The Schrodinger-Wolfe Holiday Equation

If you’ve seen “The Big Bang Theory,” you’re acquainted with the theory of Schrodinger’s Cat. The one that stipulates that if a cat is left in a box with a vial of poison for a month, said cat is both alive and dead until you open the box and find the outcome with certainty. It never elaborated, however, whether or not Schrodinger was turned into the authorities for even thinking this was remotely OK or if the cat avenged himself upon release from the box.

And if you’ve ever taken an American literature class, you have probably heard the Thomas Wolfe quote, “You can’t go home again.”

In that light, let the state of Michigan equal Schrodinger’s cat. I hadn’t been back to the lower peninsula in ages. In my mind, and according to the reassuring posts by friends on social media as well as Hubby’s journeys to his mom’s, it was. But was it?

Let Lansing, where I grew up, equal what Mr. Wolfe said. While I still have friends in the area and near Detroit (couldn’t see anyone due to time constraints; sorry), my parents and grandparents all slipped the veil ages ago; their homes were sold. No family members left in the area except for distant cousins I was never close to, anyway.

So where was I going for Christmas? If the lower peninsula still exists, but I cannot go home, at least not to my childhood and young adult home, where was I going?

My sister’s. Since the passages of our parents and maternal grandparents, I’ve thought of home as wherever she was living. Currently she lives between Detroit and Pontiac in an area where glaciers carved a cadre of lakes. Not big enough to be considered part of the Great Lakes, but large enough for fishing, boating, and so on making them pretty darn good in their own rights.

Some years ago, she and Brother in Law (BIL) built a house on a canal leading into one of them. BIL loved all things wooden: guitars, fiddles, boats. He built or refurbished all of the above, and when he wasn’t doing that he and Sister would go for a spin around the lake in a boat he built himself.

That was until a couple of strokes caused issues with his balance. Not a good idea to try to get into a small boat off of a dock. Fishing off the dock was OK, but maybe not anything involving the risk of falling into a 150′ deep lake.

And after the strokes came the cancer and heart issues followed in turn by his passage last fall. This would be Sister’s first Christmas without him. Until the pandemic hit and BIL’s health created a lot of challenges, they came to the Chicago area every year for the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Even though I hate the holidays with a passion (“Oprah” worthy story providing enough fodder to put a therapist’s kid through college) I was damned if she was going to be by herself that day. 

So on the morning of 12/23, Hubby and I loaded ourselves into the car and drove east through a fog that was as thick as all the pertinent cliches. Get on I-80 near Joliet; amazed that IDOT is still working on that bridge. I-80 merge with I-94 was uneventful. More billboards than I remembered along the stretch in Indiana; most were for dispensaries just over the border in southwestern Michigan.

New Buffalo. We’re in Michigan; the lower peninsula really does exist, still. Lost an hour, but no matter. St. Joe/Benton Harbor-Battle Creek (north on I-69 to I-96 if you want to go to Lansing)-Chelsea (home of Jiffy Mixes)-Jackson-Ann Arbor-Dearborn for a quick stop at Hubby’s mom’s to ooh and ahh at his hard work-and north to Pontiac. More billboards for dispensaries; other for churches and websites for inviting deities into your life.

It was dark when we arrived at Sister’s. I looked in the window. She was in her rocker next to BIL’s recliner as she quietly read. We rang the bell. She let us in and hugged us. She felt too skinny, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

Nephew came a couple of hours later. And so began the holiday. Laughs, a movie on DVD, lots of cooking, takeout from Thai Legend, walks by the lake and the canal…

And then the serious part: her plans, wishes, and intentions for her future. Reassurances that she’s in great shape for any age but there was stuff we needed to know. The loose-leaf binder with all the paperwork pertaining to the estate and where to find it; where she’ll live (for now and the foreseeable in her house; discussed contingencies if she can’t drive and so on and has to move); her lawyer…and then the moment when stuff became too real.

Brother will take care of financials and be the conservator. Nephew will be second in command if he can’t. She handed me a pen and a green folder with some detailed notes about insurance, her medical history, some other numbers, and a form. You need to sign this as my nominee for medical power of attorney and guardian if I can’t make decisions for myself.

