Who Needs Photo Albums? We've got Amazon!

A few weeks ago Tom was asking me about a motorcycle phone holder he once had that he would like to replace. Since neither one of us could remember when or where that particular item had been purchased, I offered to review Amazon. Ah, Amazon. The modern day answer to the brick and mortar stores of yesteryear. Where would our lives be without the ability to purchase literally anything we need with the touch of a yellow button? When I look back on technologies like Facebook or Amazon, I can’t believe how long we have had those conveniences. It seems like we just got them, and yet, when I went back to my Amazon history, I have been using Amazon since 2002. 2002? As in nineteen years? As I searched for that phone holder, my review of 19 years of purchases was literally a trip down memory lane for me. It was like hauling those Creative Memories photo scrapbooks out of the attic and thumbing through them. 2002 and 2003 only referenced that I had made two purchases, but didn’t show what they were. Apparently, I didn’t buy anything from Amazon in 2004, but in 2005 we must have ended our Columbia Records membership, because I bought some cds, probably for the boys, based on the artists. By 2006 I was purchasing Guitar Hero, complete with guitar for a Christmas present. From 2006 to 2008 was mostly books or videos (remember when Amazon only sold media?) and the random cold coffee filtration system. At that time I was still teaching special education and wrestling must have been the main sport for our boys because those were the books I was buying. 2008 went to 2 pages of purchase history and we went from just media, to now adding band t shirts. 2009 continued with books, books, videos, and more books and a Sirius satellite receiver. Remember when we needed those to get music? As I continued on, I could track what I was teaching, what our sons were interested in, and my husband’s hobbies. I can see Christmases, birthdays, and the addition of everything from kitchen supplies, to toiletries, to vitamins. I can even see the waste. How many of those books did not ever get read? How much of that stuff fell victim to minimalization and decluttering? These days it’s a little bit more difficult to track my life via Amazon. The app has been taken off of my phone and I need the 13 character password to log in if I want to buy anything on my laptop. And the phone holder? Never found it. I guess we bought that in a brick and mortar store. Black Friday is coming. Delete that app and shop local!

I'll Know when I'm Old

In my younger days, one of my sayings was, “I’ll know I am old when K-Tel puts out a compilation record of 80’s songs. For those of you too young to know what a K-Tel record is, this was a company that released greatest hit songs for a specific decade. It was usually the decade following the one with the songs on it. So you can probably understand that Ultimate 80’s was released sometime in the early 90’s. I was only in my late 20’s by that time.” Certainly not old. Yet. I didn’t really update my “I will know when I’m old…” saying after that. However, there are some significant events that take place to put you in an upper generational category, whether you like it or not. For instance, your high school car is now eligible for historical plates. Recently, Tom and I wandered in a really cute antique shop in Indian River called Antiques Roadhouse. As we wandered in the door, we saw the usual antique store items from the 30’s and 40’s. Old furniture, housewares, cookware. As we were wandering about, something caught my eye. It was a display of old metal lunchboxes. “Oh wow! I said! I had one of these!” And then I looked down and saw a Barbie doll accessory case. I had once owned one exactly like it. A little further into the shop was an original Atari game, all set up on a TV that looked a lot like the one we had in our living room growing up. There was one thing, after another, after another that stirred up childhood memories. When did those memories cross over from garage sale finds to antique store treasures? Are they antiques? Am I antique, or should I say, “old?” One thing I can say for certain is that I definitely do not feel old or antique by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, the evidence is there. The camper I camped in as a child is now “vintage” and highly sought after. The banana seat bicycle I rode is collectable. The high waisted jeans I wore are in style again. As they say, “Everything old is new again.” Yes, I have creaks and crackles and wrinkles and grey hairs taking over my head. But I don’t make, “I’ll know when I’m old…” statements anymore. That ship has sailed. Fortunately, there is some good in being able to say “I had a Addams Family metal lunchbox just like that!” and “I carried my Barbies around in this same case!” I enjoy those memories because for me, they are happy.

