I wonder what this cardinal is thinking. It’s been sitting on the feeder, peeking into my office window between nibbles of birdseed, for a while now. There are six others, flitting about the food buffet, but they are content to ignore what he's noticing. This little guy is intent on watching me go about my day. He’s a welcome distraction from what is happening all around –– completely oblivious to fires, politics, earthquakes, crime, plane crashes and all the things that keep humans awake at two in the morning. I’m guessing he never longs for “the good old days” but then again, maybe it depends on how far along he is into his seven to eight years of life expectancy.
Boomers, on the other hand, have a few more years to sort through. There’s a memory around every corner, working its way into the forefront of our brains, urging us to revisit the past, good or bad. With all the opportunities for demise we've had since we took our first ragged breath, you – like me – have probably asked yourself how we ever made it this far.
The Galentines tree that started it all
With the holidays behind us, I reluctantly put away the Christmas decorations for another short 10 or so months. The season’s end brings with it a sense of sentimentality that’s hard to shake. Each ornament holds some special memory and it almost feels cruel to banish them to a storage unit whose temperature reaches the top of the thermometer on hot August days. This year, instead of taking down the tree, I decided to turn it into a Valentine’s Day tree in advance of a party for some gal pals from my crafting group. That decision led me right down a memory lane rabbit hole.
The vintage Valentine decorations reminded me of the grade school parties we enjoyed each February. “Room mothers” would bake cookies and serve red punch that would, no doubt, “ramp us up” enough to push even the most docile teachers over the edge. Art class always produced elaborately decorated shoe boxes with a slit in the top, waiting to house the Valentines that would be exchanged. If you were lucky, you’d get a few cards with heart suckers attached and maybe a box of chalky, conversation hearts. Nevertheless, it was the anticipation that mattered most of all.
I don’t remember students ever having to worry about nut allergies, cancer-causing Red Dye 40, or gluten intolerance.
And Little Johnny's meltdown tantrum was not allowed to cause an epic uproar, regardless of the fact that Susie Q hurt his feelings by saying he wasn't going to get a single Valentine in his ugly box. Most issues were handled "in house" and never had the chance to turn into the helicopter-parent equivalent of a barroom brawl at the next PTA meeting.
Nope, bratty behavior wasn't an option. More likely than not, Little Johnny was told to get over it and if anything was said to Susie Q’s parents, she probably got a lecture about kindness and was sent to bed early, possibly without supper. If Susie dared whine “But WHY?” about her “unfair” punishment, she was most likely told, “Because I said so.” And that was the end of that.
Bigger fish to fry
We had more important things to deal with than bullies. With the 50s’ proliferation of nuclear weapons, classroom bomb drills were the norm. Remember those? You had to pretzel yourself into something small enough to fit under a desk that was about the size of a thimble, then wait until you were told it was safe to come out.
My elementary school rooms had at least one wall that was made entirely of glass. The windows were wonderful but I always questioned what on earth was going to keep that dreaded mushroom-cloud radiation blast from coming through those flimsy windows.
Tornado drills gave me another reason to overthink –– “Does this mean I'm going to sail through the air like a human kolache with this desk wrapped around me for ‘protection’?”
We lived an existence where "duck and cover" was the norm. And yet, here we are...
Every generation has its challenges. Today’s kids faced Covid 19, which will go down in their personal histories as remarkable, just as Boomers and their parents dealt with the fear of polio. Polio killed or paralyzed over half a million people during the 40s and 50s until Jonas Salk invented a vaccine (1955) that eventually eradicated the disease.
Given as a vaccine-laced sugar cube, it was administered during class hours and made a nice chaser for the chocolate covered donuts we had eaten on the way to school if we missed breakfast.
Thanks to Dr. Edward Jenners' discovery , we were also protected from smallpox. Most of us still have the round vaccine scar on our left arms to prove we did what needed to be done to keep us healthy.
We were the lucky kids who fell asleep sprawled out on the bench seats– and sometimes the back window – of Oldsmobiles, Plymouths and Pontiacs, without a single seatbelt to hold our fidgety bodies in place. And if you were "riding shotgun" there was always a rogue arm that would swing out of nowhere just in time to keep your head from crashing into the glove box during a sudden stop or hairpin turn.
Thirsty kids drank from garden hoses and nobody gave a second thought to lead exposure—not that it would matter because we most likely “cut our teeth” by gnawing on the drop-sides and rails of lead-painted cribs.
The milkman delivered fresh milk to our doors so we'd be able to drown our Sugar Smacks and Trix cereals, while Camel cigarette smoke wafted across many of our kitchen tables. We felt safe, never realizing that we would possibly be paying a price later in life that was far more "expensive" than the cost of the cereal and cigarettes.
As toddlers, our curious little minds were free to wonder what would happen if we stuck something into the holes of electrical outlets. That is, until Mom walked by and caught us, just before we succumbed to the deadly temptation. Soon after the discovery, her Naugahyde furniture was rearranged and all of our enticing outlets magically disappeared.
