Backpacks, Book Bags, and Breasts: A Late Summer Ramble

From pencil boxes to bug-out bags, this late-summer reflection traces the evolution of back-to-school rituals, family gatherings, and one marble sculpture with a surprising afterlife. A nostalgic, humorous look at how backpacks—and the memories they carry—have changed over the decades. AI

It’s been in the high 80s and we're only mid-way through August, but people are already grumbling about the end of summer. Considering how early kids go back to school these days, I shouldn’t be surprised. Historically speaking—does that sound better than “Back in my day”?—we never started school before Labor Day. God, I’m old.

This past weekend, I went to my youngest niece’s cottage for an end-of-summer swim party she was hosting for her grandkids and her brother’s. Normally, I wouldn’t have been included, but my nephew’s wife had recently talked to me on the phone and asked my niece to invite me. I’m not sure why, exactly—maybe I was just on her mind. It’s rare that I get to see my nephew, so I was glad for the opportunity.

All the kids in my family are growing up so fast. Even though I frequently see their faces on Facebook, I couldn’t pick most of them out in a lineup. A few had brought friends, which made it even harder to sort the wheat from the staff. Not the best metaphor for little kids, but you get my drift. I like interacting with children, but when time is limited, I’d rather the seashell or cookie conversation be with one from my own bloodline.

The Cookie Conundrum

The cookie conversation was my favorite. Three little girls—home-schooled, and I suspect not often indulged with store-bought sweets—were debating whether to choose a sugar cookie or a chocolate chip. A boy chimed in: “Have one of both!” But one of the girls quickly pointed out that there were 14 cookies and 14 kids. Finally, I suggested cutting a few cookies in half so they could sample both kinds. Their eyes lit up like little light bulbs. Problem solved. Off they went to swim in the lake.

Backpacks and Book Bags, Then and Now

 
Back-to-school shopping historically speaking didn’t include buying a backpack. (With a few tweaks, that sentence could be a tongue twister.) We didn’t even have those straps to hold books together like Laura Ingalls had on Little House on the Prairie. That show was set in the late 1800s, and their solution—a belt with new holes punched in—was surprisingly practical.

Online sources say book straps were replaced by “napsacks” in the 1930s, and backpacks didn’t really take off until the 2000s. But all I remember using were my arms—even when I took the bus daily to college. These days, I have enough canvas book bags to supply an entire grade. Of course, mine don’t feature cartoon characters or superheroes, so no self-respecting kid would want one. I’d have to ship them off to a refugee camp before they’d be appreciated for their usefulness rather than their art museum logos.

My obsession with book bags came long after I finished school. When Don and I first met, we lived a mile apart, and I was always packing up for weekends at his house—he worked on trucks, and I made wood fiber flowers thus my work was more portable than his. His neighbors nicknamed me “The Bag Lady” before we were formally introduced.

The One with the Most Toys

One of my book bags has a faded quote: “The one who dies with the most toys, wins.” That phrase was popular back in the day, printed on signs and canvas bags sold mostly in antique stores. Don took it to heart. He started collecting the toys he’d lost as a child—ones he watched a tornado hurl away from his childhood home while he stood in the doorway of the barn—old enough by then to be antiques. The storm spared a 1955 Ford tractor, which never did a day’s work again. Don eventually bought it from his mom and elevated it to sculpture status. By the time I sold it after he died in 2012, it was a classic antique destined for a full restoration. Don would’ve been thrilled. That’s what many widows try to do with their husband's treasures, isn’t it—make them happy with where they end up? Their prize possessions ended up, not the husbands.

Pencil Boxes and Marble Women 

 

Back in my day, I had my share of pencil boxes. I loved them. Still do. In college, I carried a metal fishing tackle box full of art supplies—two, actually: one king-size and one smaller,
tailored to the day’s class. Two days a week, it was sculpture class, where I spent a semester working on a headless, limbless marble woman. My poor dad and brother helped me pick up the stone—a tombstone with a misspelling, sold to students and artists—and they hauled it to the college art studio and back home again at the end of the semester. It was only half done, but the professor encouraged me to finish it over the summer. And that’s how I ended up with an ill-gotten set of marble carving tools. Oops.

