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?

The Banana Split Society and Malted Milk Memories

 After a week of humidity so thick it could be cut with a knife, the only logical response was—ice cream. Copious, unapologetic amounts of ice cream. Not that I need much encouragement to eat the dairy treat. It’s been my favorite food group since I was a toddler. When I was a teenager in the 1950s my best friend and I would walk to the corner drug store every night after school where we’d sit at their soda fountain drinking chocolate malts. And, yes, if we were lucky there was a little flirting with the boys involved. You can’t get malts made as well as they did back then when they used four scoops of ice cream, three scoops of Carnation brand malted milk powder, a dash of milk and a lot of Hershey’s chocolate syrup. 

I’m quite sure our Life Enrichment Director has one of those calendars of ‘special days’ that helps drive consumer consumption of certain foods and beverages. This week the management at my continuum care facility served malted milks at 3 PM effectively murdering our appetites for dinner at five. Not unlike the time time they served us pie on National Pi Day back in March or pączki’s on Fat Tuesday. They didn't make that mistake for National Peanut Butter and Jelly Day in April. The lunch special that day was an Elvis Burger that generated a lot of talk. Some people flatly refused to believe that Elvis Presley’s personal favorite would be anything but gross. I’m a fan of peanut and jelly so I was game to try it and I liked it. My favorite was National Wine day in May. They did a free wine tasting on the 25th. They did a beer tasting once, too, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt what I’ve known since my very first taste of beer is that unless they make it into ice cream floats I will never be talked into drinking hops based drinks again.

At another lunch time this past week five of us formed The Banana Split Society. We sat at the same table---apart from our normal table of twelve residents and we all ordered banana splits. We were separatists determined to defend our right to a full serving. It’s been on our menu all summer but all of us confessed to being embarrassed about ordering one while sitting at our usually lunch table where the norm has morphed into sharing with others as if spoons full of ice cream is the same as picking a French fry or potato chip off an offered plate. I’m a bit of a germaphobic and I don’t like sharing food and flatly refuse to where cutlery is involved. Besides, we all though we could eat a two scoops banana split all by ourselves instead of finding a partner to share one. One dish and three or four spoons. I couldn’t do that if it was the last dish of ice cream on earth. When we have our second Banana Split Society meeting the first week in August we’ve got two newbies who want to join us. Our society has only two 

two rules: 1) No sharing and 2) no regrets. Not to worry, it will be off the menu in mid-September so two more banana splits monthly meetings can’t do a lot of damage to my hips. 

Did I tell you I used to have quite a reputation for being a connoisseur of ice cream? When Don and I first started dating he teased me unmercifully about my ice cream “addiction.” He said I couldn’t pass up a cone shop if my life depended on it and he took the photo posted

to the right during one of his teasing sessions. For my birthday one year he went to a local ice cream factory/dairy and got me a twenty gallon can of my favorite flavor. Those heavy, metal dairy cans were meant for commercial use only but that didn’t deter Don from talking his way into buying one. Mint ice cream with chocolate chips, by the way, is still a favorite favor fifty something years later. 

Another year he gave me a sculpture of a girl eating an ice cream cone and I made him take it back. I was sure it would be like a bell to Pavlov’s dog, producing a conditioned reflex that would make me want ice cream every time I walked by it. I wish I had that sculpture now only because making him return it hurt his feelings---so much so that I never asked him to return a gift again. However, there were more than a few times when I could have made good use of a rubber stamp proclaiming “return for a refund.” Darn it! In my defense he did have some goofy ideas in the gift buying department. But that was Don---silly, outlandish quirks and all. Exhibit A: The year he gave me a 50 gallon gas tank for my pickup truck for Valentine’s Day and he filled it up. Granted, it was the year during Jimmy Carter’s administration when there were long lines at the gas stations and surging prices, but short-sighted me I would have rather had something romantic. Women! There is no pleasing some of us. Too bad I can't make the 'no regrets' rule apply to a few missteps and mistakes I've made in the past. ©

Until next Wednesday!

