
Any time with our kids and grandkids is special and I’ll play whatever they want me to play, except for Felix’s crazy card game or Clue. I do have limits. If I’ve never mentioned it before, my brain doesn’t work during the game of Clue. My kids took us to an escape room and my brain melted down like I was captive in that board game, trying to keep a good attitude when everyone was writing stuff on their stupid little clue sheets and I was making a grocery list on mine. Maybe that is why I never won.
May has been a mixed bag. Bob took me for a get-away in Jamaica at the start of the month – just a few days to ourselves. What we didn’t count on when the trip was booked (and rebooked twice because of conflicts) was twofold. One, my mother, who lives with us, had contracted shingles a week before we left. She was put on antivirals, and my sister was here, so I only had minor guilt about leaving her. Two, my knees have had their own agenda this year. That agenda includes giving out on me at times and other times just being so painful that I don’t want to walk.
But we pressed on with our non-refundable trip, and in hindsight I’m glad we did. Time alone together is a premium. Bob booked wheelchairs for me at every airport leg with the hope that my walking strength would be conserved for leisurely walks on the beach. Being pushed around an airport in a wheelchair was a new experience. I didn’t like it at first, but now I think it’s the way to go – especially in the Miami airport because that place is a maze.
We arrived at our lovely resort and right away realized – Jamaica, we have a problem. The room chosen for us was on the second floor with no elevator access. That was fairly easily remedied to a first-floor unit. While I was unpacking, Bob went to check on something in the lobby and when he left, our doorknob fell off. I immediately ceased unpacking. A young man came and fixed it. He assured us that it was fine, so we put our suits on and headed to the pool. Thankfully, we felt like we should check to make sure it worked with our key, because it did not.
House arrest in Jamaica: This time they sent two men to fix the doorknob. One of them was armed with a computer and used YouTube as his tutor. We didn’t feel comfortable leaving all our things in the room while the door was propped open and these guys went in and out, so we waited. After an hour, we requested another room, and amazingly they were able to accommodate us on the second floor near an elevator. A mere three hours later, we were set to begin our vacation.
I was not in a great frame of mind for this trip. Mom was home with shingles and three days after we returned home, I had arthroscopic knee surgery scheduled to fix my badly torn meniscus. But I hobbled along bravely sitting by the pool and having drinks brought to me. I’d hardly call it suffering! We even tried to swim in Montego Bay, but the sand was hard on my knees, so we only took a token dip in the turquoise blue water. Four days of sun and relaxing, and the best part was I did not have to plan or prepare any meals. Score!
On Wednesday afternoon, two days after returning home, my mom had an incident, probably a TIA, and she had to go to the ER. It was scary, but she pulled through, though she continues to deal with shingles. We were thankful she didn’t need to be admitted, plus the doctor said her shingles were resolving and she wasn’t contagious. That was nice to hear.
My surgery went well – so they tell me. I went home with a bandaged leg and used crutches the next two days until I could uncover the wounds – three little places each requiring two stitches. You wouldn’t think it would be that big a deal and it truly wasn’t. It was just more than I thought it would be hobbling around on my other knee (which isn’t great). Plus, that left Bob and my sister to tend to Mom, who was still weak from shingles and the supposed TIA. I don’t like being sidelined, but sometimes it’s good for me.
One of the weirdest challenges post-surgery was removing the permanent marker tattoo, as they called it, from my leg. It took six of us to figure out that it said left, indicating the left leg was the one they were working on. My friend Maria suggested I get it off with Windex, My Big Fat Greek wedding style. Contrary to pop-culture movie advice, that didn’t work.

I think my brain hurt more than my leg did. Okay, maybe it was a tie for the first several days, but it’s been two weeks and I’m coming out of it. I can even sit at the table and bend my knee comfortably enough to type. Yay!
I have many friends going through lots of physical ailments right now, and this reminds me to pray for them and helps me to keep my stuff in right perspective. I’m thankful for the surgery, but I’m not quite ready to do the other knee yet. Maybe in the fall. I should say – maybe in the autumn. I don’t like to use the word fall.