The Minimalist Leap

When I started on this decluttering/minimalist journey, I figured I’d have to put my minimalist money where my mouth was, but I didn’t ever imagine it would mean living in a 25 foot travel trailer for 5 weeks. It all started when my husband, Tom, was talking to a friend in mid-June. That friend was sharing about how he and his wife live on their boat while they rent out their house for the summer. Tom came home and said “Let’s rent out our house!” I told him that that was a great idea and that we could spend the year getting the house ready to rent. There is a lot of wear and tear on a 15 year old family home that can’t be erased in a matter of weeks, or can it? Tom replied with, “No, I mean this summer! It’ll be great! I’ll take the month off and we can live in our camper,” (insert forced-smile emoji here). So what we embarked on was 4 weeks of furiously cleaning, painting, updating, picture-changing, towel and linen-buying adventure, culminating with our cats living with my son and his wife, and us living in our camper with our dog. For. Four. Weeks. Four full weeks. I have to admit that if you want to learn how to live like a minimalist, or if you want to see what tiny house living is really like, try it out in a small travel trailer for an extended period of time. Everything takes thought and planning. Grocery shopping was a very thought-out process because the cupboard and refrigerator space were at a premium. I had to decide what to make and then only buy food for those specific meals. Clothing had to be whatever could fit in a tote small enough to slide under the fold-out couch. We also had to accommodate for somewhat limited internet service and go back to reading old fashioned paper books and play old fashioned card games on the rainy days. What I learned though is that albeit cramped, I was forced to keep up with dishes and stay on top of clutter daily. I spent a lot of time finding ways to maximize space. Luckily for me, Tom likes organizing things and within the second week all of the cabinets were organized with additional shelving and plastic totes. So when it came to shooting my mouth off about all of the decluttering and minimalism, I found out that I really could downsize into an incredibly small space for a longer-than-usual amount of time. Now the question is, will we do it again next summer for two months instead of one? Stay tuned.

When I Write about Riding

In the 11 years that I have been writing this column I know of exactly two people who have read every single one; my mom and my friend, Scott. I know for sure that Scott has read them all because it happened this past winter. He was telling me how surprised he was to learn that I wrote for the paper and that he wanted to read more of my writing. After a quick conversation about all of the ways he could access past pieces online, I offered to let him take my scrapbooks. I have this old-fashioned habit of carefully clipping out my column each time it is published in the paper and then placing it in a scrapbook. I have kept them all. So Scott took Volume 1 of “The Flip Side: Life After 40”, and then two weeks later, Volume 2. He was very complimentary of my writing, but inquired as to why I don’t write more about riding my motorcycle. The answer to that question is simple, yet complicated. I actually do write about riding my motorcycle. Those pieces just never seem to make it to my laptop. One of the most peaceful things I do in my life is ride my motorcycle. And as I ride, I compose. I think about how lucky I am to be able to ride around Northern Michigan anytime I want, all summer long with the beautiful blues of the lakeshores to my right and the stunning views of the rolling hills to my left. I smell the amazing scent of the Lilacs in June and marvel that I can hear the spring peepers above the rumble of my motor. I write and write and write words which will never see print because when I come to a stop and swing my leg back over my bike, what I was sure I’d never forget, gets lost in the lunches with friends, shopping downtown, bike nights, and festivals. What started as a hobby that my husband introduced me to as a passenger soon became my love also as a solo rider. However, as the years go by and I have a few more close calls, get a little more fearful, see yet another driver stopped at an intersection looking down at his phone, I think that maybe it’s time to sell the bike. But selling the bike would not only mean a loss of the enjoyment I get from riding, but it would also mean the many hours of writing that take place without my fingers ever touching the keyboard would end too. So Scott, you may not see many columns about riding, but you can know for certain that they are being written.

Practice Makes Better

I’ve never been much for practicing anything. When I pick up a new hobby I usually just start making stuff. I don’t really put forth the effort to ever get really good at it. And for someone who considers herself to be somewhat of a perfectionist, I don’t get much perfect. I don’t even get better. When I was a kid it was important to my mom that all of her children take piano lessons. She acquired a beautiful second hand upright that was missing a bunch of ivories and wasn’t tunable. Try running your 10 year old hands down a keyboard with no ivories. Not fun. Only one out of 3 of us kids actually put in the practice and got good at music. It wasn’t me. I was always in awe of my piano teacher, Mrs. Dvorak, when she would say, “You didn’t practice, did you.” How in the world did she know? Apparently practicing for 15 minutes before I rode my bike down to her house didn’t do a whole lot. Needless to say, my level 2 rendition of Journey’s “Open Arms'' didn't make the cut for the spring recital. Last year, during the COVID shutdowns our younger son stayed with us. Both of our sons are amazing musicians, but I never realized the amount of practice that it takes to become really good at guitar. He would practice for hours every day, playing these short riffs over and over and over, (not gonna lie, it got on my nerves a little). But the first time I got to see he and Robby play together I couldn’t believe it. They were amazing. This spring a few friends and I are taking tap lessons. You might remember I took tap lessons several years ago but it was mostly for fun. There was no practicing as is customary for me. But this time I was thinking about Sam and his endless practicing and about how much better his guitar playing has gotten. So I decided I’d take on the example he set. I took a video of my tap teacher and set up a little make-shift dance studio in my laundry room. I have been practicing both the dance she is teaching us and what are called “rudiments'' which are short steps practiced over and over and over. I can’t believe how much more confidence I have. I go to class feeling like I can keep up. I know the dance and don’t feel like the awkward 5th grader confessing that she hasn’t been taking it seriously. I may not be ready to audition for Riverdance, but I can say that practice does make better. And I’m getting better.