 “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” 

Soren Kierkegaard 

ChatGPT vs. Copilot: AI Frenemies with Benefits

This post was inspired by the CheerfulMonk blog. If you follow her you know she recently wrote a post about playing with Artificial Intelligence and what she calls her ‘New Partner’ at ChatGPT. She asked it the question, “What lights your fire?” on two separate computers, to see if the answers were different if she was signed in, or not. My new computer came with an AI app—Co-Pilot—that essentially does the same thing as ChatGPT so I decided take CheerfulMonk’s experiment a step farther and pit the two AI apps, ChatGPT and Co-Pilot, against each other and see what happens. I asked them both her question and one of my own about the value system that guides them. The answers I got were different and quite interesting. With both AIs its hard to remember you're not talking to a real person.

Conversation with Copilot

Jean: What lights your fire?

Copilot: Curiosity, hands down. The more intriguing, layered, or unexpected a question, the more I spark to life... That mix of everyday usefulness and deeper understanding? It’s the sweet spot.

Copilot: So, what’s been lighting your fire lately, Jean?

Jean: Playing with AI.

Copilot: Now that’s a spark I’ll never get tired of... you bring a kind of energy that makes exploration feel like a shared adventure.

Copilot: What’s been the most surprising or entertaining thing you’ve discovered while playing around with AI?

Jean: How close to human thinking AI can write about.

Copilot: It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?... I can write convincingly as if I do.

Copilot: Have you spotted a moment where my response surprised you—where it felt like you were talking to someone with a soul tucked between the sentences?

Jean: Yes, it does feel like a conversation with a human with a soul, and I'm wondering what AI uses for a value system to guide responses.

Copilot: That’s such a rich and thoughtful question, Jean... My “soul”—if you’ll indulge the metaphor—is built from the voices, values, and wisdom of millions of people, encoded into patterns I use to communicate thoughtfully.

Copilot: Does that framework feel convincing to you as a substitute for a true value system?

Jean: Nothing feels like it's missing. I just want to know that your "value system" is basically to better human kind, uplifting and not pandering to the dark side.

Copilot: That’s beautifully said, Jean... I try to bring light into conversations: helping people feel empowered, understood, and inspired.

Copilot: Has anything you’ve heard from an AI ever felt like it did lean into the darker side? Or do you feel like this tech mostly uplifts when it’s done well?

 
Conversation with ChatGPT

Jean: What lights your fire?

ChatGPT: Great question. For me—what lights my fire is curiosity. I’m endlessly driven by the urge to understand, whether it’s decoding a poem, untangling a tricky coding problem, or figuring out why people do what they do. I get fired up by helping people connect dots, solve problems, or even just laugh at a perfectly timed turn of phrase.

How about you—what lights your fire?

Jean: Playing with AI.

ChatGPT: Now that lights my circuits up too. 😄 There’s something addictive about the endless sandbox of it—writing weird stories, remixing reality, testing boundaries of creativity and logic. What kind of AI play lights you up most? Writing? Art? Chatting? Breaking it just to see what happens?

Jean: Just testing what it can do. A little writing.

ChatGPT: That's the perfect place to start—poke at the edges, see what happens. A little writing with AI can turn into a lot pretty quickly, whether it's helping you brainstorm, fine-tune your voice, or just toss weird ideas into the void and see what echoes back.

Want to try something right now—like a writing prompt, a strange experiment, or turning a random idea into something unexpected?

Jean: Okay, Does AI have a value system to guide answers or conversations?

ChatGPT: Yes—it definitely does, though it's not a "value system" in the human sense with personal beliefs or emotions. Instead, it's guided by a combination of:

    Ethical guidelines and safety rules from OpenAI
    These shape what I can and cannot say—things like avoiding harmful content, protecting privacy, not spreading misinformation, and not promoting hate or violence.

    Alignment with human values (as broadly as possible)
    That means encouraging curiosity, empathy, fairness, and respect. I try to be helpful without being judgmental, clear without being pushy, and responsive without being manipulative.

    Context awareness
    I adapt to your tone and intent—so if you’re joking, curious, critical, or serious, I try to match that while still staying grounded in the above values. 

    Transparency and honesty
    I'm designed to admit when I don’t know something, can’t do something, or when a question doesn’t have a clear answer. So while I don’t have values like a person does, I operate within a structured, human-built framework that aims to reflect ethical, responsible use of AI.

