We don’t play with a full deck.

Wherever a bevy of women of a certain age gather there’s sure to be laughter. A group of dames I consort with, thirty-three if we’re all present, has had some uproarious times over the fourteen years we’ve been together.

Screen Shot 2015-07-25 at 8.52.52 AMA splinter group of us play canasta one Wednesday a month at O’Charley’s. This card-playing arm of the bunch has been “melding” for eight or ten years. Naturally, we’ve, um, matured and some, or maybe all, of us have become forgetful or addled or maybe even doolally.

Many can’t shuffle the cards any more thanks to arthritis and other problems, but we do have several battery-operated card-shufflers amongst us. They make the most annoying sound and seldom work properly. When we use them people in the adjacent bar look our way.

Everyone in our foursome this past Wednesday — AJ, JoJo, Leanne, me — forgot some rule: deal thirteen cards or eleven? is an eight worth five or ten? what’s wrong with two wild cards and two naturals in one meld?

Screen Shot 2015-07-25 at 11.15.24 AMOur silly mistakes kept us laughing, but then we veered to a discussion about memory loss. Because my husband has dementia I’m considered the “expert.” Someone asked how you would know if forgetting was just old age or a sign of dementia?

I told them that counting backwards by sevens was a test Peter’s doctor always does. Several years ago, he could count backwards so quickly that she would stop him when he got to 51 saying “Well done, good enough.”

“Why I could never do that,” AJ huffed. JoJo agreed, and I knew I wouldn’t get below 93 without pencil and paper. Leanne, the best of us at numbers, started counting, and soon we all helped by “air writing” the figures. We laughed hysterically at ourselves, four women on the shady side of seventy who couldn’t do simple subtraction. We managed to count as far as 65. “We did pretty well, didn’t we?” Joanne said.

“Yeah, but it took all four of us to do it,” Leanne said.

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I love it when stars align, four-leaf clovers stand taller, and blog post ideas spring from unexpected sources. The bit of trivia below came from the widower of a dear friend who always had a joke and who I long ago dubbed the group’s “Raconteur Royale.”

Common entertainment [in the good ol’ days] included playing cards. However, there was a tax levied when purchasing playing cards…applicable [only] to the Ace of Spades. To avoid paying the tax, people would purchase 51 cards instead. Yet, since most games require 52 cards, these people were thought to be stupid or dumb because they weren’t ‘playing with a full deck.'”

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Turn the other cheek.

Electronic devices with beeps and blinking lights and cables baffle me.Screen shot 2015-04-28 at 11.41.38 AM Lead me to a cave. I’ll carve my messages on rocks.

Take my new smart phone, for instance. True, my ancient fliptop was beyond help, but did I really need a so-called “phone” that reports on the stock market, takes my pulse, lets me send texts, emails, and question an otherworldly woman who doesn’t know the answers either? I can take photos with this “phone,” read a book or a map, listen to music, play games, get a weather report and watch a movie. The “phone” part of the phone seems incidental.

No one calls me.

My technical advisors — family — insisted it was time. So I bought a phone that seldom rings, and when it does I’m not sure how to answer it. Son-in-law Martin called a few days ago. “Hello,” I said to no one there. Three more calls and we finally connected. Martin thought something was wrong since I never call him and I’d rung so many times. I said I was returning his calls.

He laughed. “Oh, must’ve been ‘butt dialing.'”

Ack, really‽

That same evening, our blank t.v. screen advised that our service was down. I’d figured that out because the screen was…um…blank. I called help and after intense questioning to identify myself and our equipment — think CIA interrogation — the young woman instructed, “Unplug the cable box from the power source.”

I followed the cable to the power strip. Done!

“Now, what is the bar code number on the back of the box?”

I couldn’t see a bar code. “Where would it be?” I asked.

“Upper right,” she said.

“Nope, nothing there.” I recited all the numbers I saw, but none was right.

