Post Script to Jan's "Life Lessons"

        I know you must look forward to my daily reports because they are so uplifting. So today I bring you the household horror news of 9/23/2026: my small floor vacuum, which is only a year or two old, has breathed its final breath. No warning. Just death. And so I shall resort to the old fashioned ways of my mother and haul out the straw broom to do my chores. What more might go wrong, you ask? Let’s not go there.

         While we all have experienced a dying appliance now and then, it’s the continuing saga of these curses that might warrant concern. Is there a poltergeist lodging at 611 Ogden Lane who is trying to dislodge the current landowner?

I Swear

..... is a not-to-be-missed movie based on a real life story of a boy with Tourette's Syndrome.

The acting and story are phenomenal! 

I loved it so much I bought the book as well.   

"I Swear" is available on Netflix. 

Seeking Suggestions

My ex-husband and I, along with our children and their children, are on an ongoing group text.

The way it works is that travel photos and good news are shared.  My Ex and I were raised in bygone days, and we both tend to write, "So proud of you!" or "Beautiful pictures!" or "Way to go!" 

We two ancient people rarely post news of our own, we're more like the background choir.  

So this week, I posted pictures of my new car.  Day and Will always and Tom and Bonnie sometimes  respond with a heart or a thumbs up, sometimes a word or two.  But beyond those.  it's usually crickets.

I'm not exactly pouting about being ignored, but I'm asking you, my friends, to let me know if this is a generational thing--not to respond to texts.  

Two of my grandchildren respond to my texts if they are written to them separately.  Two do not. 

One of my grandchildren who doesn't respond called me last week and we talked for over an hour about his ideas for dealing with chronic pain!  As a big time workout dude, he had a few interesting ideas and I will never forget the kindness of his reaching out, adult to adult, with his suggestions. 

My granddaughter actually Face Times me to share secrets--treasured conversations that mean the world to me!  When I see her name on my screen, I know it's going to be the best thing that's happened all day. 

So what's up with the Group Text silence when I post something that matters to me?  Clearly, these are caring sweet loving kids who would--if I told them in person--show some happiness.  

Many things in this digital age are easy to the Generation Zs in this group--like Snap Chat and Instagram and all the other apps I don't recognize..  Maybe texting is passe? (see I don't even know how to put an accent mark over the e in passe! and spell check wants me to say paste!)

But we're trying--we old-timers!  We can do the basic texts and emails and we play along as best we can.  We congratulate them on their wins, we wish them well, we are crazy about them. 

But we didn't get the memo when text etiquette changed.  We know they all have smart phones within reach 24/7--but I guess they have fatter fish to fry these days.  I feel like posting this morning: "Hey, thank you all for your enthusiasm about my new car!" Or: "Looks like my text from last week didn't go through--so here it is again!" 

My Ex, of course, didn't bother to tap back a thumbs up on my news, but I didn't expect him to.  I spent almost half my life with him and he (even though he has mellowed quite a bit in his old age) has never been keen on my news.

But if anyone has any ideas on what to do with un-answered notes from Generation Z (aka Zoomers) please share!  Without some suggestions, I may resort to....well, saying catty shit to get their attention!

Life Lessons

In the past couple of weeks, my saint of a friend next door, has been besieged with trouble:

Two of her last pecan trees have lost enough of themselves to block the street and are now on their last legs.

George, her innocent-looking little kitty, chewed all the vents while hiding from humans behind the dryer, turning her laundry room into a sauna.

Her alarm system broke--again.

Her $40 Fit Bit died right in the middle of doing its job, counting her steps. 

Her hot water heater also died.

As did her AC, requring her to "spend her children's inheritance" to replace it.

Add to all that, the final blow: her hopeful pomegranates have all turned out to be duds.

If you saw her walking down the street, sassy as ever, her gait lively, her moves evidencing her loyalty to yoga, you'd never know that she's survived a Biblical attack on her sanity and bank account.  She looks on the bright side: her computer, car, and  phone all seem to be doing what they came here to do.  She still has food and water and a roof--which she will remind us is not available to so many. 

A motley crew of love

I've now watched both seasons of 

My Family

It's a beautifully written and cast movie about love and honesty, forgiveness and openly expressed anger, acceptance of differences, and so much more.  

One of my favorite lines:

"We're not exactly a family; we're a motley crew of love."

This one, in my opinion, is going to win some awards.  It's a not-to-be-missed story.

Wonderful Series on Netflix

An Italian film called My Family.

Usually, I prefer to watch a foreign movie with subtitles, but this one is very well dubbed, so I'm listening to it in English.  

Just beginning Season 2 on September Friday night.  

I've got the blues!

 Out with the red, in with the blues!

SO I bought my first and last red car in February 2025, right after the election.  Carlene gave Bob and me each a portion of the sale of her house (each our bedroom, she said) and I chose a cool Honda HRV Sport.  Four wheel drive. Black interior.  