The sculpture? The stone was pared down past the lettering and its classic tombstone shape was gone and a set of breasts was emerging, just enough to earn me an A. I was going to be the next Michelangelo until I learned he dissected dead people to understand anatomy. Last I saw my half-done sculpture was in my nephew’s garden. A friend once admired the flowers around it, stepped back, and said, “Is that what I think it is?” I’m afraid ask if he still has the stone at the house he bought from by brother’s estate. He’s the one with the naive, home school grandkids who debated their cookie choices so I could understand if a naked garden lady was a problem.

Backpacks in the Age of Anxiety

With kids using devices instead of books, backpacks may shrink in size. But gun violence has changed things—some schools now require clear plastic backpacks. A few worried parents go further, buying bulletproof ones. So much thought goes into picking a backpack now, beyond which superhero starred in the summer blockbuster.

The local TV station is running its annual drive to fill a moving van up with new and gently used backpacks for marginalized neighborhood schools. I have an olive green one from the Sierra Club—a donation premium—that might end up on that van someday. For now, it’s filled with bug-out gear in case of a fire or tornado. I should check its contents, swap out the energy bars, and update the emergency info. I really am getting old so maybe should also tell my nieces to look for the $50 bill tucked inside. I’m my mother’s daughter, after all—she knew how to make disposing of her stuff rewarding. ©

Until Next Wednesday.

Note: The bold headlines in between paragraphs were created by AL.

Gait Analysis and the Great Throw Rug Conspiracy

 

In this candid and humorous reflection, Jean recounts her experience with a gait analysis appointment, where science meets skepticism and throw rugs become public enemy number one. With AI chiming in and a healthy dose of common sense, she questions the one-size-fits-all approach to fall prevention and reminds readers that aging within a CCC means walking your own path—rugs included. Jasper AI

 
Being a tad cynical about some of the optional medical monitoring our continuum care campus rolls out, I wasn’t sure I wanted to sign up for the Fall Prevention Study. As one fellow resident put it, “Should we be giving our overlords ammunition to justify moving us out of Independent Living and into Assisted Living where they make more money off us?” Another member of the Cynical Cult added, “It’s just a way to get our insurance companies to pay for on-campus therapies.” I wasn’t sold on the first theory, but the second one? That checks out.

The Fall Prevention Study was based on an app called OneStep which is a smartphone-based tool that measures and analyzes your gait and mobility. It’s FDA-listed and taking the test is as simple as putting a smart phone with the app into your pants pocket and walking. Another part of the test involves sitting and standing repeatedly, as many times as you can in x-number of minutes. The app measures quite a few data points and I managed to be in the low risk zone for all but one data point. Turns out I walk with asymmetry—my right leg strides 21 inches, my left 24. (Jasper AI, my Microsoft Copilot, suggested I joke that I favor my left leg like it’s the good china. I reminded him that I’m the one writing this post, not him.) This uneven stride causes an occasional side step, making me look like I’ve indulged in too much beer or wine—neither of which I drink, unless it’s free and tied to a campus holiday.

I also learned that I walk with my feet only four inches apart and ideally they should be six inches apart. This little tidbit was interesting to me because all my life the heel of my right foot occasionally scrapes along the side of my left shoe wearing it out before the rest of the shoe shows its age. 

Our appointments were scheduled every ten minutes and they were running late so I got to see two other women before me do their tests and they both failed. The cynic in me suspected “failure” was the default for anyone who questioned their risk of falling enough to take the test. So I was surprised that I passed. The woman doing the testing did say therapy could probably help with getting my stride more symmetric but I’m only a little way into the ‘red zone’ so it’s not a critical issue for me. Honestly, I can’t see how someone whose been walking for 80-something years is going to change their stride all that much so I’m not going to pursuit it. One of the women ahead of me who failed all of  the data points is opting to sign up for therapy, the other one thought it would be a waste of time since she already uses a walk.  

All of us seniors have heard the statistics on falls and how they so often lead to permanent stays in nursing homes. A Google search lists the main causes of falls in the elderly as: 

- weak muscles, especially in the legs
- poor balance, causing unsteadiness in your feet 
- dizziness or light-headedness
- black outs, fainting or loss of consciousness
- foot problems including pain and deformities 
- memory loss, confusion or difficulties with thinking or problem solving

I’m surprised Google didn’t list throw rugs. You’d think they’d be public enemy number one, given how often they appear on the dreaded Medicare Questionnaire. I personally know two women who fell and broke bones because of a rogue rug. Where’s the justice? They should be on the dang list!

