Posts Tagged ‘personal history’
Just Learned
After a lifetime of identifying as a tail-end Baby Boomer, I have recently discovered that I am a member of Generation Jones, a distinction coined by an American cultural commentator in 1999. Consisting of people born between the years 1954-1965, the issues we faced during our coming-of-age years were different from our older Boomer siblings. I certainly recognize the characteristics of pessimism and cynicism in my young self that are generally attributed to Jonesers.
I remember being told in a class in high school during the energy crisis years in the ‘70s that it was unlikely we would ever live in single-family homes by the time we would be having kids of our own. The use of DDT had made bald eagles nearly extinct. We were burning a hole in the Earth’s ozone layer. The Watergate scandal led to the US President’s resignation. Classic rock music was getting squished by disco and punk. It was all rather depressing.
When Cyndie and I started dating, I held the mindset of not wanting to bring children into the messed-up world. In reality, we did buy single-family homes, I landed a good job, we raised two wonderful children, and thankfully, their development helped me to discover the need to seek treatment for depression.
While reading about Generation Jones, I saw this tidbit that made me chuckle: What does Elvis mean to these three generations? Boomers > King; Jonesers > fat; Gen Xrs > Costello.
My Boomer siblings remember when phone numbers started with letters. When I was starting high school, we had a second phone line exclusively for teen use. Boomers watched the “Mickey Mouse Club” on TV in black and white. I watched “The Banana Splits” or “The Monkees” in color.
The distinction makes sense to me. The span of time originally associated with the Baby Boom generation was too long. Things changed so fast, we Jonesers grew up in a different world compared to the main Boomers.
It’s all a far cry from life today. Cyndie and I are currently navigating the complications of avoiding driving on the fresh sealcoat on our driveway for a couple of days by parking in the back yard and driving through the back pasture and the hay field to get to the road.
While Cyndie was closing gates after I had driven her car through, she took a picture of Mia coming over to see what the heck we were up to.
When I made the second pass of cutting all the overgrown lawn areas a few days ago, I left out the labyrinth. Not only does the grass need cutting in there again, but the bushes are in dire need of a visit from the hedge trimmer.
I wonder how much of my drive to have our landscape look well-kempt aligns with the traits of being in Generation Jones, or if it’s more a carryover Boomer trait.
I’ve learned enough things in my life to sense that there are likely as many similarities between the two generations as there are differences.
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Friend Group
Some of my favorite summer biking friends gathered yesterday for a walk around Lake Nokomis followed by an early dinner at Italian Eatery restaurant. Turns out the restaurant is a block away from the double bungalow Cyndie and I rented when we first got married over 40 years ago. Talk about a visit to what feels like ancient history.
I arrived just early enough to allow myself a chance to walk the alley where I used to park my truck to see if it matched the fragments of my foggy memory.
That was a long time ago. I think I would need to go inside to do my memories justice, but that was not on my agenda. I circled around to the front of the house and the primary impression I was able to form was that a lot of time and a wide range of experiences have occurred since our time there.
I traveled from those fragmented memories to the immediate presence of the precious energy of my like-minded comrades. The warm sunny day I was enjoying when I left home had morphed into an overcast dreary chill by the time we set off to amass some respectable number of steps.
There were a LOT of dog walkers out and about. It was a challenge to keep Julie from stopping to meet every pup we came upon. I ended up having a pleasant visit with a woman walking in the same direction as us with a gorgeous German shepherd. A very well-trained shepherd, which is what made an impression on me.
Our restaurant destination was a perfect choice after our brisk exercise. Italian Eatery makes their pasta fresh daily. We enjoyed great food in a nice atmosphere topped off with excellent service.
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On the left, Pappardello with yam puree, whipped ricotta, honey, and sage. To the right, Baked Garganelli of wild boar meatballs, rosemary sugo, Fontina, Taleggio. Delicious.
We shared some good yucks and caught up on a few details of the Tour of Minnesota bike trip coming up in June. Just like the Birkie event this year, it will be the 50th anniversary of the bike ride. What was it about 1974 that kicked off these epic adventures?
Whatever it was, I am a richer person as a result. The friends these events have connected me with are truly priceless.
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Hard Imaginings
Looking back on stories I’ve been told about things that happened before I was born, it occurs to me that I’ve lived through a relatively long period of stability. Thankfully, the U.S. Civil War and the two World Wars didn’t end the United States.