I had two long road trips in it and it handles very well.  But it wasn't....

BLUE! 

I wanted blue. I always want blue.  I made an impulsive decision to go with the red, and after a year and a half, it just didn't feel like ME.  

So after seeing this little powder-blue Volkswagen Taos, I went over to the Alamo Heights VW dealer and took a test drive, fell in love! Tonight it came home with me and Luci in it. 

My salesman, Cameron Harris, was wonderful!  Today was his 34th birthday and he shared his red velvet birthday cake and lots of easy-going no-pressure conversations.  I considered buying Blue's big sister, a dark-blue Tiguan, but Jan and I decided the lighter blue would be less hot on these summer days.

My three favorite cars have all been blue:

My first car-of-my-own was a 1990 turquoise Acura Integra--a beauty. 

My second Mini Cooper was Easter-egg turquoise. 

And now we have Blue, a gorgeous 2026 Taos. 

What a thrilling day to get the BLUES! 

Live Love Laugh

On childhood trips to Daytona Beach, Bob and I could hardly wait to stop at a restaurant called The Green Frog.  Not particularly for the food, but for the toys and trinkets you could get there.  

Traveling in other directions, say to Chattanooga to see our Harris relatives, we were just as excited to stop at Stuckey's--wtih their signs and jingles, "Just wait til you get to Stuckey's; Stuckey's is not very far...."

Backseat kids must have been the target audience for these food stops.  Stuffed and plastic animals, bows and arrows, and all manner of cute things created a festive air of expectations and it was worth the wait.  

The super gas stations of today are Stuckey's on Steroids.  You can buy anything you want: kitchenwares, sweat shirts and jerseys, deli foods, toys, you name it. Roadside stations big and small feature a wall or two of rhinestone pocket books, fringy blouses, crosses, flags, and inspirational quotes on distressed wooden plaques. 

Inevitably two signs are always in on the wall: 

Believe

Live Love Laugh

Believe what? I always wonder.  Believe in.... the Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy? 

America the Beautiful?  Jesus? Yourself? It could be anything you like, just believe something. the soggy seems to say. 

"Live Love Laugh" is printed, painted, stitched, and stenciled on wood, paper and fabric millions of times a year.  

The book I'm reading now is entitled Live Love Laugh--written by Kristin Kobes Du Mez  a scholar and historian of religious movements in American for the past two centuries. It's subtitled: The Secret History of White Christian Women and the World They Made. 

Live Love Laugh

Six years ago, I read her excellent book, Jesus and John Wayne--that traced the shift from gentle lesus in the Gospels to big strong tough John Wayne Jesus.  A big segment of the Christian communities of the time yearned for a more "badass" Jesus.  An Alpha Jesus.  Jesus with big muscles and a gun. 

In this her most recent book, she traces the long and bumpy road to the changes in religious sentiments that have led to the current political climate.  

it's a fascinating read!

When it's for your own good

When we were children and had to take medicine, our parents told us it was for our own good.

Now that we are adults, that phrase is a cover for manipulation: I know better than you do what's good for you.

My least favorite cliche in the English language--when people gang up on another adult or violate her privacy--is "We're only telling you this (doing this, revealing your secrets, whatever) because we LOVE you."

When the boundary busters and the boundary bustee are in their 70s, both sides know how it feels to be treated as if we've lost our marbles:  it's patronizing and insulting for a person, or group of persons, pretending to be benevolent, to share our private information with someone else (our children,  spouse, best friend) hoping to get them in on the same icky "love" attack. 

Here's my opinion: If you really love a person, don't go over their heads or behind their backs.  If you think I have a problem, take a look in the mirror and attend to your own --I've got mine covered. Most of my family--including my children--give me credit for having a brain. 

As you can guess, I've recently been the target of some love bombing "for my own good." 

A person in one of my friend groups decided that some of the meds I take could--taken together--cause death.  She told two other friends, then texted my children late Sunday night to name the meds I take and warn them.

If I had known they were so curious, I'd have emailed them all a list of my prescriptions and invited them to join me on my next doctor's visit--why not?  But not one of them asked me for that information--they took it on the authority of the one who'd texted and called Day and Will.  Who does that to a competent adult friend who still has her share of marbles?

I've had friends who've walked Luci on days I couldn't, brought me dinner on a bad day, gone with me to doctors' appointments, and done all manner of things to get me through the hardest days.  I can't count the times those gestures of love have made me teary with gratitude, like now, right now, right this minute. 

Labor Day Weekend in Athens:

Day and Tom, Jackson and Deanna, and Marcus and Lucia drove down from Virginia to visit Nana for a belated birthday celebration.   What a van-load of happy! 

Nana and Tom

Luci and Nana

Deanna and Nana

Jackson--who's 25 in October