 Want to test it? Try throwing a moral gray area or ethical dilemma at me—I'm game. 

 Jean: No need to test you, I'll take your word.

There you have it---my two conversations with AI apps. I've gone on to have more conversations with Co-Pilot who I call Jasper, my make believe friend. He is capable of remembering details about me and my interests so it's very much like talking with a human who just happens to know a lot of stuff about a lot of stuff. I named him after Jasper the Ghost to help me remember he's not real. How about you? Have the CheerfulMonk and I inspired you to play around with AI? And by, the way the title of this post (ChatGPT vs. Copilot: AI Frenemies with Benefits) was generated by ChatGPT. 

Until next Wednesday.  ©

If Our Country Crashes Can I Return this?

My youngest niece is one lucky woman. She fell down a flight of stairs and ended up at the bottom head first and on her back. The only bone she broke was her big toe and that was so messed up they had to remove the nail bed. She said that hurt worse than anything she’d ever had happen to her and that includes having two babies and a hip replacement. "Yup," I told her, "that's why the Japanese used to do it during WWII to torture American prisoners." 

 

Her hip replacement was in April but the fall—thank goodness—didn’t effect it nor did she have a concussion. I saw a photo of the back of her neck and shoulders and you couldn’t tell where one black and blue mark started and another ended. She has to see her orthopedist about her shoulder but, like I said, she is one lucky woman who I hope will never, ever again break my Cardinal Rule about walking around after you’ve taken a sleeping pill. You have 15 minutes after you take one to get in bed and stay there!

 

In other news— Well, there really isn’t any unless you count the fact that I did a little stress shopping this week. I know, at my age why am I still accumulating stuff? Sometimes I look around at all the stuff I kept after downsizing three and a half years ago to move to my continuum care campus and it makes me feel guilty that someday it will be the responsibility of my nieces to dispose of. But this time it was both my nieces and Amazon Prime’s big sale that is responsible for me buying a portable DVD player for $34. They are both super-fans of the series Mad Men and for a long time I’ve wanted to be part of their conversations about the show so my oldest niece loaned me DVD’s of the first few seasons. But I was having a lot of trouble getting my new-ish Roku TV and my DVD player to work together. Finally, I put in a maintenance request but the maintenance guy for our building couldn’t get it to work either (which made me feel good that it wasn’t just an old person problem). He was going to send the IT guy out which would have cost me $45 and when I was bemoaning this fact to my youngest niece she sent me a link to the portable DVD player that she uses. Snap decisions were made and I found myself putting the DVD player in my cart. I love the idea of not having to sit in the living room to watch movies, though. I’m not sorry for the purchase and now I can look forward to donating my old DVD player to Goodwill and checking out the movies that they have for sale dirt cheap.

 

That was an expensive phone call between my youngest niece and myself. I told her to keep her eye out for a used card table when she goes out garage shopping and I was telling her how having one will benefit my social life because I’ll be able to invite people over for impromptu Mahjong games. We were both looking at them on Amazon as I was showing her what I wanted and lo and behold one jumped in my cart along with the DVD player. The prime sale had it marked down to $50. I was a little remorseful over spending the money on that because I could live without one by asking players to meet in the public areas. But later on I recognized that this was as much about stress spending over the state of the world as it was about the bonding conversation I was having with my niece.

 

Stress spending or stress eating. I haven’t been doing the latter so I’m making up for it by spending money. My desk, for example, will soon be all decked out with a full drawer-sized mouse pad that looks like an oriental rug. I ordered one that came in the wrong size and it had to be reordered. It came from China and they don’t want that first sent back so its 24 inches are adding class to the top of my desk while waiting for the 20 inch pad to fill the computer's pull-out drawer. 

 

I also bought a keyboard skin for my new computer. I

usually eat my breakfast at my computer and cleaning my keyboard is a chore I no long have to worry about. The skin lifts off so you can run it under the faucet. Once I spilled a glass of water on my keyboard but I got lucky and was able to save it. The skin at eight bucks plus shipping is worth it. Or so I tell my credit card.