I was four years old when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Too young to comprehend the full depth of such political turmoil. From my perspective, the world continued rather seamlessly.
My childhood occurred during the years my country was fighting the war in Vietnam. I was too young to be drafted into military service. I recall being occasionally aware of the risk, but my life was mostly insulated from any dramatic impact of the war. There were reports on the television news about casualties and protests, but as a kid, most of that drama went over my head.
My world involved stepping out our front door to hop on my bike and ride around the neighborhood to see who was outside forming a game of baseball, football, or kick-the-can. The first movie I saw that was rated “M” for Mature in a theater was, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” in 1969.
Throughout my life, I developed a naive sense of normalcy about my country. I trusted the local, state, and federal governments to maintain law and order. It was easy to turn a blind eye to our interference in other countries and abuses of power at home. I felt the truth would eventually come out and miscreants would be brought to justice.
I’ve lived a comfortable life. Even when the riots in Minneapolis broke out after George Floyd was murdered by police officers, my property was not at risk. Slowly, things calm and people return to their usual routines.
Is it possible now that the democratic system of government the United States has been operating under since declaring independence from foreign nations is at risk of failure from within? It appears the citizens of this country have shifted significantly from a time when there was broad agreement over who our enemies were, foreign and domestic.
Imagine if we suddenly lost our right to freedom of speech against an authoritarian ruler. The kid in me can’t reconcile how anyone in this country would accept for one second a politician who holds anything but contempt for dictators or communist leaders.
After watching the chilling apocalyptic thriller, “Leave the World Behind” on Netflix, it occurred to me that the majority of average people will have a very hard time on their own in influencing greater society if our government collapses. It is easy to see how things could devolve to every family (or person) for themselves.
It is my hope that the year 2024 will find a vast majority of U.S. citizens coming together to overwhelmingly dispatch any candidate who doesn’t honestly and seriously support our democracy with freedom of the press, equality for all, separation of church and state, and ultimately, liberty and justice for all.
Next November, vote to preserve democracy. Kleptocrats, grifters, and wanna-be dictators need not apply.
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Exercising Memory
My memories are fading, but as I revisit many of them, the details I review slowly grow more memorable and probably less accurate with each iteration.
I remember what my life was like before my eyesight declined to the point of needing glasses to see with functional clarity. Those memories often arise in response to needing to clean my glasses in the present day.
I remember how free life was before the coronavirus pandemic.
I remember when there were no personal computers.
I remember getting my first mobile phone when my workplace at the time made them available to all employees for personal use.
I remember how awkward it always felt to walk alone in front of the entire length of the high school bleachers on the way to get a bag of popcorn from the concession counter.
I remember how much I liked the popcorn purchased at those basketball games in the high school.
I remember using our basement for a kitchen in our Eden Prairie house while we were having the upstairs remodeled.
I remember putting a vinyl Crosby, Stills, & Nash record on the old hi-fi phonograph with the sliding glass woodgrain top panels when it was in the closet of my boyhood bedroom and then laying on my bed to listen until I fell asleep.
I remember when the impacts of the greenhouse effect on our planet were hardly noticeable and mainly the subject of scientific predictions.
I remember when we first set foot on the property we eventually purchased in Beldenville, Wisconsin. I will always remember walking one of the trails near the house and coming upon the gnarly oak tree that remains the most prominent.
I remember when the sky turned a deeper blue during the two times when air traffic was greatly reduced: After the September 11 attacks and when the pandemic lockdowns stopped almost all travel around the globe.
I remember the morning I called our health clinic to ask to be seen in my first step of treating my depression.
I remember how moved I felt after learning about the extent of hidden added sugars in processed foods that occurred with increasing frequency throughout my lifetime.
I remember tying one of my deceased mother’s handkerchiefs to a branch as a prayer flag in the Himalayan mountains around the highest elevation I achieved during the trek I did in 2009.
I remember my son inspiring me to start a blog to chronicle the trek I would be doing.
I remember learning I was an asthma sufferer during my physical that was required by the adventure travel company before the trip began.
I remember waking up stressed from breathing the smoke that had leaked from the woodstove all night when we slept in the lodge of the Sherpa sirdar guiding our trek.
What I can’t remember is any reason I started this exercise and whether or not I had a point in mind. Having a point would have come in handy when it came to reaching a conclusion.
This reminds me of how often I find myself laboring to come up with a closing line for daily blog posts.
Sometimes, I just want to “Say goodnight, Gracie.”
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Relative Something 