Now that we had our share of shopping and lunch, it was time for the leaders to tee off. We left our chairs and headed to the third hole. It was a rather long walk, and we were surprised to find no chairs available. That’s why Bob and I now have chairs of our own. We arrived in time to see Rory and Bryson DeChambeau. They walked right past us in their pursuit of a green jacket.
As soon as the leaders were finished, we scrambled over to hole #6 to catch that action. Now we’re toting chairs, of course, but we always had a seat and the crowds were growing.
One of the most exciting things about the tournament was the roar of the crowd, which you could hear all over the course whenever anyone made an amazing shot. There also was the moan of the crowd whenever an easy shot was missed, but this was nowhere near as loud as the roar. It was exciting and I have to tell you I’m glad I didn’t have a cell phone to try to capture this. It couldn’t have done it justice.
At long last, we went back to the Azalea hole to locate our other set of chairs. We made ourselves comfortable waiting for the leaders. We were not disappointed as it was a noteworthy hole, even if in a negative sense. Rory got a rare double bogie on that hole – unlucky 13, I guess. Bob explained that that never happens. It’s almost as rare as a hole in one – almost.
I had quite the golf coaching staff at this point. The gentleman to my left had binoculars and was relaying the play by play. To the left of him was a man who was attending his 57th Augusta National. Then between Bob and me a man about our age showed up. There were no empty chairs, so Bob offered one of our folded ones. That’s how we met Barry.
I know much more about Barry than you might think, and I’ll spare you the details of his life (which we were not spared). Barry was traveling solo and was very happy to find friends. He thought the alliteration of our three names was cool, and I have to admit I like alliteration and at this point that might have encouraged Barry a little too much. Barry showed me his chemo burn scars which were hidden under his long sleeves on this warm day and asked me if that grossed me out. He said he needed to stay out of the sun, which made our shaded location ideal. He talked a lot. I didn’t think you were supposed to talk that much at a golf tournament, but I guess since we were on the fairway we weren’t disturbing any golfers. I started leaning into binoculars guy to help me pay attention to the golf, but Barry was leaning in to us.
At some point, unbeknownst to me, Bob offered to give Barry a lift back to his car, which was at a shuttle area. Bob told him we were leaving after the leaders finished this hole and Barry was all good with going with us. By now he had noticed that I had a cane and Bob told him I had knee issues. Now Barry took on the job of making sure I was safe and carried the other two chairs. I looked at my sweet husband and reminded him that we weren’t going straight to the car as we needed to stop at the golf shop. Barry was good with that, too. He stuck with us through it all, even followed Bob into the men’s room (hopefully not too close).
Barry has slowed down since the chemotherapy and liked my slower pace just fine. He was especially grateful for the handicap golf cart which sliced some time off our walk back to the car. Barry piled into the backseat like one of our kids and oozed with gratitude. He gave us his card, in case we ever get to Chicago. He told us he wished we could get together later for dinner and cards, and he told us he loved us. Honestly, I didn’t know what to do with that. By now it was six o’clock, and I was running on empty, so we gently parted ways and went back to our VRBO to rest.
Highlights from The Masters:
Seeing Rory.
Seeing Scottie Scheffler, of whom I am a fan since he was wrongly arrested on his drive into a tournament last year. I loved the way he handled that.
Talking with people along the way.
Eating Georgia peach ice cream sandwiches.
The grounds – a golf course plopped into a southern garden or maybe vice versa.
Seeing men waiting in long lines to use the restroom.
Watching my husband enjoy this day – that was the best of all.
Buying a new appliance? How about a new car? Well, there’s an app for that.
We have recently done both of these things and I’ve discovered that the simple life is over. They may bill all these new-fangled things attached to modern appliances as time-saving or efficient, but I’m not sure.
I’m not complaining about new features on cars or appliances – these are great. But can anyone explain to me why I would want to access my washing machine remotely? It’s not like I have a robot to put the clothes in and fold them at the end. I don’t understand and have decided not to download the app out of spite. It works quite well when I walk into the laundry room and push the buttons. It’s so satisfying, too. I feel like Jane Jetson.
photo credit: nypost.com
If I thought the computerized laundry centers were challenging my computer-resistant mind, I was taken to a higher level when we shopped for a new car. The computerized cars of today have taken Bob completely out of the car-repair business. He used to be able to fix anything on our cars. He even fixed our transmission once, but those days are gone the way of dial-up internet.
