"Over and Next": Underrated for seizing life

“Over” and “next” are two of the most underrated words in the English language according to Norman Lear, creator of “All in the Family,” “The Jeffersons,” and “Maude” among other groundbreaking television programs.

On a recent “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” broadcast on NPR, the 93-year-old was asked what he thinks has  contributed to his longevity in life and work.

“Over and next,” he responded without pause.

Paraphrasing him: When it’s over, it’s time to move on to the what’s next.

We often cripple ourselves reliving the past, paying penance for our regrets, and trying to undo what can no longer be undone. In the meantime, we’re missing what’s next.

“Over and next.”

Sound like a good mantra for those of us who strive to get the most out of our lives.

Watch a short video featuring Norman Lear.

Not Dead Yet

By HEIDI EWING and RACHEL GRADY | Jul. 6, 2016 | 7:44

At the age of 93, Norman Lear is still entertaining America. What’s his secret?

It’s all about the cats interlude*

Well, I can finally say I will drop everything for my cats!

Underwear in hand this morning to get my day going, I got distracted by a cat and went off to tend to my herd’s needs.

And then I couldn’t find my underwear.

I had literally “dropped my drawers” to take care of my cats.

I promise not to drop any grandchildren or a good glass of wine for the cats, but I now believe I can officially say, “I’ve dropped everything for my cats.”

Lest you think I’m some shuttered in cat lady, it isn’t all snuggles and fresh litter among us.

Pi in the Sky - He's not there voluntarily

Just last week I was threatening to put them all out on the curb and get a new batch of cats who would appreciate the mahogany climbing tree I built for them. While Sweet Potato Pi can be found cat napping in the cubby from time to time. None of the three have accepted the challenge of climbing the tree.

Well, so far anyway…until it isn’t my idea…and they can officially call it their idea to climb and perch.

It's all about the cats all the time it seems. I don't know how they got so spoiled???

Just herding cats.

*I titled this entry “interlude” since there will probably be more cat commentaries along the way.

Media Skepticism Part II (local newspapers)

(Author’s Note: Sorry for the interruption between Parts I &II but I thought Flossie had something worth saying for all of us.)

 

I have lived long enough to witness the media I love the most --- newspapers --- teeter harrowingly on the brink of extinction ---- (It could happen in my 26 years but I have an old soul.)

I have also lived long enough to see the career I knew I was destined for --- journalism --- live out periods of high ethnics (post-Watergate) and surrender to sensationalism (pick a medium, pick a story).

I have a lot of bones to pick with this profession, but at 60, the one that bothers me the most is this natural and perhaps necessary evolution away from hard copy news to Internet rivers and streams of electronic news, and the audience that loses out as a result.

When the country switched from analog to digital in 2008, the FCC reported that less than 2.5% of American households were unready and did not make that switch. Interestingly, The Nielsen Company reported that by October of that year all but .05% of households had made the conversion and that those that hadn’t were most likely to be African American, Hispanic, Asian, younger, lower income and those less likely to have Internet access in their homes.

Yet, the same report shows that of that small percentage, one-third was age 55+ (no doubt also low income, without access to the Internet and of all cultures). A group of people who no doubt counted on their TV, along with their newspaper, as company in the household during the day as well as an important information source. Of approximately 116M households in 2008, that would mean somewhere around 5M households (some 5M+ citizens) lost this important companion.

I couldn’t find any estimates on how many households may still be without TV because they didn’t make the switch but I do worry that too many of them are elderly and out there alone.

Closely following the analog/digital switch and the gap in service it may have created, came the loss to too many newspapers.

I cannot help but remember my mother and aunt living alone, without the freedom of a car and only so much yard work to be done. I remember the talk radio station on all day to fill the void in an empty house. I also think about my mother’s dinner schedule around “M*A*S*H” reruns and the news, and her “stories” in the evening to pass the time.

The newspaper industry has struggled for decades to cultivate young readers in hopes of turning them into dedicated adult subscribers but electronic technology and the Internet got in the way.

Newspapers were very late coming to the realization that they had to change to survive. They still struggle to figure out how to remain a relevant and effective source of news with TV and radio long having held that breaking news position and a mindless number of alternative news sites on the Internet for newshounds to track.