I should say here, that the floor behind our t.v is a nest of cables that coil around each other in an incestuous stranglehold.  As I studied the entwined mess I realized I had not only unplugged the wrong box, but I was looking for numbers on the wrong box too.

I explained what I’d done. “Sorry,” I said, “but you should see what I’m dealing with here!” My laugh was hysteria-tinged because now I was wedged between wall and t.v., sitting in a nest of dust bunnies. Getting out would not be pretty.

She giggled. “No problem,” she said. “Let me know when you’ve found the bar code number.”

“Bingo,” I yelled.

“Now tell me what you see on your screen.,” she said.

“Hang on while I crawl around to the front.”

She explained the next steps as patiently as I hope she would explain to her own grandmother — service reconnecting, channels reloading, etc. “Wait fifteen minutes before trying to select a channel,” she reminded, then bid me good night.

Next day, Bill, my husband’s companion, arrived to take Peter and Nobby to their weekly therapy dog, nursing home visit. Bill and I chatted while we waited for Peter. Repetitive beeps came from behind Bill, but he wasn’t “pocket dialing,” no,  he was leaning against the stove’s set-timer button.

A while later — I knew it was only mid-afternoon — when I looked at the stove’s clock it read 6:15. Apparently Bill had “turned the other cheek” when he moved to the left, and in the doing had set the clock several hours ahead. This without a phone in his pocket! What a guy.

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© Johnson 6/12, UFS, Inc

 

 

 

 

Candlelight, remotely.

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Jack jumps over a candlestick.

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Pillar candle, remote not shown.

Years ago, I stumbled across an electric fork. I thought it was the funniest gimic I’d ever seen. Yesterday, I opened a new gadget-filled catalog and saw something that beats a hot fork, tines down — a remote-controlled candle.

Instead of a flickering flame, it has a flickering LED. I’ve seen votive-sized ones and, I admit, they are quite realistic. Flameless candles do offer certain advantages: wax doesn’t melt all over the edge of the bathtub and there’s no fire danger. But these newer LED candle versions come with a wireless remote that requires three AAA batteries. There is  something wrong with that. The batteries will have to be replaced periodically just to be able to “light”the candles remotely, matchlessly.

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On the other hand, an old-fashioned wicked candle needs only a match, a much cheaper alternative to batteries. Isn’t part of the magic of candlelight the gentle process of striking a match and watching the flame burst and grow? And putting candles out with a snuffer provides added romance.

Trade the fascination of real candles aglow? Tsk tsk.
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Now, fair dues, in the same catalog, I saw something that would make my breakfasts and late night snacks perfect — a  divided bowl! Cereal goes in one half, milk in the other. A spoonful from each side and, voila, no more sodden cereal. A brilliant solution to a soggy problem!

Except! didn’t someone come up with a similar idea years and years ago? Baby Screen shot 2015-01-27 at 12.07.19 PMdishes — a section for peas, one for applesauce, another for creamed corn. Different application, but the same idea. Somehow, an ugly, modern plastic dish doesn’t hold a candle to a pretty little baby dish for my Cheerios and milk. Maybe sliced bananas in the third spot?

 

 

 

Hostess gets the ‘ho ho’s’

There’s a first time for everything. Ah yes, I remember the days when, if you wanted a table in a busy restaurant, the hostess would write your name on a pad, tell you how many minutes you’d have to wait, and point you towards a comfortable sitting area.

Screen shot 2015-01-11 at 11.32.06 AMThen along came those annoying buzzer things to hold or stick in your pocket. They resemble something from “Star Wars.” Scare the bejesus out of you when they buzz.

Now there’s a newer twist. The technology that arrived with iPhones and iPads usurped buzzers. Where have I been you’ll ask? Hm, well, locked in my own little world still using a landline, and neither twittering, tweeting, nor texting. I do have a cellphone, but it’s only for emergencies, my emergencies. My immediate family and one or two friends have the number. Phone’s seldom turned on though.

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Even if an iPhone cost $3.50, I wouldn’t want one.