When we talked to a Toyota salesman, who was likely 30 years younger than me, and he waxed poetic about the app for the car we were considering, I questioned myself briefly before I blurted out that I didn’t want to start my car with my phone. He looked at me like I had two heads.
He went on, “It’s free for the first three months, then only $90 a year after that.” I may have blanked out at this point, or I could be misremembering the numbers, because I can’t keep a number other than my phone number and address any more, but you get the point. I think it takes a lot of audacity to ask for what is basically a subscription to add to the convenience of using a phone to operate a vehicle that costs way upwards of $30,000 and comes with a key fob as part of the package.
“Why would I want the convenience of the phone in my purse when I already had the convenience of a key fob in the same location?” I asked.
He didn’t get my point, perhaps because he doesn’t carry a purse, but I’m sure he thinks I didn’t understand him either. He was excited to leave his keys at home so he wouldn’t ever lose them and running the car totally from his phone was really cool to him. I thought that anybody who couldn’t keep his keys in place has no business owning a car like this, but I kept that thought to myself, which only happened by great restraint on my part. Finally, I told him how old I am and hoped he would drop the discussion.
It was when I revealed my age to make a point that I (and maybe I’m speaking for my generation) might not like that add-on, and he should save his breath in trying to sell it that I realized how stubborn I am, but he kept going on about it. Apparently, it was a battle of the stubborn but I think I won because we left without a Toyota or an app.
I will say that it is fun to watch Bob as I maneuver these discussions. Since this car will be primarily driven by me, I lead the discussion and Bob joined in to fill in the blanks and ask questions which I would not have considered. Bob did add, “You will never need to figure out how she feels about anything.”
At the Hyundai dealership I liked our young salesman so much I wanted to adopt him. He understood that I didn’t want an app and was so respectful that I almost bought a car to make him happy, but even though the car that I was looking at was a Kona, which makes me think of Hawaii, I had to admit that it wasn’t right for me.
My first thought had been to buy another Ford Escape. I loved my 2014 Escape, and I’m sure I would have been happy with one, except they haven’t changed anything on them in the last eleven years. I didn’t want to fork out that kind of dough and not realize I was in a new car. Maybe next time, Ford.
We ended up with a Kia Sportage. I wouldn’t even have thought of Kia except we had one for our rental car in Hawaii and I really liked the dashboard. It is like nothing I have seen before, and the rest of the car is not too shabby either.
The sky changes as the sun goes down.
The respectful and not-too-pushy salesman even had the right tactic to make me put the app on my phone, not that I’ll ever use it. It’s free with Kia, so take that Toyota.
The Test Drive: Remember when you used to get in a car, any car, place your foot on the brake and turn a key in the ignition? Well, that’s over. Remember when the front seat passenger was like a co-pilot who would yell at you if you were wandering out of the lane or if you missed the fact that the car ahead of you had pulled away? That’s over, too. My Sportage has push-button ignition (I know that’s not new), lane corrective technology to literally keep you in line, and a chime if the car in front of you has pulled away from the traffic light. Since bringing the car home, I have discovered that the steering wheel will rumble if there is danger nearby. I don’t even need to keep my foot on the brake when stopped anymore. It’s all a little disconcerting to learn all this while driving. Next time I test drive a vehicle, I’ll be sure to drive recklessly with the salesperson in the backseat so that all the safety features will have time to show off.
Technology is amazing and there must be happy engineers all over the car industry trying to figure out what else they can add to the driving experience. My advice, if you are over sixty and haven’t bought a new car in the last decade or so, go get one now while you still have the ability to adapt to all that is new. It will blow your mind.
Case in point: One young lady of about 17 years who showed us a Kia was chatting from the backseat about electric vehicles. She said, “I sold an EV to a man who was 71, and I was so scared that he wouldn’t be able to figure out how to use it. I spent a lot of time with him going over all the features.”
My 71-year-old husband and I glanced at each other, feeling like we just had a compliment even if she didn’t know she gave one. Of course, we had the good sense not to push it with an EV vehicle for me. Even though I’m sure there is an app out there that would walk me through using one, we all know I wouldn’t use it.
Life on the Lighter Side 