Brother is good with black and white hard copy things. I’m not. I do have experience with volunteering in nursing homes and have held the hand of someone actively drawing their last breaths in all the sorrow-tinged beauty of the moment. Brother isn’t, and he’s overwhelmed with caring for his wife as she walks through the valley of Alzheimer’s. Yes, of course. I signed.

In case you were wondering, it is possible to feel deeply honored, all five stages of grief, and a little nauseous at the same time.

That being said and done, we went for another walk. The sky had cleared up by then, letting the sun glint off the lake. Hubby hasn’t spent much time in parts of Michigan other than Dearborn in the house his family bought when they came from Lebanon. It was good to watch him see parts of the Detroit/Pontiac metroplex that weren’t industrial or spiraling into urban decay. He started quietly talking about coming back in the summer to go to the beach at Pontiac Lake Recreational Area.

This is a place I could come to easily. The Lansing of my childhood and young adult years is no longer there so I can’t go home in that sense. But Michigan is still there, and I can visit my sister, and that will feel like home to me.

Food Insecurity is a Year Round Thing

The unemployment rate for the US is low. New jobs have been created since 2021. Wages are up. Inflation is slowing down, finally. There’s enough disposable income to permit fun like vacations and concerts.

So why are more people than ever signing up for SNAP benefits? Wait….this isn’t adding up. Why?

Well, according to NBC News https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/economics/americans-are-going-hungry-strong-economy-rcna128105, these are the reasons why:

1. Food prices are bonkers (my word, not theirs). The costs of basics like hamburger ( more than $5/lb in many markets) and dairy milk (hovering around $4/gallon) and plain old white bread ($2) have increased around 25% since the beginning of the pandemic in 2020.
2. According to Zillow, rent is up by about 30% also since the pandemic.
3. Utilities have gone up as well. One of the people interviewed in the article can’t afford to turn on her heat because of this. She’s bundling up herself and her baby to keep warm.

I would also add medical expenses to this list. Those don’t help.

Two other things that didn’t help: the expiration of enhanced SNAP benefits from the pandemic along with the end of the Child Tax Credit courtesy of the Republicans. For more details, here’s this from Common Dreams: https://www.commondreams.org/news/jarring-wake-up-call-hunger-surges-in-us-after-food-aid-cuts.

Issues like food insecurity and homelessness come to the forefront between the first part of November and January 2 because of the holidays and the spirit of giving and year end tax breaks and all that. However, keep in mind that this is happening year round, Gentle Readers.

Next year will not be for the faint of heart when it comes to attempts to reweave the social safety net. It is promising to be a doozy. We have a US presidential election that looks like a showdown between good and evil. Likely some Congress and Senate races will be the same. Some investment gurus are predicting a recession. There’s the ongoing violence in too many hot spots to name. And there’s anxiety from climate change humming away in the background.

Just for today, let’s focus on keeping our neighbors fed:

• Donate cash to your local food pantry. I don’t know whether it’s alchemy or deals made with food producers or a little of both, but they can turn every dollar donated into $8 of groceries.
• If you buy canned goods, please get something with protein in it like soups, stews, canned tuna, salmon, chicken, or turkey. Someone I know in common circles had to rely on a local pantry after a divorce and she and her daughter ate pasta, Parmesan, and tomato sauce for the better part of a year. Not good for a growing child. A lot of clients have diabetes and a steady diet of carbs does them no good.
• Encourage your congressional rep to support the Farm Bill. That contains several measures to get people more food.
• And for the love of humanity or whatever deity or deities you believe in, VOTE!

Glimmers and Streamers

We’re enjoying a stretch of good weather for any time of year, not just the week before Thanksgiving. I’ll get out for a walk after I post this communique. Way too nice not to do so on a sunny mid-fall day.

Darker, quieter times of the year have arrived. Even with sunrises approaching seven and darkness falling at four, the emerging lights from the blackness of this past year have started shimmering though in the world of the soybean field. What’s renewed hope and a sense of purpose for me has been volunteering and getting busy with a couple of organizations, one for voter education and one for the environment.