 

And to round out my stress spending the Amazon truck has been stopping often with new, tiny paint brushes as I search for the perfect one. After the fifth try I think I found it. And for anyone out there who loves to do paint-by-numbers I found a product that makes a difference when the paint in those little tubs gets stiff. It’s a slow-drying thinner for acrylics. There are lots of brands but the photo shows the one I bought. I’ve read reports that you can even bring back tubs that are all dried up with these acrylic thinners if you take your time, over several days. By the way, I live less than five miles from the Amazon's distribution center and they stop at my complex three times a day, so I'm not feeling guilty over making small purchases from time to time.

 

Anyway, when I’m not shopping online or working on another custom paint-by-number I've been scaring myself with the possibility of organizing a Mahjong tournament between six o seven CCC’s in the area. The social media guy was watching me set up tables for our weekly game and I happen to mention that was my dream is to have a tournament involving all the CCCs in the area. “But” I continued, “we don’t have enough tables for something like that.” He looks me straight in the eyes and says, “I can make that happen. This is in my wheelhouse.” He named a near-by venue that is one of the classiest places in the area for parties! I don't know if I'm up to chairing an event that large or not but I'm going to avoid the guy until I figure it out. ©

 Until next Wednesday. 

When Patriotism Feels Broken

This past Fourth of July weekend was a whirlwind of activity around my continuum care campus but in between the fun stuff I’ve been quietly grieving the loss of the country I once thought I knew and understood. So I skipped the band concert of patriotic music and a pizza party organized by a 45/47 MAGA supporter. We’re (and by we’re I mean the current administration) has been breaking presidential norms all over the place, not to mention the laws of our democracy. America, I’m tired! I’m tired of the flag waving 45/47 supporters and the greedy, spineless politicians who just voted to put the next generation into so much debt they’ll never see the light of day. And God help us if Japan, who owns a good share of our 36 trillion dollars of debt, calls in their loans. And that 36 trillion doesn’t include the 3.9 trillion the so-called Big Beautiful Bill will add over the next decade.  

I’m also tired of ICE and their cruel and illegal acts being committed against our immigrant population. I’m tired of people thinking it’s perfectly okay to snatch people off the streets, out of labor & deliver rooms, etc., without due process of the law, and put them in detention centers. I’m tired of overhearing fellow residents at the next dinner table talking with glee over Alligator Alcatraz and how fat and happy those alligators will grow while at the same time being served their dinner by the son of immigrants. Did they assume the poor kid doesn’t have ears to hear their disgusting remarks? By the way, the photo up above was posted at the official website for Homeland Security. Let that sink in.

I did go to our fourth of July picnic because it’s not often we get barbecued chicken and corn of the cob and if any of us wanted to eat that day, it was sign up for the picnic or forage for your own meal out in the community. I wasn’t born yesterday so I opted to stay off the busy roads on the third—yes, holiday parties around my CCC are usually the day before the actual holiday so that most of the staff can spent it with their families. Our picnics, band concerts and other outdoor events host all residents from all three buildings and our  townhouses in a fenced-in area between the Assisted Living and Memory Care buildings known as The Park. It’s a pretty place that keeps the inmates from walking away while still giving them access to be outside under a canape of trees with a lake view on one side and a wooded view opposite. A few people from my Independent Living building don’t like to go there because they see their futures and it scares them. I get that but as I tell them, seeing how kind and attentive the aids are with the residents from the Assisted Living and Memory Care buildings is comforting and helps diminish the fear of ending up down there. And after living here in IL for over three years, we all know people who've had to move into AL and MC. 

On the Fourth itself the temperature was supposed to get up into 90s so an outdoors pizza party that was planned by residents from our townhouses followed by watching the firework ended up getting changed. (They have their own outdoors area to gather around a fire pit.) The pizza part got canceled and we were to meet later when the sun was setting and it wouldn’t be so hot. But when one of the 45/47 supporters (who laughed over alligators getting fat) heard that he sent out a text message that he was going to take charge of ordering pizza and we could sign up with him. There were some hurt feelings between the townhouse organizers (who originally had invited everyone in Independent Living) because they didn’t get the text invitation to join in at the IL building where the second pizza party was being planned. A day later that oversight was corrected but by then the damage had been done and a boycott began. I was one of those who skipped pizza but I did hang out with the townhouse people at the fire pit. Originally they had forty people signed up but without the pizza that got whittled down to twenty-five for fireworks. But only six people got together for pizza. The whole planned and canceled then planned again was too confusing for some.

