Monthly Archives: February 2024

Life In The Radical Middle

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Sometimes I fear that I overshare here. There’s a method to the madness though. You see, as I look around this world, I am practically hit over the head with two drastically different types of messages. One is that the lives of other people are perfect. Perfect kids. Perfect food. Perfect homes. Perfect cars. Perfect looks. Perfect, perfect, perfect! Please read that in the voice of Jan Brady exclaiming “Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!”

Then there are the people who seemingly don’t even try to do something useful with their lives. They have excuses, sometimes good reasons and often just a bad attitude and it never seems to occur to them that they should try a different approach. They are happy doing what they do or maybe miserable but either stuck or ok with it enough to stay the course.

And then there’s me. 

While these other two groups live on opposite sides of the spectrum, I’m smack dab in the middle in a place I like to call the radical middle.

I am flawed. I am a nerd who is fascinated by the world. I can entertain myself for hours just driving around looking at things or sitting in a corner watching people from afar. One of my guilty pleasures is a Taco Bell Black Bean Crunch Wrap and a strawberry lemonade. My kitchen is not Instagram perfect and my cat loves nothing more than to dig junk out of the recycling bin and drag it around the house. My hair is a perpetual mess and my idea of a great vacation involves museums and junk stores, alleyway murals, dirty hiking shoes and other assorted things that most people wouldn’t embrace on a normal day – certainly not on their vacation. 

I glorify these things and write entire stories about places and spaces that have been all but forgotten. I make a big deal out of a single historic artifact or out of my own reaction to some random thing that caught my attention.  I tell you that my thyroid sucks and that life is exhausting and stressful. I tell you that our family dog died and that I like spotting payphones. 

Why?

Because if I’m a normal person with a non-social media ready life, I know there are other people just like me. Yet, this is not the image projected by anyone these days and I think we all need to be reminded that a normal life is ok. It’s more than ok. It’s something to aspire to in this insane world. 

If you hang around here much you know that I believe winter is for rest and quiet. This hasn’t been the best winter for feeling rested but it has been quiet. I have been staying home, cooking most of my meals and not adventuring. At this time, I’m doing very little outside of work, seeing my fella, and barely keeping up with the basics of home. 

Soon my workload will shift again and spring will usher in a new season of adventures. There are trails to hike and many roads to travel in search of enrichment. I have a mile long list of day trips and longer adventures and there’s no way I can get to them all this year but you can bet I’ll try. 

I miss driving down a road just to see where it goes. I miss lingering in front of a painting I do not understand to think about how it makes me feel. I miss randomly choosing a restaurant because I like the outside of the building and assume that any place that looks so cool on the outside must be worth a try. Small towns, rural countryside and big cities are all a celebration of America and evidence of who we are and who we have been. They all are worthy of consideration and exploration if you ask me. They may not be the target of a social media influencer and they may not be a tourism destination but that doesn’t mean they are lacking in cool things to see and learn from in the most unexpected ways.

As the above picture illustrates, what good is all the light if it isn’t framed in a little darkness?

This is what I aspire to. My adventures aren’t so adventurous but I do find them exciting and fulfilling as I mostly celebrate the randomness and the normalness of the world around me.

Is this really so radical an idea? To embrace the real? To find the normal and to not just be good with it but to be satisfied, gratified and joyous that there’s nothing wrong with messy hair, a country road and an imperfect kitchen? 

Everyone else can pursue perfection. I’m going to pursue the normal, small things of my ordinary life. I’m going to pursue what makes me happy and I’m going to remind you regularly that a normal life is not such a radical concept. It can be a great life after all.

Dalton Dari-ette Drive In

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Dalton Dari-ette was closed for the season when I drove by in December but that didn’t stop me from swinging in to see the sign.

It’s a dynamo, isn’t it?

This place has been a fixture in Wayne County, Ohio since 1957. The menu on their website reflects a selection of all the best stuff you want to find at a drive-in. Deep fried mushrooms and grilled cheese caught my eye before I moved on to the ice cream menu. Hot fudge cake anyone?

Find more about the Dari-ette at their website by clicking here!

The Women

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Fiction writer Kristen Hannah has somehow transitioned into the writer that everyone either loves or loves to hate. Her name frequently gets bandied about in social media book groups and I’m always shocked at how combative her haters are and how overzealous her supporters can be. 

Personally, I like her more recent works but that’s not a hill I’ll die on. Meanwhile, I despise Stephen King but would never dream of going to a discussion about how great he is to rain on someone’s parade. 