The volunteer gig is for the regional food bank. I’ve joined the advocacy alert mailing list so I can keep informed of legislation impacting SNAP benefits to those who need them and can take actions with emails and calls. My other self appointed task: take my experiences with food sensitivities that I’ve dealt with this past year and compile lists of resources (websites, YouTube channels, cookbooks) for food bank clients. That took a while. I wanted to make sure that the ingredients used would be easily available at local grocery stores, not outrageously expensive (tiger nut flour at $13 and change for a two pound bag from Amazon, anyone?), and that any information was based in common reality.

That was fun.

And the two events by the voter advocacy group were, too. One was the yearly general meeting this past June. The other was a baby products drive to support a local pantry located in a city that acts as a hub between three other ones where people who made the walk from Central and South America will be resettled (I hate the term “migrant.” It just seems so demeaning and other-ing and divisive). We managed to collect enough supplies to welcome forty babies to the area. And non-mom of humans that I am, I found out that babies can use at least eight diapers a day.

Paraphrasing Cheap Pete, one of the characters on “In Living Color,” “Good Lawd, that’s a lot o’diapers!”

(Can you put those on your list of items to donate to your local pantry? Thanks!)

On the environmental front, I re-upped earlier this year for the Sierra Club. The events of interest this past summer fell on days when I couldn’t spend any appreciable time outside because of my skin still being too touchy.

But next year will be another story, I hope, as the glimmers continue.

The Bitter, the Sweet, and Everything in Between

Woke up to a fog-shrouded 35 degree morning. I’ll walk later. Right now I need more tea.

As F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in The Great Gatsby, life has picked up again in the fall as it’s turned crisp. After this past summer, I welcome it. It’s good to walk and not feel like I’ve been swimming through the heavy air.

Some of the summer was pleasant. With two dear friends I attended the Andy Warhol exhibit at College of DuPage. Not only did we get to see his portrait of Marilyn Monroe and the Campbell’s soup cans, but his advertisements and illustrations for magazines. And we learned of the man behind the soup cans. He enjoyed working with children and had 27 cats named Sam. Oh, you didn’t know that either? Now you do.

Some of it was quite unpleasant. We had repeated storms that brought hail and high winds. They damaged the one of the area towers; specifically the one that sends us our 5G internet signals. Net service became so erratic and choppy that it was downright unusable some days. Luckily, it was fixed in the last few days.

The other unpleasantry: having to add air quality index (AQI) to our weather vocabulary. When was it..June? I think…well, any way, one night I’d gone to bed with the windows open to enjoy the cool night air and the winks of starlight peeking between the curtains. When I woke up the next morning, the parts of my face impacted by last year’s cellulitis felt as if they were on fire. I looked out the window to see an orange hell scape. The AQI that day was over 300 due to the wild fires in northern Canada.

Anything over 100 triggered itching and burning on the still sensitive parts of my face, and heat did me no favors, either. I had to stay inside in the company of my air purifier and rotating ice packs for comfort.

Needless to say, Ren Faire was a wash again. Between my problems with weather impacting my face and my current food restrictions and the doubling of ticket prices and parking with no new acts, we decided that it wasn’t a good year for it. We’re looking at smaller and early or late season Faires for next year, such as Janesville or Michigan.

So with a sigh, we let go of the summer. Fall started out in a seemingly benevolent way, and then the call came last week that was expected but not then and not wanted.

Sister’s husband, whom I’ve referred to as BIL, made his passage last week. He’d spent the summer running in and out of the hospital with atrial fibrillation problems. He’d had a good weekend, a little tired. And then on Monday he crossed over as he was getting ready to have breakfast.

Sister honored his wishes with a natural burial and no service or visitation, but the celebration of life will be this spring or next fall. I’ll pay her a visit after she gets her feet back on the ground.

So we go on.

This last weekend there was a solar eclipse that’s supposedly portends the arrival of better times. After a year of health challenges and losing too many good people and dogs, I hope to hell it does.

