Ponderings and Musings

Picture courtesy of ebay

My Mom’s birthday is two days after Christmas. In 52 years I’ve never combined her birthday and Christmas presents together, because that’s just lazy. She didn’t pick her birthday so she should always get a separate memento on each holiday and I’ve stuck to that and I will stick to that until one of us moves onto the next thing.

Back when we lived in the Great Lakes mobile home (so pre-1977), Grandma City bought my Mom a GE Wildcat record player, identical to the one pictured above, for her combination Christmas and Birthday gift. It was quite the marvel with the ability to hold six albums at once and a convenient storage place for the 45 RPM adapter up in the upper left hand corner. The whole affair closed into a convenient carrying case. It was situated on the built in shelves in the mobile home “dining room”, which was actually the original living room until Dad built the addition onto the house and we had a new living room where the porch used to be.

The GE Wildcat record player made its way to the new house in September 1977 and was still going strong when I left home for college in late 1986. I don’t know what happened to it after that. I probably spun it out of favor with all my Stars on 45 records blasting in the family room. I don’t think it was ever transported to a party using the nifty carrying case feature. Maybe Mom and Dad did that under the cover of darkness after we were put to bed and guarded by a sitter.

Mom used to play Christmas music on that record player at this time of year. For some reason I remember “The White Family Christmas” but that can’t be right. I mean, would we really have “The White Family Christmas” in the mid 1970s? I’m pretty sure the album had the WT Grants logo on the back.

Outside of the Christmas season the GE Wildcat was playing Anne Murray, Kenny Rogers, or the Statler Brothers unless I was playing Stars on 45 or Elvis Presley’s “Rubberneckin”. In the mid 1980s it played many more records, all stacked up nicely and conveying the glorious synths in tiny stereophonic sound.

Before I wrap up, can I just say I find more consumer comfort in seeing the entire “GENERAL (GE) ELECTRIC” logo instead of just the modern (GE) ball we have today? It’s just part of my delightful eccentricities.

May your days be merry and bright, you wildcat.

I can vividly remember one of my very first Christmas gifts from Santa. Even though it was probably 50 years ago, one year Santa brought me this Fisher Price Parking Ramp and Service Center. It came with a little car and a couple of the Fisher Price Little People. And the Little People were made out of wood and plastic.

A couple years later my sister had an A-Frame house and maybe the camper. My cousins might have had the camper. My mom’s cousin’s kids had the airport and I thought that was very nifty.

After a few years we had a few more Fisher Price toys and on a school snow day I built a little village, filling in the storefront gaps with a cardboard box or two and my little rocking chair turned on its side.

I wonder if kids even have snow days anymore. They can just do distance learning.

My, how times have changed in half a century.

When it comes to my hard wiring I am naturally an introvert. As a former radio guy I can converse with the best of them; I hate “dead air”. I will fill in conversational voids with a bunch of words just so I don’t have to endure the sound of nothing.

However, I find this effort incredibly draining.

Alone time is very special to me. I can entertain myself for years. My mind can wander all over and ask and answer questions. As I’ve mentioned many times before, I love driving by myself and exploring the world on my own terms.

When you’re a married man, it’s rude to leave your spouse out of the equation.

The only person I’ve ever been able to include on these outings while I recharging my batteries, is my husband. Any other person’s presence in my own space when I’m in “recharging mode” is intrusive. They don’t mean to be but they are. I need alone time. But I can find alone time even with my husband sharing that space with me.

My husband energizes me like no other human being on this planet can. This is part of the equation which keeps things working well, even after nearly 24 years.

I thank the Universe on a daily basis for helping me find the one other person that “gets me”. Many come close, he’s the only one that understands the full equation.

I am a very blessed man.

Occasionally I’ll browse old yearbooks online. Usually I’m looking at the architecture of the 1930s and 1940s era education buildings, often in their Art Deco glory. I also like seeing the cultural differences between what was then and what was now. So much segregation. Disheartening.

I was browsing a random 1958 yearbook and noticed that one of the classmates in many of the photos had a full beard. In 1958 I believe this was very unusual. Clean shaven was the name of the game at that time in U.S. history and I’m curious as to why this young man decided to sport a full beard in high school long before the hippie movement. What was his deal? What were his aspirations?

This young man, we’ll call him Bill, is clean shaven in his senior portrait, so either mom or dad, or both, said, “you’re going to look respectable in your senior class photo, young man!”. Or perhaps he just decided to shave that day. But in all the other photos of Bill in this yearbook, and in the preceding year as well, he was sporting a full beard.

Looking at his senior portrait, Bill was a striking young man. According to his bio, he was also quite involved in school activities. He was well rounded, participating in both sporting and non-sporting activities.