That’s probably bordering on unAmerican these days but, there, I said it. Discouraging others from embracing what they like isn’t my thing. I clearly don’t know how the internet works. 

This has been on my mind since I finished reading Hannah’s new historic fiction book The Women earlier this month.

It’s about a young nurse who enlists in the Army to serve in Vietnam. She serves two tours before coming home a changed person with PTSD. I won’t tell you much because I don’t want to spoil the story for you but I will tell you some things that are general facts about Vietnam.

Her time in country was brutal. The hours and the devastation of endless waves of soldiers and civilians ripped limb from limb are described in this book. The horrifying and utter loss of it all was experienced by soldiers and the doctors, nurses and camp support staff there to help them. 

Then, these veterans returned home to an ungrateful nation that was fighting its own war in the media and in protests across the country. They were spat upon, called unspeakable names and denied basic services. The federal government didn’t even consider these women nurses who served bravely in dangerous conditions to be veterans. 

Yet, we don’t talk about these things enough or very well. We have generations of people living in this country today who know none of this and I have witnessed plenty of them lately showing their ignorance in online conversations about this book. 

They don’t believe a combat nurse would be relegated to changing bedpans and taking temperatures in hospitals back home. They don’t know that women of that era couldn’t get a bank loan without a signature from her husband or dad. They don’t understand any of it or how our activities at the ballot box today can either advance women’s rights or turn back the clock decades at a time. 

They don’t understand how those women were treated or how they suffered because their own government didn’t recognize their service.

I was in a Barnes and Noble recently and found just three books about Vietnam on the shelves. There was another one about President Johnson’s mucking up of the war but it really was about the man and his strategies rather than the people fighting under his leadership. Three books. 

The section on feminism and women’s issues was pretty scrawny too. 

It was downright sad. 

Kristen Hannah has written some good books and some not-so-good books throughout her career. In this book, I found a couple of mistakes that should be attributed to her editors. The book stretches on a little too long. It’s like she got stuck in a loop and got herself lost on the way to the end. The main character isn’t the most likable. 

But I’m happy to recommend this book and am glad that it exists. After all, with her enormous bestselling reputation, she has a platform to reach a breathtaking amount of people. 

This story needs told and it needs heard. We still have plenty of Vietnam veterans living in this country today who deserve our sincere thanks and apologies and who might find some small comfort in knowing that history will judge them differently than their peers did. 

When you read this book, check out the list of recommended reading in the back. Not a fan of fiction writing? Ken Burns did a fantastic documentary about Vietnam you might want to check out. 

Yes, there are more and probably better ways to learn about Vietnam. This is one avenue and a darn good one if you want to learn the human side of war. The Women is available for purchase in hardback and audiobook right now. Your local library probably has a copy too. Give it a chance!

Calm Waters

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This season of life I’m in isn’t the best. There’s no need for worry. I don’t need counseling or a spa day. No need for a major life shake-up either. The phrase “it is what it is” comes to mind a lot more than normal and I’m the kind of tired that can’t be cured by a good night’s sleep.

It is what it is. 

But it’s a season of life rather than the way it will always be. So it’s ok.

I’m starting to allow my mind to wander into adventure season. Oh, the places I might go!  I’m currently craving outdoor time and a road trip. The thought of throwing open the windows, getting rid of most everything I own and scrubbing clean what’s left is sounding more appealing by the day.

Again, don’t worry. This happens every year at this time and I solemnly promise not to pitch my couch and my entire wardrobe out into the front yard!

Even if  it is tempting.  

For now, I’m settling for short bursts of outdoor time because fresh air is good for the mind, body and spirit. On Tuesday night I went to Lake Alma State  Park  for a walk on the busy bike path. It wasn’t quite the outdoor fun I had planned but it at least was some fresh air and exercise 

I marveled at the water. Look how glassy and still it is!  The trees remain bare as it isn’t white time for the spring bloomers. The sky was a brilliant blue we typically don’t see this time of year. 

Calm water. Still water. It’s what I needed on that day and at that time. If only everything else could be so easy as beautiful nature reflected in calm water!

A Puzzle Parable

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A few weeks ago I solicited advice for putting together this puzzle. It was a gift from my fella who thought I would like the artwork that includes two adorable penguins. I like penguins and it really is up my alley so he gets bonus points for knowing me so well.

Unfortunately, this is a much harder puzzle than I’m used to with pieces of irregular shapes and sizes and a dark sky that’s nearly impossible to decode. It took a while but I finally made peace with the fact I am never going to finish that dark sky. 