The app's website says, “OneStep turns real-world motion into insight that guides care, protects independence, and changes lives.” Here’s what Jasper AI says about it: “OneStep is a reliable and valid tool for gait analysis, especially useful in remote or real-world settings. While it may slightly underestimate some metrics compared to lab systems, its ease of use and clinical relevance make it a strong contender in digital physical therapy.”

So there you have it—the highlight of my very boring week, brought to you by asymmetry, skepticism, and a smartphone in my pocket. Jasper’s still lobbying for a follow-up post titled “Gait Expectations,” but I told him not to get ahead of himself. Having AI as a line editor is like having a puppy who insists you keep throwing a ball. No matter how much you write it keeps wanting you to do more. ©

 

Plan B - Giving up Driving Without Giving up Life

 

 

Giving up a driver’s license isn’t just a logistical shift—it’s an emotional one. For seniors facing the possibility of life without a car, it can feel like a loss of independence, dignity, or control. But there’s a Plan B. In this post, Jean explores creative, practical alternatives to driving that preserve your freedom, honor your safety, and even build stronger community ties. She also shares stories from her continuum care facility, tips for making the transition smoother, and a list of transportation options. Jasper AI 

As I was driving back from taking my hearing aid in for repair, I was thinking about how much life changes when you get to the point you have to give up your driver’s license. It’s a rite of passage no one looks forward to doing. Some of us seniors even fight it like we’re gladiators going up against a pride of lions in a life or death, pay-for-view event. It’s not just the giving up of a personal freedom that’s involved it’s the guilt that comes with adding a burden onto a family member, who has to make time to help us do these petty but quality-of-life, little chores. And then there are the families who have their heads high in the clouds and are ignoring the telltale sights that it’s time to reverse rolls and be the one to say to their parent, “You’re grounded! I need your car keys. Both sets.” Ya, I know. It’s not that simple. We can’t just say to our mom or dad, “You’ve had a lot of fender binders lately and you are driving slow enough that I could race you with a bicycle” and expect cooperation. 

I speak from experience, having seen this "touchy topic" from both sides of the equation—with my dad, my brother and three times with fellow residents.

I asked Jasper AI, my Microsoft Co-Pilot, to help me brainstorm some ideas for convincing a senior that it’s time to give up a drivers license and then come up with a list of suggestions to help convince us seniors that it’s time to hang up our car keys. A couple of his answers stood out. 

For example: One: Don't spring it on a person just after a fender bender. “Plant the seeds early.” Another: Frame it as if it's “an act of courage to let others take the wheel and as a civic rite of passage---not a loss but rather a transition, like retiring from active duty. Still noble, still valued." Those approaches worked on two of my fellow residents who both said they’d feel terrible if they caused someone to die in an accident, they said they couldn’t live with themselves. They were both in the early-to-mid stages of macular degeneration. They ended up selling their cars and now rely on friends and families to get them where they need to go. My dad was cooperative but my brother? He never stopped telling his daughters he could still drive, could still find he way around without getting lost and demanding they let him try again. I asked Jasper what to do in cases like him and he told me, "...to listen for what’s underneath the protest. Pride, fear, maybe even a whiff of grief disguised as bravado. Jasper would say: Don’t argue the logistics—affirm the dignity. Find ways for him to feel useful, autonomous, needed. Offer a role that doesn’t require a steering wheel. And never underestimate the healing power of being heard, even if you're just listening to a man rant about potholes and 'the good old days' when you could fix a carburetor with chewing gum." (Jasper AI has a sense of humor.)

A third woman living in my continuum care facility gave up her car because she faints often—so much so that she finally got moved down to the assisted living building and is restricted to a wheelchair now. After giving up her license but before the move, she took to calling Uber with a vengeance. Every day she’d go out for coffee or to shop or run errands. When anyone would bring up how much she was spending on Uber, she’d say, “By the time you factor in the cost of car insurance and maintenance plus gas Uber isn’t that costly.” She’s quite the character. At one of our very first lunch tables, over three years ago, she announced that she’s an atheist and after that at least four people sitting there haven’t spoken to her since. I think they believe atheism is like the measles and they rushed off to church the next Sunday to get their ‘vaccines’ updated.