I’m curious as to what motivated this rebellion exhibited by a full beard. Did he live the rest of his life as a rebellious type? Having graduated in 1958, he’s probably 80 years old by now.

Oh, and the clocks in this school were made by International Business Machines, commonly known as IBM.

Edit (10 minutes later): So I decided to Google this man and see if there’s anything online about him. I found his obituary dated 2017. The photo shown in the obit confirmed it was indeed the same man. He was very active in his community, served in the Marines, and had a lovely, thriving family. As some would say, he came from and raised good stock. He had a beard when he died as well. His might have not been the rebel I imagined him to be, but he lived a good, solid, productive life. RIP.

I’ve been shaving my head, for the most part, since shortly before my 30th birthday. This was not something I aspired doing for the majority of my adult life. Prior to age 29 I had a flattop or military style high and tight, in glorious red of all things, and I really liked having that hairstyle. But when it became apparent I didn’t have enough left on top to pull the haircut off anymore, I had the barber buzz it down to a buzz cut and then I ended up just shaving it. I wasn’t ready to be bald and to show the world who’s boss, I got rid of the future deserters before they deserted and left me completely bare on top. That’ll show them.

All of my male cousins have full heads of hair. My dad and my paternal uncle (my godfather) were both bald by 40, though, they worked a combover of sorts and made it work without looking ridiculous. They didn’t have the defined Male Pattern Baldness so much as they were just very thin on top. My paternal grandfather led the way with the very thin hair on top, my maternal grandfather had thin hair on top as well, though he managed to make it work. Me? I went bare on top and had the typical male pattern baldness by age 30.

I wasn’t ready for that. Luckily, my husband found my shaved head sexy and I just made it work. I’ve had more than one barber tell me I had the perfectly shaped head for a shaved head.

When I was growing up and working in the family business, there were two customers with shaved heads that came in on a regular basis. One was a social studies teacher at the local high school and he worked it, though his first name was Nester and I always found that creepy. The other was an old guy that sold things out of the back door of the barbershop across the street. He didn’t work it and I found him creepy too. I did not want to be one of those guys with a shaved head, but in order for me to embrace my baldness, I had to be bald bald and own it.

At age 52 I’m sick of shaving my head. I can literally do it with my eyes closed. I don’t use a mirror, I don’t do it in front of a sink, I just shave in the shower in a definitive pattern, all by feel, and I can get it done faster than my contemporaries can wash their hair.

I’m still sick of shaving my head.

So I’ve stopped. At age 52, if I let my sides and back grow in a little bit it’s clearly gray and by this point in my life I’m ready to embrace the gray. I’ve earned it. I might as well let it show a little bit.

My beard? Same thing, it’s still ginger and sugar but it’s much more sugar than ginger. I’m not ready for a gray beard yet, and the idea of coloring it doesn’t work for me, so I still have a clean shaven face but I’m letting the scruff grow in on the sides and back of my head. I’ll keep it buzzed close; I have all the equipment for it.

I’ve always liked the look Patrick Stewart or Rod Corddry (above) has sported. I find the look distinguished. I’m ready for that. That distinguished look gives me confidence and let’s me show my years proudly.

And I’m good with that.

It’s been 40 years but I can remember it as clear as if it was yesterday. It was Christmas season 1980. You walked in the front door of the grocery store P&C Foods. Gumball machines straight ahead. To left, a Rite Aid department store. To the right, you stepped on the “magic mat” and the door opened to the P&C Foods grocery store. There was an orange wall to the left and then five checkout counters. Shopping carts on the right. Grab a cart. I push, mom is behind me, my sister trails along. The electronic cash registers are clattering their receipt tape as we pass by, register five, four, three, two, one. Delores was always at register two, Betty was always at register one. Then came register six, an express lane that was never used. A short woman named Anita watched over everything from the courtesy desk that was elevated; the never used express lane was attached to that. The colorful globes indicating the checkout number had been removed and replaced with stickers on the front and side of the cash register. To the right, bird seed and big bags of dog food. Beyond the courtesy desk (which faced into the store, away from the entrance lane), on the left were a few plants and then a little alcove with three walls of bread. Make our way around the alcove, left turn, left turn, on the right were loaves of Italian bread in wax paper. They were marked 79 cents with a purple “BAKERY” price sticker. I loved that bread. Mom would get a loaf. Would Betty or Delores press the “BAKERY” key on the register? Delores usually did, Betty did not, she just hit “GROCERY”. It would be years before scanning would enter into the picture.