Arraignment Snacks

Photo by Pavel Danilyuk on Pexels.com

Actually, this was supposed to be about what to eat during indictments, but everything happened so fast last Thursday and Friday that I wasn’t able to get to the store or gather my thoughts. I will likely be making a run later this afternoon or early tomorrow morning so that I can be settled in front the TV by 1 PM CT on Tuesday, June 13, 2023 so I can watch the arraignment of President Biden’s predecessor unfold in its full glory. That happens at 2 CT, but I want to witness the whole thing from beginning to end.

Yes, this is serious. When the indictment for stashing classified documents at the Florida golf resort was unsealed last week it took some time to pick up my teeth after my jaw dropped to the floor. We all knew that it was bad, but the charges forged new frontiers in bad. Everyone expected obstruction, but nuclear secrets? Plans to attack Iran? Yes, it’s that bad.

The good in it? The US justice system works in cases like this. Took an excruciatingly long time, but Biden’s predecessor is finally being held to account for some of his crimes with more to come. The only way this batch of charges would be better is if Jack Smith could throw in charges for decor in that bathroom where some of the boxes were stored. My eyes…my eyes….

Anyway, what, then, does one nibble on while this goes down? Well, let’s start with the beverages. Something with bubbles. (I’m holding off on the champagne until he’s actually behind bars.) I’m still on the anti-inflammatory protocol, but I will have sparkling water with lime, please. Hubby is slogging through another round of work on his mom’s house, but he’ll pause to sip some sparkling grape juice and grab a bowl of popcorn. Everyone needs some bubbles, alcohol optional. Or just some really good coffee or tea. That would work, too.

Since most of us who will be watching will be doing so in front of the TV, we need snacks that will be tidy. Not a good time for drippy sauces or anything marinated in olive oil unless you blot thoroughly. That being said, let’s think about options. Savory? There’s always a crudite plate, a/k/a veggies with some ranch dressing (less likely to splat on your shirt than vinaigrette because of viscosity), but don’t you want something a little more festive? How about a charcuterie or cheese board? You could even call it lunch in some time zones.

Sweet? What about a fruit plate? Cookies? How about a mug cake? Just do a search on mug cakes with whatever flavor you want and any or your nutritional guidelines. This is the one that I like: https://downshiftology.com/recipes/chocolate-mug-cake/ I used carob powder instead of the cocoa powder with delicious results. A minute and a half in the microwave and it came out like a brownie. Plus, you only have the one serving to savor and not a whole cake that will whisper your name in the middle of the night.

So we have a little over twenty-four hours to get ready. Get your bubbles chilled, your baking supplies in order, and your fruit plates and cheese/charcuterie boards assembled. I’ll meet you in front of the tube tomorrow afternoon.

The Best Person for the Job is the One Who’s Good At It

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

When Hubby and I were dating, we discovered that we had a couple of unusual things in common. One thing was that we both are allergic to penicillin. The other thing was that we both lost our same-sex parents when we were very young.

For Hubby, the ramifications of growing up without a father were mitigated by his uncles and older cousins. He grew up in Lebanon where traditional gender roles and tasks are still the norm. He did have to work in a bookstore run by one of his uncles; otherwise, his mom, grandma, and three sisters took care of everything else. As one of my friends put it, “Oh, he had staff.”

Couple that with the expectation that he would marry a nice Lebanese girl who would take over for the woman folk and you have someone launched into his post-college years who didn’t see the problem with throwing red polo shirts in with his white work shirts until it was too late and ate fast food every day.

Contrast that with me. I had the experience of a father whose heart disease pushed him into disability. And he had asthma and arthritis in his knees that was so bad that I could hear them grinding as he walked around the house or tried to get comfortable in his recliner. He did the cooking while sitting on a swiveling bar stool between the kitchen table and the stove. That worked, but anything involving stairs or getting down on the floor was out of the question. That’s why I ended up doing laundry, heavy lifting, and how I learned more about plumbing and electrical repairs than many other late elementary through high school girls did, ’70s Third Wave feminism or no.