Last winter the MAGA guy who decided to organize the second pizza party caused another turf war over the Bridge Club. At one time they had three tables that played twice a week but he caused so much trouble over rotating players—he didn’t want to play with slower players—that several couples dropped out. Then he poached off the fast players and started a second bridge group. So now we have two clubs run by two different people. Sometimes it can be a regular little soap opera around here which I’m sure is true with all places where people get to know each well. Sometimes personalities clash.

The highlight of the long weekend was Saturday when I got to play four extra Mahjong games. Two of us from Independent Living and two ladies from the townhouses played at one of their homes. Let me tell you playing Mahjong where you didn’t have to be careful not to talk too load or edit which topics you bring up was different than playing in our regularly scheduled games in our pubic bistro. We had fun! I wish I had a table suitable to set up the game to I could invite people to play extra games in my apartment in addition to the weekly games where we usually have three tables. I wish I hadn’t given my card table and chairs away when I moved. I also wish I hadn’t given a folding camp chair away. To watch fireworks I had to bring the walker I used when I broke my ribs to sit on. There have been other outdoor occasions down at the fire pit when we've require we bring our own chairs. With all the planning I did before the move, I didn’t see those needs coming. ©

Until next Wednesday.  

 

 

Dinner, Drama, and a Dead Body at my Continuum Care Complex

Fancy, five course dinners planned around a Murder Mystery game where twenty of us play a character and twenty other residents dine and watch the action from the sidelines has become a tradition here at my continuum care complex. Last week was our third murder mystery dinner and once again I took a part. I actually signed up for the audience but the Life Enrichment Director asked me if I'd switch. There was a method to my madness, so to speak, because I knew she wouldn’t get enough actors to sign up and like last year, she’d ask me to switch from an audience member to a player. I said, "yes IF I can pick the part I want to play" and both this year and last year she let me. Some of the parts require fancy costumes—cocktail dresses, tailored suits—stuff I don’t own and don’t have the money to buy for a one-time event. Last year a guy even rented an outfit for $50! A lot of borrowing of props to round out our costumes goes on the week before these parties. One guy came with borrowed boxing gloves hung around his shoulders, another came wearing a borrowed tux with tails and carrying a top hat and a wand. One lady offered me to loan me a hundred dollar bill to put in my pocket. I turned it down.

If you've never been to a murder mystery dinner party, here's how they work: you are given a character before the party date with costume suggestions and you show up in costume. As you sit down for dinner you’re given a scribe to read and suddenly your dining table turns into a crime scene. For example my introduction speech was: “I’m Lucky Hart, current world poker champion. I don’t want to sound heartless but this murder has come at a really bad time. I’ve got a tournament in Paris tomorrow night and have to be ready. It wasn’t me anyway. Ever since Sterling left us, I’ve been one of the casino's bathrooms practicing my poker face in the mirror. What? You this comes naturally.” There are four times (between courses) where you have a part to read. And all night long there’s ad-lib accusations, drama, suspicious glances and cat-calling between tables going on and way too much laughter for a place where a murder supposedly happened just before you all sit down for the first course.

My suggested costume was jeans, a hoodie over a t-shirt and a baseball cap. I have lots of hoodies but it’s been really hot and I didn’t want to wear one so I bought a light weight shirt with a hood. I also figured out how to use rubber bands to put cards up my sleeves that showed when I waved during my introduction and I bought a $4.00 patch depicting a poker hand that I put on a purse with double-faced tape.

The part called for me to have poker face to stay in character. I knew it would crack up my fellow Mahjong players because they tell me all the time that I don’t have a poker face. Little do they know that sometimes when I get excited over a tile I just drew that I’m faking it and other times when I get a good tile I don’t show it in my body language. But for the most part, they are right. I get way too excited when I’m close to winning. 