Before we turned out of the alcove and into produce (vegetables on the left, fruit on the right), there was a small section of free standing shelves. On those shelves, from top to bottom, Archway cookies!

During the holidays we’d get the Archway Cashew Nougat cookies. Little white cookie delights with pieces of cashews in them. I could eat a whole package myself; the package was a three-quarters height cardboard arrangement with cellophane over the top. How I loved those cookies. They beat the Girl Scouts by a mile.

This past weekend, my husband and I were breezing through Target (in a socially responsible manner) and I saw a small assortment of these Archway cookies on display. The packaging is different, the logo has been modernized, and neither Delores, Betty, nor Anita were at the checkouts. When we departed, we used register 12. There was a glad shield between us and the cashier, the printers did not clack out a receipt, and there was scanning.

The cookies taste similar, but not quite the same. The sweetness is different. It’s stronger than it used to be. The texture of the cookies is the same, but something is different with the balance. Maybe it’s high fructose syrup or something. I don’t want to look. I’m just happy I can taste things. It means our breezing through Target has not been detrimental to our health.

The P&C Foods was one of two chain grocery stores in our little village in Upstate New York, though by December 1980 the Acme Markets had departed the building on the north side of the village and had quickly been replaced by an independent chain called Super Duper. The owner of the new Super Duper in the old Acme building used to be the manager of the P&C. They had Archway cookies as well, but they were last, right before the registers. There were just four cash registers at the Super Duper and they were leftovers from when Acme had the space. They were large and brown and mechanical and made by National. Register three was replaced with an electronic FJay Cash Register shortly after Super Duper took over; the National from the late 1950s apparently had bit the dust. There was no bread alcove, just a wall of bread with no purple “BAKERY” price stickers.

But there were Archway cookies there as well. Better pick an extra package up for the holidays

“Fried to a delicious golden brown”. “Bake to Golden Perfection”.

When did “golden” become a desirable color for food? It’s not like we can eat gold. I’m not going to chow down on my wedding ring or some other trinket made of gold. Why do Americans equate “gold” as a desirable color for food?

Healthy colors for food? The green of vegetables. The hues of eggplant. The wide variety of colors of fruit. The yellow of corn. But golden? Is the gold suppose to denote the value of the food? If it looks “expensive” it must be good? Why would I want an Oreo cookie fried to a golden brown?

Wouldn’t eating something like gold leaf give you jolt like chewing on tin foil? Why would I want to do that?

It turns out some folks are eating gold. What happens on the other end? Does the litter glitter like a cat box after kitty ate some tinsel?

Yesterday I told my mom and that we weren’t traveling for the holidays this year. This is not a decision I made in haste. With new lockdown restrictions and advisories snapping into effect all over the country, coupled with the fact that transmission of COVID-19 to any family member could potentially be a real possibility that turns deadly, it’s safer for us to stay at home and exchange holiday pleasantries over video chat.

This is not an ideal situation. It will not be the same. But 2020 has not been an ideal situation. It has not been the same.

I am hopeful after reading the news about promising vaccines and especially since the research for the Pfizer vaccine has been outside of U.S. government funded efforts. I know the government has to be involved in some way, but anything being pushed hard by the government during this administration makes me cautious; are things being rushed for political gain? I feel more confident of independent research.

I’m thankful that work allows us to carry over unused vacation time into 2021. We’ll be doing a lot of traveling after the vaccines start being distributed to the masses.

When I was in elementary school, before we headed for the buses out front when the clock clicked to 3:30 p.m., we had to turn our chair upside down on our desk. This would make it easier for the custodians to clean the classroom after school hours. We did this every school day without fail, even that one time where we didn’t leave school until around 5:00 PM at night because the buses were having a hard time getting back to the school through the snow after the first run had taken the high school students home.

One of the elementary schools in our neighborhood, a private school for German students, has been holding their classes outside. I believe the Chicago Public Schools are closed, but private schools are open, and this is their way of keeping the students safe from COVID-19.

I had to giggle a little bit when I walked by and noticed the students are putting their chairs up on the tables outside. This is probably a good thing; we had a bit of rain yesterday and the chairs could have probably been swept away in the downpour last night.

I really appreciate that this school is open in as safe a way as possible. With the colder weather now here do I encourage them to be open with the students inside? Probably not. The classrooms look quite small and while I don’t know how big the typical class is, it doesn’t look like they’d have a lot of success in separating the students with social distancing.

I know this pandemic sucks. It sucks for everyone and it’s sucking extra hard for the U.S. because so many of our fellow citizens believe it doesn’t exist. But it does exist.

Do the right thing. Wear a mask. Maintain social distancing. Put your chair up on your desk at the end of the day.