Recently we went to a new restaurant within walking distance from home. I gave the hostess our name, told her there would be four of us. She asked for my phone number. I considered lying since it was obviously a marketing ploy — get our number and hound us with phone calls. But I gave it to her and prepared to wait. Not minutes, mind you, but an hour — an hour until we were seated, and forty minutes until we got the pizza we’d ordered the instant we sat down. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, when Leslie and Martin arrived I mentioned I’d had to give our phone number. Leslie burst out laughing. “You gave them your home number, didn’t you, Mom?” Her laugh bounced off the high ceilings.

“Well, she asked for my phone number” I huffed. “I don’t give my cell number to just anyone, you know.”

My daughter knew without asking that I didn’t even have my cell phone with me. She explained restaurants nowadays want your cell number to alert you, especially when there are a lot of people waiting to be seated. By this time there were at least twenty-five people standing around, and as many more walked out when they heard how long the wait time would be.

“I’m standing right here. If she calls our name, I’ll hear her…” Leslie started to interrupt, with a comment about my hearing I was sure, so I amended my words to, “…I’ll read her lips.”

“What if you decide to go shopping down the street?”

“If I wanted to go shopping, I’d go shopping. I wouldn’t be standing in line here…” I spluttered. “And, no, I don’t want a smart phone so a hostess can call me to say my table is ready when I’m standing two feet away!” Oh yes, I was on a toot.

“Other people like the convenience,” my daughter argued.

“‘Convenience’ would be getting seated in a restaurant in a reasonable amount of time, without benefit of a phone call,” I grumbled.

“Sorry, Mom, but you’re out of touch.”

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At least I’m not as out of touch as my grandparents who refused to have a telephone at all. “If someone wants to talk to me,” Granddad said, “they can come to the door. We’ll set on the porch and we’ll talk.” 

My mother was as frustrated with her parents as my daughter is with me.

Knifed and forked.

Screen shot 2014-11-07 at 2.23.10 PMRemember electric knives? They were the go-to present for brides back in the 1960s. As far as I was concerned they were just another gadget to clutter my tiny kitchen, plus cleaning the blades was a pain, and the gadget, like many “tools,” was designed for a right-handed person. That gave lefty-me another reason to dislike it. Electric knife indeed!

The knife ranked right up there with an electric can opener in my estimation. I could open a can way quicker with the old “turn-key” type.

At some point during that decade I was on a quest to find really different present. I went into store that had gift ideas displayed inside the main entrance. And right in the middle of the table was…was it…an electric fork?  I laughed.

“What does it do?” I asked the salesman.

“It heats up,” he said, trying to hide his grin.

“And…?”

“That’s all, it just gets hot.” He laughed with me.

I had better things to do with a hundred bucks than buy a hot fork!

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If this fork is electric, that swan is in for a big surprise! Installation: Swiss artist Jean-Pierre Zuragg, 10/17/14.

My electric knife didn’t last long in my kitchen, but I did use it for non-food related activities over the years. It was great for slicing slabs of foam rubber to make Halloween costumes or new “throw” pillows, and I remember using it to nip errant threads off the edges of tablecloths just before company arrived.

Turns out, though knives for kitchen use were a short-lived fad, medical and forensic science adapted them, in smaller and more refined sizes, for use in operating rooms and morgues. Who knew? Electric knives for home use are now available again for another generation to try and then discard.

Another gadget remotely related to an electric knife is a musical cake slice. I found it on a list of ten weirdest appliances. The thing plays “Happy Birthday,” “Jingle Bells,” “The Wedding March” and “For he’s a jolly good fellow” while you slice the cake. Presumably there’s a way to choose which tune.

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Top ten.

But who am I to laugh? I have a birthday candle holder that plays “Happy Birthday.” Three years ago I couldn’t find it. In a panic I dashed to the grocery and bought another. It wouldn’t be a birthday with out my musical candle.

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No laughing matter.