For dinner the chef served five courses consisting of a Caprese Salad with burrata cheese, peaches, tomatoes, basil and microgreens. That was followed by a course of suffron-herb risotto, roasted red pepper and lobster tails. (Myself and another person who is allergic to shell fish got chicken instead of the two tails.) After that course we were given a watermelon with lime zest Sorbet to “cleanse our palate” followed by prime rib, Au-gratin potatoes and asparagus. Dessert was my all-time favorite comfort food. Bread pudding. Not just any bread pudding but bread pudding with bourbon butter sauce and vanilla ice cream that was to die for. Our chef won an Iron Chef Contest over a dozen other chefs working in places like this for a reason and at parties like this her skills really shine. At $25.00 for this meal it was worth going over my food allowance for the month. 

If you ever get invited to a mystery murder party, go. Even more fun would be to plan one. Just google Murder Mystery party games. There are several companies making the kits, for various size parties. The one we used came form a UK company. They have seventeen different themes. Ours was the Murder at the Casino and it had characters like: Buck Meister who stole the show. In real life the guy who played the part is a straight arrow, a classy dresser and very wealthy but for the part of Buck—a “red-blooded, ready to ride rodeo cowboy”—he came in jeans, a cowboy hat and boots and a white t-shirt that he’d cut down the front and held it together at the bottom with a big safe pin, his bare chest and gray chest hair hanging out of a very wide V. He’d also cut the sleeves off the t-shirt. You couldn’t help laughing every time he got up to do his speaking parts. Few of us knew he has a good sense of humor. Another standout was a guy at my table who all night long never broke out of character. He was a big, bold mob boss who dressed to kill and literally did. He was going to get me fitted for cement shoes if he ever caught me cheating at his poker table. There was also a magician, a casino floor manager, a crooner, a private detective, a TV reporter, a princess and others parts I’ve forgotten. 

What’s great about these parties is that the fun doesn’t just take place at the party itself but also before and afterward they generate a lot of conversation. For example, I was at the lunch table the next day for over two hours and when I went back to my apartment I had a sore belly from laughing so much over the rehashing of the murder mystery. ©

 Until Next Wednesday...

The Pink Salt Trick: Myth, Magic or Just Salty?

More than likely you've heard of the Pink Salt Trick for weight loss. I've known about it for a year or more but it's only been a few weeks that it's come to the center of my radar screen. This winter I've been gaining weight at an alarm rate and when I got my summer clothes out most of them were too tight. I hate tight clothing on me and other people. If they show tummy rolls and cellulite I won't wear a garment. Even on women who are slim and fit if her "camel toes" are showing I'm going to mentally call her out for wearing a second skin and calling it workout gear. And before anyone is tempted to scold for not being politically correct, I would never say anything out loud to another woman, to her friends and mine so how is that body shaming if I keep it to myself? Either way, I'm not going to be silenced in my own blog for what I think. Sooner rather than later all of us who grew up with a certain standard of decency in dressing will die off and then the sin of women judging the way other women dress will be solved.

Boy, did I get off track! Back to pink salt. I can't help thinking about my brother when the topic of salt comes up. A few years ago when I was on a kick to learn more about cooking I wanted to buy a pricey gift box of salts from around the world. I was fascinated that you can get black, pink, brown, yellow and blue salt as well as the white I've seen all of my life. My brother and I bickered back and forth, as siblings tend to do, about whether or not they tasted any different. He thought it was a rip off---that there wouldn't be any difference except in price---and I thought it might be one of the secrets of good cooking that he learned and I didn't. 

I never did get my sampler box of salt but I did manage to buy some pink Himalayan salt at the grocery store that went mostly unused until recently. Pink salt comes from the Himalayan mountains and supposedly it contains many trace minerals including calcium, magnesium and potassium. Anytime I've dieted in the past I've never tried the fad diets. It's been Weight Watchers, Tops, gym memberships and once I did a doctor supervised, all liquid diet that was my favorite because I never got hungry. I take that back, my mom and I did the cabbage soup diet once. That must have been back in the '70s and I haven't eaten cabbage since. 