Yet, their most loyal readers --- the seniors who grew up knowing that the newspaper was a constant they could count on --- are the least attended to by the industry today and the ones most likely to require this version. While seniors are certainly tech savvy, many are still not likely to spend their days following the electronic river of news, where the most coverage is today.

Granted, they have calculated that we aren’t their long-term audience, yet at the same time, the industry has discounted us completely.

HEY! we're still here. We’re the ones who still want ink on our hands when we finish the newspaper for the day ---- every day. We're the ones who want all of the news "that's fit to stream." We'll trade you the Sudoku, advice columns and other syndicated stuff for pages full of the news of our city!

And we're happy to pay for it...It's not like you have to do it forEVER! (see two grafs above.) I'll even put "She still subscribed" on my tombstone. (Full disclosure: I can't really do that since I'm going to be freeze dried and my dust thrown in the wind --- I've take up too much room on this earth already.) But I would put that on my tombstone if I was getting one.

Flint, Michigan’s Flint Journal is owned by Booth Newspapers and became a part of MLive.com when the parent company decided to form the MLive Media Group in 2012 to handle the advertising and news for all of its newspapers and websites.

From 30+ reporters to cover the MANY stories of this urban community prior to MLive, the Flint Journal is down to eight-ish reporters according to Managing Editor Bryn Mickle. And as Mickle explained to my students last year, those reporters focus on the daily Internet stream of news, not on the content for the newspaper, which publishes four times a week --- Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Sunday.

Interestingly enough, since the MLive group is based in Grand Rapids, Michigan --- two hours away from Flint and on the western side of the state, the Flint Journal is edited, designed and printed in Grand Rapids. (Pause to let this sink in.) People in Grand Rapids are making decisions, with a bit of input from the Flint staff, about what the Flint Journal hard copy will contain. Just as they are for the other community newspapers in the system: The Bay City Times,  The Grand Rapids Press, Jackson Citizen Patriot, Kalamazoo Gazette, Muskegon Chronicle, The Saginaw News and Advance Newspapers.

If one subscribes to the paper long enough --- one year for me --- the template of daily coverage is obvious and sacrifice of local news just as obvious. MLive tends to drop in the biggest story among their coverage areas whether it has relevance to the other communities or not.

A weekly entertainment column covers the highlights of performers across the state for that weekend, completely ignoring the amazing arts events that happen nonstop in Flint. ---- FLINT IS AN ARTS TOWN! --- But how would a columnist not in Flint know about Flint arts if he’s just surfing the web looking for events calendars to help him fill his column?

Often, from Friday to Sunday or Sunday to Tuesday, the same story is virtually repeated rather than covering ---- “NEWs --- as in breaking news or new news in case you don’t get that “news” means the latest not just the best we’ve got to help us save money in the production process.

Instead of spending money on sufficient reporters to cover the local news, two full pages are given over to comic strips and Sudoku, more pages include three syndicated advice columns in a row (thanks, I needed that) along with horoscopes and other filler that has nothing to do with the community or the state --- just more paid for syndicated feature stuff.

Whew though! Plenty of pages are still dedicated to obituaries because most subscribers are 55+ and our parents (my mother) trained us well to check to see who we know who died. One service they’ve preserved for us ---- or actually the one service that makes them money since those death notices are paid for by the funeral home or family. Cha-ching.

It’s not that I don’t want the latest information on the Flint Water Crisis but that’s not the only story in town. And by the way, I’d much rather read about the other stories in my town than fluff features about Grand Rapids, Jackson, Kalamazoo, Muskegon or even Saginaw (my home town.)

I’m troubled by any justification behind generically filling each community’s paper with copy from other communities to save money. Whatever cash savings they are enjoying, they plan is at the expense of their subscribers who still hope for the the service that once was the community newspaper.

Will I cancel my subscription? Are you kidding! Newspapers are my life. I want my news in hard copy and I will always support my local paper ---- but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worthy of some constructive criticism from time to time.

Do you think it is still possible for publishers to think more about their audience than their bottom line? I don’t.

Flossie Lewis: At 91, she's only 15

Well, I guess I don't have to do my Standing in the Middle of the Road Blog anymore.

Flossie Lewis sums it all right up in her PBS "Brief But Spectacular Take on Growing Old."

At 91, she's only "15" ;-)...and FAB-U-Lous!