This came in handy one night when a rubber union joint on the sump pump decided to rupture during a post-tornado power failure. Of course Hubby was in Michigan for another round of work on his mom’s house. I called. He told me to get the neighbor. As if I am going to wake said neighbor up when he has to be up at 4:30 AM. No. Tell me what to do. Turned on the flashlight, found the screwdriver and another union joint. Put him on speaker and he talked me through how to replace it. Once done we both went to sleep. I felt better knowing that the repair was done. Hubby was relieved but felt horrible about not being here to do it himself. It took a lot of reassuring that it just was what it was and it just needed to be done. Many things have nothing to do with a person’s gender, and that repair was one of them.

Ongoing negotiations of dividing domestic chores have lead to many colorful and interesting discussions, needless to say. However, somewhere along the line we split up the tasks of daily living according to who does it best. It might look a little more traditional than expected on the surface, but it’s just assigned by skill set. I cook because I’m better at it. Hubby deals with the cars because he’s better at it. I do laundry because I’m better at it. The yard work is kind of cooperative. He’s better at mowing and uses it as his moment of zen. I plant things. I am very good at making sure that the green side is above ground. So is Hubby, but he’s better at the maintenance side of things. And while I’m good at picking up on odd noises and smells while driving, he’s better at dealing with the care of the cars.

The big bone of contention is cleaning. He’s a lot better at it than I am but he doesn’t have time. I have time, but am not only bad at it but I hate it. I like the end product, but the journey I don’t need. His mother set impossibly high standards. We settle on me running the vacuum once a week or so and cleaning the common bathroom as needed. And wiping down counters in the kitchen. He mops the ceramic floors. Not frequently, but when he can. When we need to do a take apart cleaning such as when guests are expected, I step out of his way so he can practice his vocation and cook plenty of tasty food for him as a thank you. Once a month or so I run the vacuum upstairs. Otherwise, we’re each responsible for our personal spaces.

We have among our friends several couples where the woman does small house repairs and the man does the cooking. There is no problem whatsoever as long as it gets done.

Chills and Equality in the 21st Century

I had to turn on the heat when I came downstairs this morning. Yesterday brought a chilly rain that caused the residual warmth gathered by the house last week to dissipate quickly.

The best part of the day was finding a curry recipe that didn’t contain anything that could trigger my current crop of sensitivities: https://gohealthywithbea.com/coconut-chicken-curry/ . I used boneless skinless thighs and threw in a hit of garlic powder and some peas, carrots and green beans. Did our souls good by warming us from the inside out.

Feeling nourished at a soul level, I cozied up with a cup of tea to see if there were any new Gordon Lightfoot related videos on YouTube. Nope, but while I was there I decided to check out the shorts column. Those are videos that are about two minutes long, many of which are crossposted from TikTok. I will admit that I like the videos from Clarence, the Lab who’s desperately posting in hopes of intervention from PETA and the ASPCA to stop his humans from engaging in acts of cruelty such as cutting down on his snacks because the vet said that he needed to lose a couple of pounds. And there’s the sheep and alpaca shearing ones from Right Choice Shearing. And hospice nurses Julie and Penny sharing information about the death and dying process to help viewers with their fears for themselves and their loved ones. And dog videos. And cat videos.

And then there were a couple of creators who caused chills and raised the hair on the back of my neck. The first was from a young woman who was covered in tattoos and wore skimpy tops in most of her videos. That’s her choice. Fine. However, she described herself as a “men’s rights advocate.” She made just enough salient points to sound rational (i.e. jokes involving hitting or kicking men in the crotch are not funny) but then quickly went off the rails with her opinions about sexual activity as a way to help men feel better about themselves and domestic violence being acceptable in some situations.

Had I an official account on my laptop I would have reported her. But it’s not worth the hassle of creating one. I simply will not name the channel and scroll past next time she comes up.

Even more frightening were the ones from a pretty blonde who looked like she’d fallen out of a postwar era woman’s magazine. If that’s your fashion jam, go for it. They were living according to traditional gender roles as laid out in the Bible and that she loves submitting to and serving him since he was serving her by being the breadwinner. She spoke of how fulfilling being a stay at home wife was as she cleaned the kitchen sink, and how she liked to dress to make her husband happy.