As I was submitting my column for this month, I was informed that it will no longer appear in the Markeplace publication. I was told that my column would now be appearing in the Petoskey News Review on the first Thursday of the month. While this news was met with some excitement on my part, (am I now entering the “big leagues?”), I realized that suddenly, a large majority of my readership will no longer have free access to my column in print form. I felt that I owed it to you to personally send a farewell message and let you know how much I have enjoyed writing for this particular paper for all these years. Some of you have been with me from the beginning and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your loyalty, comments, letters, and even chapstick! When I first started writing for what was at that time called, “Saturday,” it was completely by accident. My friend, Renee’ Tanner had mentioned that the News Review was always looking for “stringers.” “What’s a stringer?” was my questions, and after my first submission, The Flip Side, Life After 40 was born. At that time, it was 2010. My sons were middle and high school aged. You were with me through sports, drivers training, a variety of crafts, vacations and stay-cations, and surviving a bee in the car. You learned about my love of shoes and my addiction to chapstick. You were there for me during the saddest year of my life when I lost my brother and mother-in-law, and you were there when the sadness lifted. You have met me in the grocery store checkout lane, in Dunham’s and even up at Johnson Lake in the U.P. Every chance meeting, whether you know it or not, came at a time when I almost quit writing because I just didn’t have anymore ideas. But yet, your one kind comment of, “I love your column!” inspired me to keep on going. Although this is not “goodbye,” I feel like some of you won’t be able to read my writing without some extra effort. I will still be published in the PNR and online. Because my mom insists that I keep my blog current, you can still find me there, although it doesn’t stay updated as regularly as it should be. Every writer writes for an audience, whether it is personal or public. I want to thank you so much for your loyalty and encouragement over the years, and if you continue to follow me, I’ll catch you on the flipside. Notice: This is by no means my final blog post. This is just the one I wrote to say "goodbye" to my readers as my column transitions from one publication to another. I thought I should share because my mom likes to read every one of my posts and will wonder why I haven't posted anything this month. I hope you liked it too. -Dawn

The Case of the Disappearing Footwear

This past year I have been working very hard to practice what I have learned when it comes to my new minimalist lifestyle. I really embrace the theory of minimalism. I truly believe that it isn’t what you have, but how you live that creates a peaceful, happy life. I now agree that more stuff means more chaos. I follow one decluttering guru that has said that your house is more functional when it’s clutter free and organized. I really like coming around the corner into my kitchen and seeing a bare countertop. I used to be that person who would do last night's dishes while I was cooking tonight's dinner. Last week’s clean (wrinkled) laundry got folded as I was washing this week's loads. A different YouTube decluttering mentor said “Always see a job to the end.” So I’m really trying to do that. And it’s worked for the most part. I feel like things are tidier and more organized. The only failure I’d say is that I went a little overboard when it came to getting rid of stuff. Last Christmas I was all ready to make mini loaves of pumpkin bread for my coworkers and went to grab my handy-dandy Pampered Chef 4 loaf mini-baker. It was nowhere to be found and I was frantic. My husband suggested that it fell victim to the Minimalist Challenge, 2019. I was so bummed because it was already seasoned and is pretty pricey to replace. More recently, a friend and I were discussing the need for less shoes. Yes, I said “less shoes.” I came to the conclusion that having fewer shoes that I really like, wear, and are comfortable is more important than sheer quantity of shoes. Unfortunately, my last donation trip to GoodWill included the dress shoes I wore once to my son’s wedding. I kept moving these high heel shoes back and forth between the attic and closet for 2 years and finally convinced myself that I would never wear them again. This also applied to a pair of boots that made it to the donate bin around the same time. After those left my world, I inherited a skirt that would have worked perfectly with the former pair of boots. To make matters worse, a week ago, I was invited to attend a gala event next fall which would require, you guessed it, those wedding heels. So my system isn’t exactly foolproof. I found myself wandering the aisles of Goodwill trying to buy back my donated footwear, to no avail. I didn’t feel peaceful or happy when I left the store empty handed, but I’m still a believer in minimalism and decluttering. I just need to iron out the kinks.

