Just when you think the last ounce of genuine kindness left in this world would fill a thimble, you see a promising post on your neighborhood website: “What is the one thing you NEED that you cannot afford right now? Let’s check and see what others say. Maybe you have it and don’t need it or have a connection to get it.” Joanna D. is our Nextdoor.com neighborhood lead and founding member. A local real estate agent, she added that she had seen this on another community page and was amazed at some of the kindness shown. “No selling,” she continued. “If you’re offering something on here to someone, it…
-
-
Word of the Year
Are you even the least bit surprised that the 2022 Word of the Year comes from a nearly 80-year-old Hollywood movie and literally means “the perception of deception”? Considering the state of our republic, I am not. “Gaslighting.” Seriously, that’s the 2022 Word of the Year. It was a word looked up frequently every single day. According to the folks at Merriam-Webster, this year saw a 1,740% increase in lookups for gaslighting. WTH? And, unlike previous years, there wasn’t a single event that drove significant spikes in the curiosity, as it usually happens with M-W’s chosen word. In 2021, their word was vaccine. In 2020, it was pandemic. But not this year.…
-
I’ve got rhythm
“Holding. Natalie.” Waiting in the hospital’s busy eighth-floor prep area for yet another attempt at zapping out the unwelcome atrial fibrillation inhabiting my heart, I swore I heard the young nurse answer the phone with this greeting: “Bowling alley.” Spare me the boomer age jokes. We both heard it, so it’s true. “Did she just say bowling alley?” I asked Rebecca, my eyes and ears since they had already confiscated my glasses. “Yes, I think she did.” “That’s weird,” I said. “Yeah. Maybe that’s what they call this place: ‘The Bowling Alley.’” “Right,” I added. “Where bad patients end up in the gutter!” Good one. Thanks. Tip your server. We’re here all…
-
Funiculi, funicula(r)
(Editor’s note: Every time we go on a trip, something outrageous happens to me. So much so that it requires its own sidebar, or “side piece,” as Rebecca says, similar to this one. Our last river cruise in 2019 to the Bordeaux region of France involved a one-hour, full-body massage with a Romanian masseur that changed my life. And his. It was called “International Cover-up.” Click on the title to read it, after you read this one, of course.) COMO, Italy – On Tuesday, September 20, at precisely 9:30 a.m., the hotel fire alarm started blasting. I was sound asleep in a semi-feverish state, nursing a rotten cold, cough and sore throat. Startled,…
-
The big sick
Starting at birth, more than half of your body weight is composed of water. The average percentage of body weight that is water remains above 50 percent for most or all of your life, though it does decline over time. I beg to differ. After being sick for two weeks and nearly coughing up both lungs, I’m convinced my body is at least 70 percent water with a mucus chaser. Quite possibly even more. That said – and with all due respect to my dear readers who may have just lost their lunch – we returned on September 22 from our long-awaited/twice postponed seven-day river cruise on the Rhine. Fourteen…
-
Fix her upper
“You fixed yourself.” Those were three little words I wasn’t prepared to hear on the last Wednesday in August. Here I was at a local hospital in out-patient cardiology pre-op, hooked up to an electrocardiogram machine with two white patches stuck to my chest and back, being prepped for something called cardioversion, a quick, low-energy shock to restore my heart’s normal rhythm. I felt like a human battery about to get boosted by a tow truck driver in a white coat. Which I was. The IV port planted in the crook of my right arm longed for the perfect dose of “conscious sedation” to make me sleepy and unaware of…
-
A car buff’s mecca
FERNDALE, Michigan – Flames emanating from a car exhaust can warm the cockles of any gearhead’s heart. Despite this new age of electric vehicles, I’m still a fan of an internal combustion engine’s distinctive sound and classic coolness. But creating deliberate external combustion? That seems so … dangerously hot. What can I say? It was. An unexpected fireworks show lit up the streets of Woodward Avenue on Saturday afternoon, capping off the 27th Annual Dream Cruise for this classic car buff and about a million others in attendance. Leaving our primo parking spot on 9 Mile’s Mustang Alley West (thanks, MOCSEM car club!), we knew our day was coming to an end – and…
-
Castles
Back in the day, they used to say a man’s home was his castle. I can remember my father saying it, no matter where we lived – and we moved around a lot – occupying many “castles” on Detroit’s East Side. Mom used to say home was where the heart is, even though she dreaded every move. What I realized as an adult was that we never moved that far from where we had been living. I’m talking within a mile or two. We once moved three times in five years to neighborhoods just minutes from each other. It’s something that still puzzles me to this day. I wish I…
-
Damned rights
I don’t have children. At least none that I know of. How many men can say that with such certainty? Not all of them. It was my choice not to have kids. My choice. Nobody else’s. The notion of someone making me give birth is not something I’ve ever contemplated. That is, until last Friday. On June 24, the Supreme Court of the United States ruled to overturn Roe v. Wade, which has been on the books for nearly 50 years and ensured that abortion is a protected federal constitutional right. We knew it was coming. A media “leak” on May 4 about the expected ruling may have softened the blow a bit. But it…
-
Hurting
Everything hurts,Our hearts shadowed and strange,Minds made muddied and mute.We carry tragedy, terrifying and true.And yet none of it is new;We knew it as home,As horror,As heritage.Even our childrenCannot be children,Cannot be. ~ Excerpt from “Hymn for the Hurting,” by American poet and activist Amanda Gorman. The youngest inaugural poet in U.S. history, Gorman is author of “The Hill We Climb,” “Call Us What We Carry” and “Change Sings.” The rest of her poem’s verses are within this post below. Sunday was my first car show of the season, the Heritage Days Festival of Cars at Rochester Municipal Park. I’d forgotten about it until that morning and decided to take Mustang Sal for a…