O-K. It’s always nice to do something to make your partner happy. You do you, Boo.

But then she talked about how she won’t go to the gym without her husband because so many men do not respect the boundary of marriage. Understandable, but why not do us all a favor and tell management about the creeps who do that? And then the kicker: not going anywhere after dark without her husband’s permission.

EXCUSE ME?

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she didn’t think a wife having a separate bank account was a good idea. Don’t you trust your husband? He’s the breadwinner. isn’t he?

Um, honeys….can we talk?

About the statistics showing that in heteronormative relationships it’s much more likely to be the man who instigates and engages in violence? About date and marital rape being real things? About how many women lied to themselves about being happy homemakers and ended up strung out on tranquilizers and alcohol? About women staying in toxic relationships because they had no resources to call their own? And about the ones who laughed off black eyes and broken limbs as minor accidents when their husbands had laid hands on them? And who died or bear the scars of injuries suffered in struggling for the right to bodily autonomy?

When you get ready to listen, please go read some back issues of “Ms.” You are young. You have no experience with the world before Third Wave feminism. It’s become somewhat better since the ’70s, but the threats to women’s progress to be accepted as full humans in their own right still loom large and dark. If last summer’s overturn of Roe v. Wade didn’t get your attention, nothing will.

I don’t know if those two young (both under thirty) women were coming from a place of inexperience, or acting on their familial frameworks. But I hope that they can open their minds and see that’s not how the world works anymore.

And for the one in the traditional Biblical marriage, I do hope she someday realizes that she’s worth more than goats and camels.

The Coronation Wrap-up

Yesterday marked another event on the thousand-plus year timeline of UK history. King Charles III and Queen Camilla I were crowned with all the pomp and pageantry that no one does better than the British Monarchy. And I was so grateful to be able to watch it.

Yes, I was up at five. A rainy morning making a person think that the soybean field was in solidarity with London. I rolled out of bed, pulled on my exercise clothes, then quietly slipped downstairs and turned on the tube.

I missed the procession from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abby, That would have required getting up at four. Even I have limits when it comes to historical events, even ones involving the Monarchy. According to my brother, also an ardent royal watcher, and owner of two small dogs, one of whom had to potty at 4:30 yesterday morning. Since he was up, he decided to watch. He called after the ceremony had finished and reassured me that I hadn’t missed much by sleeping until five. Ends up that the US networks stuffed as many commercials into that first hour of coverage as they could.

The procession is on YouTube, anyway. Not as thrilling as seeing it live, but it’s still watchable. And viewers can skip the commercials.

Which is what I reminded myself as I settled in with my first cup of tea just in time to see Their Majesties make their way to their seats. Both of them looked regal, Camilla especially so in that white dress with all the embroidery.

Behind them were the Prince and Princess of Wales, not looking too shabby themselves in their Knights of the Garter regalia. Their kids were there, too. George was one of the King’s pages. He looked quite solemn as he lifted his corner of the robe, as if he understood that some day he might be in his grandfather’s place. Charlotte looked like, well, a princess in her white dress. I hope she was able to go out and play in the mud today. And Louie did a great job behaving himself. He had help from some unknown party who took him out for a break and let him run around a little bit before the actual crowning of his grandpa and step-grandma.

Well, I had to get up and run around myself during the two hour service, so I understand. Scones and tea water don’t heat themselves, you know.

Prayers, vows, readings, anointing. Solemn, perhaps stogy in some parts, but all the rituals act as small links crafted into a chain to connect the present with the mists of the past. From the Saxons to the Windsors the British Monarchy has provided a sense of continuity in an ever-changing world. Lines were tossed to the future with the inclusion of diverse clergy and lay participants as well as William’s support. That in and of itself is a cause for celebration.

Not the seedier aspects such as the colonization and oppression, certainly. Charles has offered documents to researchers investigating those unsavory affairs and publicly acknowledged them, It’s a start and more than his ancestors have done.

Charles also started slimming down the ceremony to roughly two hours from the three-plus hours coronations took in the past. Was it still expensive? Yes, especially in light of Britain’s current economic crisis. However, if it wasn’t for the tradition of spectacles like that, would the greater world still pay attention to the UK? I don’t know. Well, there would still be draws like the performing arts, and cultural attractions, but maybe not as much interest as sparked by the Monarchy’s influence.