And that’s ok.

I thoroughly enjoyed completing the lower half and seeing these adorable creatures take shape. That’s the part that means the most to me. Still, it  took a while to stop feeling like a failure and to admit that not finishing the rest isn’t really a big deal. 

And honestly, if I had continued trying to distinguish between the 41 shades of dark blue that make up the indistinguishable texture of this sky, I might have actually lost my mind. 

This seems like a good parable for the small problems of life. 

How many times have you faced a situation where you’ve had to surrender? Where you’ve taken care of the important stuff but can’t quite figure out the rest? What does it matter if you can’t do the part that is inconsequential when you’ve figured out the parts that really matter?

One important part of humanity is accepting that you don’t have all the answers. It’s understanding that there are things we cannot possibly comprehend or know. We can shuffle around the pieces all we like and try to distinguish between the undistinguishable all we want. That doesn’t mean it will make a difference. 

Sometimes it will just make us crazy.

The Humble Pay Phone

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There are many things in this world that once were common but that are now so rare I tend to stop and take note when I see them. Tail fins on cars, people who still play compact discs, a punch bowl at a party, and all around good manners make me look again. Another thing that tops my list is the humble payphone. 

The payphone originated in the late nineteenth century, giving folks the opportunity to prepay for a call. This was handy if you were traveling or if you didn’t have a home phone and just needed to make a call. Young people may be skeptical when I say this but there was a time that a phone was a luxury rather than a right or necessity. 

When I was a college student back in the nineties, I carried quarters as well as a prepaid phone card to call home from a pay phone. This went on until the day I got my first mobile phone –  a giant black corded monstrosity inside a leather bag that was attached to an external antenna via about six feet of cord. It was bulky and not meant to be portable. Instead, it lived in my car, more or less turning my little Chevy Cavalier into a rolling phone booth. 

As technology improved, that bag phone was traded in for a flip phone and then one with a pull out keyboard (that one was the bomb) before eventually embracing the iPhone, a decision I’ve been repeatedly told was an upgrade. I’m still not convinced about that given how intrusive it can feel. 

I liked using the payphone because the upfront cost lent a certain kind of urgency to a phone call. If I had just a handful of quarters, I had an excuse to keep the conversation short. Not to mention, being tied to the wall in a public place where others might need the phone encouraged some brevity as well. 

Unfortunately, the rise of mobile phone usage in America has nearly driven our faithful payphones into extinction. 

Almost. 

I remember when the City of New York got rid of the last of its public pay phones back in 2022. That was a small news story but one I saw as a profound marker in our society. That city was once home to more than 30,000 payphones attached to poles, inside public buildings and in phone booths across the city. 

I have just one question. Where does Clark Kent change now? I mean, how does he transform into Superman on his way to fight crime and save the day if there are no phone booths?

Yet, you still see them around. You see them more in small rural towns where cell service is spotty or where the economy is such that not everyone can afford a cell phone. You also see them in neighborhoods near county courthouses and jails. After all, if you’re released from jail with only the possessions you took in, it’s possible you don’t have a working cell phone to call for a ride. 

This little number pictured above is located in the vestibule of the Frisch’s Big Boy in Chillicothe, Ohio. It’s a bizarre place for a payphone given the lack of privacy and the constant risk of being smacked with an opening door. 

At least it’s there. 

Personally, I haven’t touched a payphone probably since college but they always make me feel nostalgic, not just for my own youth but for eras before me. When I was a young reporter at a regional newspaper, the rookie desk in the newsroom was next to a man named Roy Cross. He was elderly at the time and cherry picked the best feature stories. He had earned that right after spending a career chasing stories during the golden age of journalism. 

Roy regaled me with tales of covering crime and courts as a young reporter. If there was no time to come back to the paper to write up a story after a long day sitting through a criminal court trial, calling in the story for someone to transcribe was the only choice. So he and competitors would jockey for courthouse phones and public payphones to do just that. The idea of Roy as a young man with a reporter’s notebook in hand, writing his story as he spoke it into the phone was basically the coolest thing I had ever heard. It was like something out of a black and white film like “It Happened One Night” or “His Girl Friday.”

Sentimental, maybe, but most people couldn’t do it and I loved the idea. By the way, Roy would absolutely have been played by Clark Gable. 

So seeing a payphone isn’t really about the phone. It’s about the memories and about nostalgia for a time I’ll never know. And let’s be honest. Given how much I despise talking on the phone most of the time, it’s absolutely about those shorter calls!