Don't worry, I have plenty more to say. Gotta get all of my character out just as Flossie is doing!

And thanks to cub reporter Sue Breen for finding this one for me.

In bed with an author

Among the very best things about living alone is coming home at the end of a cacophonous day, closing the door to the rest of the world and having my space all to myself.

The next best thing about living alone is climbing into bed at night and getting lost in a good book (homage of Charles Dickens, Ray Bradbury, Jasper Fforde and so many others). Sometimes for 30 minutes and sometimes long into the night. I'm safe and sound and all tucked in with my book.

The other evening I finished a very nice Greek murder mystery by Anne Zouroudi. I'd only had a few chapters left. Dropping it to the floor in my "read" pile, I sorted through the unread stack and selected "One For the Books," a short little perspective on books from all angles by book lover and critic Joe Queenan.

To be honest, I haven't been in the mood lately for nonfiction or essays and was doubtful that I'd stick with it.

But almost immediately I found myself doing somethings while in a book that I haven't done in ages. Grabbing a pen to underline important ideas since I'd already decided this book would be among those I would be giving to one of my graduating students. Dog-earring pages where he mentioned authors and books I felt it necessary to add to my list. (I did suggest he might have included an index of books and authors to ease my task --- but you know writers. Suggestions are not always welcome.)

I read whole passages out loud because they deserved to be heard by me and my cats.

I laughed out loud. I teared up several times and especially at this from a favored librarian of his. --- "A library is not a business. A library is a miracle." (pg. 57)

By now, I'm hearing the author's voice and not reading aloud anymore. We are having

Joe Queenan

a serious conversation now...in bed.

He tells me how little interest he has in nonfiction and less in books foisted (gifted) on him by friends --- yet, he gifts books as do I.

His tastes run the gamut from the Classics to a contemporary page-turning thriller, with a very special place in his heart for French authors and writings because of the education and life experiences he gained there.

He mocks one of my favorite storytellers without naming him, who sets his murder mysteries in Laos and Southern Thailand, with a sort of a murder-mystery-is-a-murder-mystery-is-a-murder-mystery-regardless-of-setting kind of smirk. He misses, I think to myself too polite to argue with him, the socio-political, cultural tour that Colin Cotterill (and Zouroudi for that matter) takes me on including the touch of mysticism Cotterill weaves so entertainingly into his Dr. Siri Paiboun series. His loss I do bravely tell him loud enough to disturb a cat.

He knows the exact number of books he reads a week, a month, a year and often has as many as 30 going at one time. I look down at the piles of read and to-be-read books on the floor around my bed.

He reminds me why books will survive the Kindle.

“…[b]ooks are sacred vessels...are connective tissue. Books possess alchemical powers, imbued with the ability to turn ennui into ecstasy…We believe they have magical powers.

            “People who prefer e-books may find this baffling or silly. They think that books merely take up space. This is true, but so do your children and Prague and the Sistine Chapel.

            “I will never own an e-reader. A dimly remembered girl-friend’s handwriting will never take me by surprise in the Nook. A faded ticket to the Eiffel Tower will never fall out of a Kindle.” (239-240)

While packing books in my latest move, a handwritten note from a dearest friend who died recently fell out of a book I was discarding. Another included a picture of me and a lost love. My Eiffel Tower miracles.

He validates my disinterest in joining a book club:

“Book discussion clubs have almost nothing to do with reading. This may be why they so rarely choose good books. Participants are seeking unanimity, and good books do not invite unanimity. They invite discord, mayhem, know fights, blood feuds…A book is a series of arguments between the author and the reader, none of which the reader can possibly win. This is especially true if James Joyce is involved.” (44)

Unlike him, I rummage through used book stores and library book sales for what I’m after. (I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d picked up his book for a buck at the Dollar Store.) I also tend to put books that don’t suck me in back into circulation through free lending libraries and donations to library book sales. Unlike him, most of the books that fill my study’s shelves are waiting to be read.

It’s nearly 6 a.m. by now and the conversation just keeps getting better and then he goes and does it. “I’m 61,” he tells me. “I’m in the autumn of my life.” 

The conversation comes to a screeching halt and what follows are some very awkward silences between us.