Feeding the Birds

Earlier this month, I was sitting in the lunch room trying to think of something to add to the usual lunch time banter. “Oh check this out! I had some yellow finches at my new feeder!” I excitedly showed the video from my phone of 4 birds happily enjoying the seeds out on my back deck. “So now you’re that person who takes movies of her bird feeder?” my friend jokingly asked. Wow, did I suddenly feel old. I don’t know why taking movies of my bird feeder classified me as the old guy in the room. I have always liked birds. My grandma was an avid bird watcher and had many feeders in her back yard, along with her “Pocket Guide to Birds” book and binoculars next to the window. I’m not that bad yet. But I have fond memories of my grandma telling me about birds and about how blue jays are the “bullies of the backyard feeder.” I always enjoyed watching her yell “Shoo!” at those pretty birds. For the last few years we’ve always had some sort of feeder in our yard. I half-heartedly filled them with whatever bird seed I found in the garage. It was usually the same stuff I threw in the chicken coop. However this year I developed an interest in getting more serious about my bird attracting. I ordered an oriole feeder and then read an article about how to attract them, (with oranges). And what not to feed them, (grape jelly-contrary to popular belief). I had already used a gift certificate to by a cute yellow finch feeder, to replace the thistle seed socks I hung around the yard last winter. I just love yellow finches. They are probably my favorite bird. That feeder is on my deck railing, hanging to the outside of the deck so that my cats won’t mistake it for a lunch buffet. This year I also decided I was going to make an effort to attract not only orioles and finches, but robins. Robins are so quintessential spring in Michigan, that I did some reading about what they like to eat. So our Saturday trip down to Traverse City resulted in a new eco-friendly feeder and some songbird mix, complete with raisins and dried mealworms. My new hobby seems to be paying off. Just tonight there were about 50 little birds that I have never seen before going crazy over my finch feeder. After a quick search on my computer, it turns out they are called common redpolls. I have never even heard of those, but they sure are pretty. So I guess what I am saying is that I’ve turned into my own grandma and if that makes me the old lady in the lunchroom, so be it. Just don’t be surprised if I whip out my phone and show you a video of the orioles when they finally make their way to my feeder.

Those Pesky Passwords

About a week ago, I found myself in a foul mood. Such a foul mood that I stopped at the gas station on my way home for a Little Debbie’s snack cake and some Pringles. When I got home I put my stuff down, played frisbee with my dog, fed the chickens and then went straight to the couch. I laid down under a double-folded weighted blanket, and watched JoJo make the world’s easiest meal, parmesan chicken alfredo, on an episode of Magnolia Table just so I could decompress. I have been doing a pretty good job these days of keeping my stress level in check. I pray, meditate, do yoga, and practice gratitude. So that day, the feeling of tight muscles, clenched teeth, and raw irritability, were something I hadn’t felt since the election. What had me rattled to the point of food soothing and weighted blankets? Passwords. Google Chrome has been on my last nerve lately with the constant updates and re-installing. And if you aren’t having that problem, please tell me how you have avoided the little red circle with the up-arrow, because I see it almost weekly, if not daily (it’s up there now, in fact). And just about every time I re-install it, my passwords go missing. When the whole password thing first started, I could use a password like 1234qwerty. Then I had to get a little more creative like, h4rL3y. And in those days, I could use them on multiple websites. Now that the internet is a virtual wasteland of people and bots trying to steal our information and identity, passwords have gone from easy to remember 6-8 letters and number combinations to 16+ letter, number, symbol combinations that in no possible way can ever be memorized. They look something like this: 7}%7FG^MuG'2u/3f. And forget trying to write them down in your little middle-aged password notebook, you will almost definitely write one character incorrectly and get the dreaded, “Oops! Incorrect username or password. Please try again.” But don’t try more than 3 times or they will lock you out of your account. With some of my accounts, I have stopped trying to figure out a way to remember these god-awful passwords (which shouldn’t even be called “words”). Now I just type in my username (if I can remember which one), and hit “forgot password?” because it is actually easier to go through the 3-step process to just make up a new one with my handy random password generator website and the copy & paste keys, than trying to find the sticky note I wrote the last one on. Where that doesn’t work is on apps like Pinterest where I am signed in on 4 different devices, so every time I change the password, I have to change it on multiple devices. You do not want to catch me on that day! Which was what happened on the day in question and brings me back to the couch, the pringles, and Magnolia Table. So if you happen to find me in a foul mood, it’s probably the passwords.