Boomers survived electrocution opportunities, slingshots, cherry bombs, clackers, Jarts, merry-go-rounds and metal playground slides. We rode bikes wearing no sunscreen, sporting no helmets, and if we skinned our knees there was always the now-banned mercurochrome to keep the damage at bay.
We played outside until dark and watched television until the limited broadcast stations signed off. The test pattern and National Anthem informed us that it was time for bed. Reluctantly crawling into crisp, line-dried sheets – which were probably purchased with S&H Green Stamps – we couldn’t wait until morning so we could get up and do it all over again.
While today’s children live in a far more dangerous world in many respects, Boomers had their share of opportunities for disaster at every turn, as well.
It’s amazing that there are 76 million of us, still alive and kickin’.
“OK Boomer…”
Until recently, I thought of myself as fairly current when it came to pop culture, generational jargon, etc. That is, until our son-in-law, Brian, enlightened me to a phrase at Christmas that I hadn’t come across – “OK Boomer”. It’s a catchphrase phrase that gained popularity in 2019 thanks to TikTok. (And yes, I’m late to the party.)
The phrase is not spoken as a compliment. It’s more of a verbal eye-roll, intended to “slap” its recipient into realizing that the likes of Generation Z and Millennials feel we are out of touch with what their lives are like. Boomers are seen by some as close-minded, resistant- to-change "old people" who have no appreciation for the challenges faced by younger generations.
You might hear “OK Boomer” after saying something like, “When I was your age, we knew how to tell time! And we learned how to do it on real clocks!” We aren't quick to credit digital technology for eliminating the need for "hands" on our timepieces. Not to mention, there's a phone in every pocket or purse that can give us the exact time of day with one quick glance.
Or we might say,“Kids these days don’t even know what a dictionary is.” We don’t want to acknowledge the fact that Siri and Alexa can tell you in a half second how to spell r-e-c-a-l-c-i-t-r-a-n-t and, in the process, will also inform you that it’s basically an adjective for 'stubborn as a mule" . (Don’t ask me how I know this… lol)
In researching "OK Boomer", I found a very interesting video created by Beth Djalali and her daughters-in-law, Kelly and Chelsea. In their "Message From Mom" podcast/video the three are discussing what the phrase says about how today's seniors are perceived. After I absorbed their explanations, I could see both sides. I have to say it was an eye-opener.
If “OK Boomer” has not been slung your way, then you’re obviously not one of those for whom the dismissive term was created to insult. Yes, the term is offensive. But in their defense, we didn't have to worry about things like becoming victims of a school shooting or whether we'd ever be able to retire. We had the opportunity to purchase homes at reasonable costs. We could travel the world freely, with very little worry about its political climate. We were privileged in many ways.
Brian is also a Boomer, one who is much more in touch with Millennial vernacular than I am. Perhaps I need to “glow up” by working on that in ’25. For now, if anyone says to me, “Ok Boomer”, I'll just smile say, “Peace". And if they look confused, Siri or Alexa can explain it to them later.
Be like Snoop
I’ve named my cardinal Snoop Bird. My daily visitor doesn’t worry about tomorrow, never wastes energy mulling over past mistakes, and has no need for technology. He’s just content to watch me through the screen, graze the feeders for the hen scratch we provide, and bring me a bit of much needed, otherwise-elusive, mindfulness.
It's funny how the older we get the more we find ourselves romanticizing our bygone years. Regardless of how many times we swear we’ll never become that “boring adult" who dares utter the dreaded words "When I was your age...", not doing so still requires some serious tongue biting.
Nostalgia is a nice, pensive place to visit, but we can’t live there. It’s much more important to focus on ways to enjoy life right where we are.
POOF! Gone.
It’s February and I lost January. It’s as gone as the single sock from my favorite pair, my black and white sunglasses, and my hubby’s pirogue that blew away in a twister a few years ago (too bad it didn’t have a desk to crawl under). It was a busy month, and I didn’t get half the things done that I had planned. But as I write this entry, I know that this month, and hopefully all my tomorrows, are days that I will someday look back on with the same sense of sentimentality that I have for the years that marked our early years as Boomers.
I’ll remember January 2025 as the one in which we adopted our new kittens, Purrcy and Purrito. I’ll remember the snow that turned our neighborhood into a temporary winter wonderland, if only for a day. I will think back on the parties I gave and ones I attended, my twin sons’ 41st birthday, and saying goodbye to an almost-lifelong friend at his memorial service.
I’ll remember the heartache and pain that the month brought to so many, as well.
I’ll look out my window, but Snoop Bird won’t be there. I’ll remember him fondly and then go back to living in the moment, loving and laughing, until there are no more tomorrows left to fill. And so will you.
It'll all be OK, Boomer.
Until next time, PEACE OUT,
Connie
(Notice how I updated that vintage Woodstock phrase? LOL )
All photos are my own, with the exception of the vintage desk (Pam Grantham) and the kittens (Sandy Cowling Dees). Others are stock photos, license purchased through 123RF subscription for use in this blog.
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