With the early morning birds waking in the trees outside of my window and an April breeze cooling my shoulder, I think, is he telling me that within a year, I am going from those spring fresh greens of 26 (I’m only 26) to the gold and red and orange leaves of fall that break away from the living tree to brownout, crumble and blow away? Autumn means that winter can’t be too far away.

I'm offended that he's mentioned my age and implied there might be an end to my days. As my late mother-in-law told us often, "I never intended to go," was what she wanted on her tombstone. I hope her family followed through on that.

His voice is lost to me now. I quietly read the final pages of the book alone.

Queenan knows the exact number of books in his home. He has calculated his life expectancy and the number of books he expects to get through before winter freezes over him. While it sounds well organized, it also sounds like surrender.

I never have nor will I ever stop to calculate the time I have left, neither will I prioritize a must read bucket list of books. As they come to me I will read them and read them and read them long into the rest of my nights.


Queenan, Joe, "One For The Books," Viking, 2012.

60 is the new 80 - ouch!

60 is the new 80.

At least that’s how I’ve felt these past few weeks due to crippling back spasms. The pain has been so stunning that I now understand why maturing individuals have a tendency to overdo drugs and alcohol.

As my 80-something aunt advised me just yesterday, “There’s a new ache somewhere almost every week.”

Most days, I’m a pack mule, lugging and toting the stuff I need without the benefit of a hand cart or other aid. If something has to be moved from here to there so be it. Size and weight be damned.

My spine, having been disrespected lo these many years, has developed a love/hate relationship with me. Years ago, it began bulging discs in retribution and for the thrill of the pain it could inflict --- chronically, thank you so very much. (I don’t know why we can’t work together but nooooooooo.)

I physical therapy. I Pilates. I yoga. I work on my core. Nothing’s ever enough for those discs, that spine, and the back that claims them.

And now this.

When it kicked in, I thought it was just a strain that would go away. It wasn’t. It hasn’t.

I’m waiting not so patiently now for an anonymous insurance company representative to weigh and measure the value of helping me over the cost savings to his/her employer by denying a referral to a pain management specialist.

I’m also on my second tier of pain killers and muscle relaxants since the first round of recommended drugs didn’t even hint at relief.

Eight years ago on the tail end of menopausal symptoms, I was suffering from such severe pain that I couldn’t focus to work. In there somewhere, I happened to have some strong alcoholic beverages, strictly for their entertainment value I assure you, but the relief was life altering. It was then that I understood what alcohol could do for those with chronic pain --- physical and emotional. After that, I was far more understanding of those “tipplers” among us. Finally understanding that some aches and pains simply do not go away because we demand it or swallow a couple of over-the-counter pain killers. Some pains are here to stay and perhaps foretell the future. Just the thought of that makes me ache.

Later, when the bulging discs added sciatica to their repertoire of painful entertainment, I was reminded of this earlier lesson. Although the pain is always with me, it seems best treated by movement and exercise rather than alcohol, which I continue to reserve for enjoyment…and escape ;-)

So, here I am again in total disagreement with my back. My online medical sleuthing offers nothing but hydration (I’m about to drowned already), heat and therapies out of my reach until someone else feels my pain and approves a therapy from some heavenly position of power.

These times don’t try my soul. They try my patience and tolerance for pain. They also remind me that there are more trying times ahead. The aging process naturally includes the slowing and breaking down of the body. While I can’t predict what’s next (my body tends to keep its conniving evil plots close to the vest), to protect the quality of life, I have to commit to pushing back at the body that tries to bully me into submission…and take a shot (of Tequila) from time to time. ;-)

April Fools: I fooled myself

I am my own April Fool.

After an absolutely frenetic Thursday from early morning to way past my dinnertime on the road, I arrived home thinking it was Friday and my weekend was ahead.

I couldn’t understand why none of my Thursday night TV favorites were in On Demand. I even wished a friend a “good weekend.”

Friday morning, I jumped out of bed (well, not really since I’m experiencing lower back muscle spasms), ah, got up slowly and early to run (OK, drive) to the credit union to be sure I got there before it closed as it does on Saturday, at noon. I went on to run my other regular Saturday errands.

Upon returning home, I settled in to do some homework before getting ready for my cousin’s wine tasting party that Saturday evening.