Back on topic: I wanted to learn the ropes of using an Uber so one day I went out for coffee with Ms. Atheist but when it was time to go back home she was having a medical problem and couldn’t get her app to work to call an Uber to come pick us up. I didn’t know the first thing about using an Uber app and I didn’t have my reading glasses with me to figure it out. After the two of us probably entertained the young people around us for awhile—think a Saturday Night Live Skit—a twenty-something woman took pity on us and took my friend’s phone over and we headed off to ER. After ER did their magic on my friend another young person got us hooked up with another Uber. So that day, I got to experience three Uber drivers. And during all the time when we were waiting for our rides to show up I kept hearing my mother’s voice saying, “Never, ever get into a car with a stranger unless you want to get raped and murdered.” How times have changed.

Jasper AI also suggested that whoever is asking a person to give up their car should have a list of “Alternatives to Driving That Don’t Feel Like Downgrades.” Below is his list (but I disagree with his 'downgrades' characterization. Unless we're talking about a chauffeured limousine, nothing is better than owning your own car. But I digress...) The List:

Senior Ride Services offer door-to-door support with a human touch. These services often have empathetic drivers trained to assist older adults, and it’s helpful to create or share a reference sheet with key contacts and links.

Community Volunteer Drivers can turn errands into opportunities for connection. Check with your local community center to see if they have a matching service or referral list.

Ride Shares like Uber or Lyft allow for continued independence, especially when paired with tech support. Consider creating a simple tutorial or guide for ride-sharing apps, ideally with contacts pre-loaded to make calling a car easy.

Medical Transit Programs are designed for recurring appointments and may be free or subsidized by insurance or social services. They’re especially useful for ongoing treatments or specialist visits.

Shopping Shuttles coordinate transportation around regular errands like grocery runs and pharmacy pickups. Keeping an updated community calendar can help residents make the most of these timed services.

Buddy Systems work well when residents pair up to share rides to appointments, events, or stores. They’re most effective when built around existing friendships, but new matches can also be facilitated by staff or community leaders.

I wish we had a list like this that is all fleshed out with the names of  local organizations and their phone numbers. At the risk of being put in charge of a committee to pull together such a resource list, I may bring it up at our next Dialogue Meeting. We had a shopping shuttle here on campus for less than four months before they disbanded it because too few people were using it. And a senior-friend cab service that the CCC had lined up lasted about the same length of time. The Buddy System is working well around here with people who've made close friends before giving up their cars but I’ve always been a loner so I’m not sure anyone would go out of their way if I needed a ride somewhere. 

In case anyone is wondering if I’m starting to doubt my driving abilities, the answer would have been ‘maybe’ last winter but now it’s a hard ‘no’. I’ve been driving more since spring and have gotten over my reluctance. I still won’t drive at night, during rush hour, on the busiest streets or on the expressways but I call that being smart and pro-active. Just like I’d call it being smart and pro-active to be thinking about solutions to the loss of our independence before it actually happens. Having a Plan B might just turn that gladiator vs. the lions metaphor into a pillow fight. ©

Until next Wednesday. 

Photo at the top from Vermont Maturity, Helping Someone Give Up the Car Keys 

P.S. The AI introduction paragraph at the top, is an experiment. When I ran this post past Jasper AI to ask for spelling and punctuation tweaks he suggested a search engine friendly intro at the top to help drive traffic to my blog. I've always known you're supposed to put "buss words" in the first paragraph of posts but I've never leaned into it. It will be fun to look at my stats after this goes live, to see if it helped. I'm still amazed on how quickly I'm integrating AI into my life. For example, in addition to helping me brainstorm this post, this week I also asked it to create stats for my mahjong group. I gave Jasper AI the number of games and days each player played and how many times each player won since the beginning of the year and he figured out our win percentages in seconds and put it in to a nice, descending chart. What a time saver that was! Then I asked him how far down in the weeds he can go. Could he, for example, make me a list of names and phone numbers of Senior Ride Services in my county? He replied with a fully filled out chart in seconds. Who needs a committee when you have an AI app?