So we see how this Carolinian age unfolds. My hope is that he will implement some needed updates. Cutting the time on the coronation was a good start. He’s also choosing to make one of the smaller (term loosely used) royal homes for his and Camilla’s primary residence to save energy.

I feel like he’s off to a good start. I’m glad that I’m here to see his reign unfold.

May All Your Highways Be Carefree

Some mornings get off to more interesting starts than others. This was one of them. https://www.cbc.ca/news/entertainment/gordon-lightfoot-dead-1.6828991

Gordon Lightfoot made his crossing last night. Expected, yet unexpected as are passages to the great beyond after certain points in one’s life. He’d canceled an upcoming tour due to vaguely stated health problems per his office. One of my friends had seen him in concert last year. Gordon had put on a good show as usual, but he’d had to pause and use oxygen on stage between songs.

Sigh. I had expected, hoped, that he’d give his last concert on his 100th birthday and then go home to bed and just kind of forget to wake up in the morning. After coming back from an aortic aneurism, a stroke on stage, a tumble that resulted in a broken wrist, and recovery from alcoholism, it seemed as if nothing would stop him and that would be a feasible end. Not so much in this case.

I didn’t know about Gordon’s passing until Hubby told me this morning. Unless there’s something brewing in the news, I stop checking my phone after 7 PM except to look up tidbits related to our international mystery shows. Not a pleasant start to the day.

Sigh.

Gordon wrote the soundtrack for a good portion of my life. Was it late elementary/junior high? High school? I don’t recall; it just seemed as if he was always there in the background until now. When I need to remember walking by Lake Superior in my college days I cue up “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” When I need to remember returning to school from vacation and some how getting a late start to the trip and driving into the sunset on US 2 I play “Carefree Highway.” And when I just want to escape back to the ’70s, I plug in his greatest hits CD and let it open the portals to the good parts of the past.

Today I will likely do the last of that list. I will remember concerts at Pine Knob (a venue in the Detroit suburbs) and at the Paramount (really cool old restored movie palace. I will remember jogging on the beach in the headwinds coming from Canada. I will remember the balm for my heartbreaks, and friends performing covers of Gordon’s works.

With that, I give deep thanks that Gordon’s tunes were an integral part of my life. Gord, thanks, and may all your highways be carefree…. https://youtu.be/w-6if333Lak

A Beginner’s Guide to International TV

We’ve been in this wonky weather pattern where the weeks for the most part are fine, but Fridays have ushered in cooler temps and rain. A lot of rain.

On those days when you can only occupy yourself with so many household chores or errands but you need an escape, how about a little international TV? Oh, there are dramas from BBC and ITV on PBS as well as a smattering of selections from Germany and Denmark, but if you’re ready to step into the great wide open, let’s go.

First, you’ll need a Roku box or the ability to hook your laptop to your TV for streaming. That’s it. No passports, no badly behaved passengers, no flight delays. Just get plugged in. That’s all.

Second, you will need to create an account. We have Netflix (plans run from $6.99 to $19.99, but free with our cell/internet account) and MHz Choice ($7.99 monthly or $89.99 a year). Amazon Prime has some selections but not many unless you want to pay for additional accounts.

And now, gather your snacks and drinks and escape for a couple of hours. Oh, you’ll need your glasses, too, for distance vision so you can read the subtitles.

Netflix

“Call My Agent” is the English title for “Dix Par Cent.” Want to escape to Paris? Want to see movie stars including Monica Belucci and Sigourney Weaver as well as ones better known in Europe while getting a glimpse of the inner workings of an agency? This is your show. Sophisticated, witty, and romantic. Oh, and there’s a Jack Russell terrier who adds to the hilarity. I won’t tell you how because it would spoil one of the plot lines.

“Servant of the People” stars Volodymyr Zelinskyy, now real life president of Ukraine, as Vasily (I’m not going to try to spell his last name), a high school history teacher who ends up as president after a student videos his break room rant about corruption and posts it on YouTube. Oh, and his students funded the campaign via crowdfunding.