What I couldn’t figure out from the moment I had started my car to run the errands until about an hour into my homework was: Why is Michigan Radio running its weekday programming on a Saturday? I knew April 1 was April Fools Day and wondered if this was their joke to the listening audience but… So, as Diane Rehm started her second hour, I finally went out to the website to see what was up. To be fair, Michigan Radio has just recently altered it programming line-up but…for some reason, Michigan Radio had the date as FRIDAY, April 1.

I suddenly found myself with another day to add to my weekend. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I would have had to. I’ve been so crunched work-wise lately that I couldn’t process having an extra day to get all of the tasks done.

I simply couldn’t process this shocking excess. So I promptly took a nap. (That’s a Saturday thing too.)

I actually played an April Fools Day joke on myself and got away with it.

I know what you are thinking but you are wrong.

Clearly this is a mistake due to exhaustion, not, harrumph, age.

May your jokes be as successful! ;-)

Losing my frame of reference

I feel as if my life’s frame of reference is slipping out of my reach.

This isn’t a “time is passing so fast now” experience. It is one of context. The context that has shaped my life is forgotten or, in the case of my young students (born in 1996, sheesh!), has never ever been learned.

That younger people vaguely remember or don’t care even to learn about the life altering events of the past leaves me feeling diminished or inadequate somehow. As if what I have to share has no worth.

I feel like celluloid film that is drying up, cracking and turning to dust in my ignored tin. If all of that is lost, forgotten, ignored, underappreciated, what happens to the rest of me? The whole me?

My college journalism training began in the thick of Watergate. It’s a frame of reference --- context --- for anyone who studies investigative reporting, politics, and history. Yet, my students today, having been born two decades after the scandal, may have memorized Nixon’s name among all of the presidents in grade school, and perhaps they recall that he was forced to resign for something, but what is kind of hazy.

Watergate is as unknown to them as the “global village” theory of the 70s. You know, the global village they are now living in thanks to the Internet. (I have a student who travels daily to Spain to practice his Spanish via the application Periscope, where he talks to Spaniards and visits live lectures in Spanish and is able to interact with the speakers and other online audience members.)

In my lifetime, free citizens of African decent were still (are still) fighting and dying for the rights guaranteed to them 100 years before (Civil War) and even earlier in our Constitution. The knowledge that people around me, people I knew were not (are not) equally enjoying the privileges and protections of this country DID shape my life. Now, though, that’s just the stuff for some history books. Those who are not directly affected have no frame a reference for it, no context.

I recently pointed out to a media class that the FCC has determined the cable providers can no longer require customers to rent their cable boxes. If we do the monthly rental fee math for a life-time of rental fees we can easily figure out why these companies are making healthy profits. How much could one cable box really cost? U.S. Senators Edward Markey (D-MA) and Richard Blumenthal (D-CT) reported last July, in preparation for the FCC decision, that the rental boxes are worth $19.5 billion a year to the cable industry. Hello! Seriously, how much could that box cost to make? Ars Technica, an online technology blog reports that the average household pays $232 a year on cable box rentals, suggesting that the boxes are well paid for even in the first year of rental. (Ars Technica, July 30, 2015)

My students weren’t shocked, offended or outraged by such a bilking of the viewing audience. Their response was to just stare at me as if wondering aloud why I would bring this up in a media class.

I’m the one who was shocked when I realized that these students have little or no frame of reference for cable boxes. They are the unplugged generation. They don’t have cable, so no cable boxes either. They get all of their media on smartphones, tablets and computers. For many, email is also a vintage idea having been replaced by texting and social media forms of communication with friends and family. Cable boxes are as foreign to these 20-somethings as are CD players and newspapers. Don’t even mention typewriters and record players. ;-)

Welcome to the generation gap, where the “when I was your age,” stories are not welcomed by the younger recipients because they have no frame of reference. Give it 40 years and they will be wishing they’d listened more closely.

It’s as if we are on slightly different plains with the generations that follow --- just enough off kilter and out of the frame that what we offer is too foreign for them to put into a context for their own understanding.

So here I am at an age when this epiphany can only happen and with no one younger willing to listen or able to understand the awareness that just smacked me in the face. No wonder bad history repeats itself. And what energy we are wasting on that repetition. We have the lessons just too few willing to learn them.

I’m pretty sure that all that’s left of me in my frame of reference is the bad profile side of my nose.