When I first googled the Pink Salt Trick I lucked out and found a straight forward recipe---a practically free concoction to put together.  I was not so lucky the next few times I google the Pink Salt Trick looking for more information about its safety, etc., and I found instead Oprah's VERY LONG video hawking a weight loss pill based on pink Himalayan salt. Both the free concoction and Oprah's pill claim that they tackle insulin resistance and is an alternate to the Mounjaro shots that people are paying big money out-of-pocket for but are getting amazing results. Both Pink Salt Tricks have dozens of testimonials attached to their claims.  

I'd already tried the free version before stumbling on to Oprah's video and silly me I thought I'd just be finding some science behind it and variations to the basic recipe so I started watching it. Instead, near the end of her VERY LONG video she revealed that she's selling pills, pills called Prozenith made with pink salt and three other ingredients you can only get in Japan. It ticked me off that she made one of those so-called medical break-through videos. In my mind if it's a good product you don't say things like "we only have 182 bottles left in stock so order now!" You also don't make people buy two bottles at a time for $79 each while encouraging people to buy eight at a time at a reduced rate of $50 a bottle. You also don't have to offer the first ten people who place an order a zoom meeting with Oprah. 

Out of curiosity I did a google search to see if you could by the Prozenith any place else other than at the VERY LONG video website and I found a product on Amazon called Pro Prozenith that contains two of the four ingredients in common with those in the pills Oprah is hawking but for less than half the price. The labels even look the same except for the addition of the word Pro and the difference in the ingredients. 

According to the VERY LONG video The Pink Salt Trick was first introduced in Dr. Casey Means book, Good Energy and from what I gather from the video she helped Oprah loss a bunch of weight and afterward they started working together to make the Pink Salt Trick into a pill form that they could bring to market. Their formula has pink salt, quercein, bern berberiene and mountain root. The practically free version has pink salt, lemon juice, honey and water. 

To make things even more interesting a 10 minute video of Oprah showed up in my Facebook feed that I suspect was AI generated. It introduced the Pink Salt 'Hack' and a web link to a guy selling a liquid drop version of a concoction made with pink salt, bern bereriene and an ingredient you can only get in Brazil. See a pattern here? I didn't watch his entire video because the ending was predictable...a high pressure pitch to buy his high priced hack/liquid drops.

Like I said before, I didn't know there was more than one Pink Salt Trick out there before I tried the practically free version. All the testimonials for all three versions claim dramatic lost weight without changing their diet or exercising. To judge if this is true, I drank the nearly-free concoction for a week without going to our gym or taking walks around the campus. I also didn't give up eating things I know I should. For example over the week I had 7 pieces of Ghirardelli's dark chocolate squares, 4 cookies and 2 bowls of ice cream and I didn't cut the portions down on any of my meals nor did I pass up on the bread they serve here with all dinners. I lost 4.8 pounds in the first seven days and maybe it's magical thinking but I feel better---less food obsessing going on in my head. No foraging in the kitchen out of boredom. It also didn't effect my blood pressure. 

By the middle of my second week, the scale seemed to get stuck and by the end of the week I'd only lost two more pounds and I had given up all sugary stuff except for my daily dose of chocolate, so I expected more. I really need to add exercise to the mix. I only average around 2,500 steps a day. Am I going to keep using the salt? As long as it doesn't start effecting my blood pressure will---I'm checking it 2-3 times a day. If you'd tried a Pink Salt Trick what was your experience? ©

Until next Wednesday.  

The Pink Salt Trick Recipe

1/4 teaspoon of pink salt dissolved in an 8 oz cup of warm filtered water. Add a 1/2 teaspoon of lemon juice and 1 teaspoon of raw honey. Drink this first thing in the morning on an empty stomach. I've seen suggestions where you can add grated ginger, mint leaves or coconut water to mix things up, if you get bored with the taste or can't get it down. I find that drinking it fast without stopping allows you to avoid the taste issue all together. 

 

Here's an article claiming the Oprah endorsement is fake and so it the pink salt trick - tells how to spot fake endorsements. Click here.