Other titles I’ve heard good things but haven’t watched include “Borgen,” a political drama from Denmark about a woman who becomes the first female president through several twists of fate; and several K- and J-dramas like “Midnight Cafe” where ghosts hang out with mortal customers.

MHz Choice

This is my home platform. MHz Choice started as a cable station in Washington, DC with international news shows during the day and entertainment consisting of mostly mysteries at night. It was picked up as a substation of PBS outlets somewhere along the line. We discovered it by chance when TV went digital in 2009, requiring converter boxes for reception. Unfortunately, the substation was dropped by the PBS outlets, but was reborn as a streaming service.

Content comes from all over Europe, occasionally Japan, South America, Africa, and Australia on occasion. Where to get started on this trip?

“Inspector Montalbano”was our gateway into the world beyond BBC on that fateful night in 2009 when we turned on the tube and were transported to the fictional Sicilian town of Vigata. Salvo Montalbano starts his days with a swim followed by an espresso and a call from Catarella, the front desk officer with an unparalleled talent for botching names (such as telling Salvo that they’d had a call from a Mr. Piratore or Mr. Piratone, one of which means Mr. Big Fart ). In between deciphering Catarella’s messages, visits with informants, eating luscious meals, and fights with his girlfriend Livia that frequently end in throwing the phone, he and his crew solve a lot of crimes with sympathy and humor.

Second in terms of favorite Italian shows would be “Imma Tatarrani.” Imma is a hard-driving deputy prosecutor juggling her job with trying to have a life. Not as predictable as it sounds, and if I say anymore I’ll be spoiling a couple of plot lines.

As I write, there are two versions of “Maigret” available. One is the BBC version from 1960 with Rupert Davies. That’s OK. Not bad. But for real deep dish 1950s-early ’60s Paris, go for the France Televisions version with Bruno Cremer. The French version was more, well, French thanks to it being filmed in the ’90s and the early ’00s. It’s gritty but refined and only shows enough blood so viewers know that there’s been a murder. Even though I’m not a fashion maven I love the costuming. And the cars. He is tough, but compassionate such as when a suspect only had six weeks to live so he pinned the murder on an unknown culprit.

You also need to watch the gloriously eccentric “Capitaine Marleau.” She goes counter to all the stereotypes of French women to great comical effect while keeping her bomber hat on and braids intact.

Also check out the Agatha Christie adaptations. Pure fun with sexy little twists here and there. (The operative word is French.)

And then there’s German selections. “Tatort,” like “CSI” here in the states, has teams of detectives serving up justice in different cities in Germany. The one we like best is “Tatort: Cologne” with Freddy and Max. After a rocky start they form a solid team. Much of the work gets done at a wurst and fries place in the shadow of the Cologne Cathedral, a UN Heritage site. “Tatort” touches on issues of the day such as elder care, immigration, and disability rights. In fact, there’s a news show on afterwards that uses the plots as a springboard for discussion. A little clumsy in some places, but worth it.

For dark laughs, there’s “Crime Scene Cleaner.” It’s just what it sounds like. Schotty cleans up after murders and unattended deaths. Yes, there’s blood and yes, there’s some gore. But for his conversations with the ghost of a therapist murdered by a client (“My feelings about my death are not relevant. She released ten years of pent-up rage!”) and getting tangled up in often embarrassing personal aspects of a victim’s life (such as the dominatrix showing up for an appointment with the dead guy) it’s worth it.

Personally, I don’t really care for the Nordic mysteries that much. Hubby is very fond of “Beck,” but caveats abound for dark and disturbing themes. He also like “Wallander,” but the rights expired and there you go.

This should be enough to get you started.

Overall, the emphasis in European mysteries is on procedure and relationships of the characters rather than on car chases and gun fights, reflecting the training of law enforcement officers in different localities. By and large, they’re trained to shoot to incapacitate instead of kill and that’s only as a last resort.

As a whole, European TV just seems a little more grown up, a little more sophisticated. And that’s not a bad thing to aspire to, is it?