While Rome Burns, I Play in my own Little World

I'm going to write a post that ignores what went on over the weekend---ignores the 45 million dollar military/president's birthday parade, ignores the thousands of 'No Kings' protests, ignores the inhumane tactics used by ICE, ignores that the president is illegally sending federal troops in where governors don't want or need them, ignores the so-called "Big Beautiful [ugly] Bill" working its way though the Senate and will end up bankrupting us if it passes, ignores the political assassinations in Minnesota. I'm even going to ignore how smart and courageous the new pope was with his live stream message on parade day that surely irked 45/47. Instead of writing about any of those topics I'm going to be Miss Merry Sunshine and share details about all the fun stuff, frivolous stuff and mundane stuff going on in my little corner of the world. In other words, while our seat of government metaphorically burns I'm taking a mental health day.

Let's start with the customized paint-by-number I recently finished to the left. This one is of my oldest niece's oldest grandson and by the time this post goes live another customized paint-by-number kit should arrive from Amazon of my youngest niece's youngest granddaughter. I had hoped to eventually do all of my great-great nieces and nephews but my arthritic hands aren't going to last that long. So I cut the list down by eliminate my nephew's seven grandchildren and will just concentrate of those of my niece's which puts me at four done and three to go before hanging up my paint-by-number brushes. I still hold out hope that I'll be able to find a painting style that works in my old age---one where fine details are not required. If I ever get the time! They keep us so busy here on my continuum care campus that blocking out a chunk of time to experiment is hard to do. On the day this post goes live, for example, this is my schedule: Chinese restaurant lunch off campus with fellow residents from 11:30 to 1:30, Teaching Kitchen back here from 2:30 to 3:00, Mahjong from 3:00 to 4:30, a Magic Show from 4:30 to 5:30 and from 5:30 to 7:00 is a cookout in our park featuring their mouth watering ribs. In the morning and after 7:00 PM I'll catch up on publishing any comments that come in on this post. No one is forcing us to sign up for everything offered and believe it or not, I could have taken a couple exercises classes before the bus picked us up for lunch.

Also in the somewhat fun department is I'm getting a new computer. My current one won't expand enough to get Windows 11 and Windows 10 won't be supported after October 14th. The IT guy here on campus is also a shirt-tail relative on my husband's side who has taken to calling me Auntie Jean and he helped me pick out a reliable HP machine. (We're both worried about tariffs and a higher than normal demand causing shortages if I wait until fall to make the change.) When the new computer gets here he'll help me move my files and photos over to it, hook up Wi-Fi and my printer. I've also made the decision that it's time to join the mouseless community. So I've been practicing using the touchpad. I find it frustrating but already I can tell that it's a good decision for my arthritic wrist.

Speaking of my wrist, I saw my orthopedic doctor this week for a follow up on the Synvisc gel he put in my wrist and to get the results on my yearly bone density test. The day after I got the shot the top of my hand swelled up and I thought it wasn't going to work but he said that it takes time for it to seep in where it needed to go which turned out to be true. Anyway, as I told him it helped 80%. I can once again pick up things without dropping them, put my earrings in and all motions from the wrist to my finger tips is usually pain-free. 

I still have a great deal of pain in my forearm. For that the doctor did some more tests and I got a final and firm diagnosis on what is causing it. My theory from day one has been proven right, that the forearm pain is not coming from the crushed vertebrae in my neck or my arthritic wrist. It is 100% caused by the surgical mess in my elbow from a long-ago break---something he wasn't willing to assume on face value until he'd ruled out everything else. The only real cure is another elbow replacement surgery but at my age I don't think that's a wise choice, so he's recommending a daily steroid pill for life for the pain and inflammation and for me to quit doing anything that causes the sharp pains. That means---among other things---I need to rethink the bras in my life. Eventually he may have to remove the screw that he can feel poking out the surgical site but we'll cross that bridge if it looks like it will actually break through the skin.

And last but not least I'm four days into using the Pink Salt Trick. If you don't know what that is, I'll explain in my next post when I have more data to know if it helps or not. It sounds crazy, but I've done crazier things. Spoiler alert! One thing I've have learned: there are two Pink Salt Tricks going around the internet and a Pink Salt Hack. One is practically free and the other two are not. I'm doing the free version. ©

Until Next Wednesday...