Left to my own devices

Years ago, my mom, maternal grandmother ("Gummy") and I were sitting around, talking, and the subject of what the favorite time of our lives was came up in conversation. I don't remember what mom's answer was, but Gummy (born in 1928) said, "Probably 1938/1939. that period right in there." She went on to say that she thought most people would, posed with the same question, give an answer that would fall somewhere in their childhood. That often seems to be the knee-jerk, default response most folks have about when they thought things were best. You know, the 'good old days.' What I liked then, and appreciate now, about Gummy's reasoning was its honesty. She acknowledged the personal nature of her response. Of course she thought the world was better when she was ten. Everyone's life is different, but for many, being a kid, unburdened by the responsibilities of adulthood, can come with a unique level of happiness, even if it may only be appare...

 A lot of people who aren't into Star Trek are aware of Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home . Mention it to someone, and you'll likely get a mild look of recognition, followed by a nod of the head and, "Oh yeah, the one with the whales, right?" It was a pretty popular film in its day -- its total box office was $139 million, which comes to $331 million in 2021 dollars. Tonight, I'm going to watch it again, at theater, for a special 35th anniversary screening. I am shivering with anticipation. The premise of Star Trek IV is pretty engaging: a mysterious probe has arrived at Earth. It is sending a signal, directed at Earth's oceans, which is disrupting both the power and eco-systems of the planet. Kirk, Spock and crew are away while this is happening, and deduce that the sounds emanating from the probe are directed at humpback whales. Apparently, this alien life form used to communicate with those mammals, centuries ago, across the stars, but humans eventually hunte...

Her name was Dorothy Shirley, but to me she will always be Shirley Shirley. It can be argued that she had two first names and, for a kid no older than ten, it's easy to see how one could get confused. I remember my mom exasperatedly trying to explain to me how her name was Dorothy, not "Shirley Shirley," as I was prone to (innocently) calling her. We went round and round about this, like some unintentional Abbott & Costello routine. "Who the hell is named Shirley Shirley?!" mom exclaimed at one point. I still didn't understand, but decided to back down, not wanting the back & forth to continue. Dorothy Shirley lived across the street and slightly to the south from us, at the corner of the street. We knew everyone on our little block of Draper St. when I was growing up, save one. That's just the way it was. Directly across from us were the Tuchels, Bob and Wanda. Bob died in 2019, aged 98. Wanda is still living. Next door, to the north, were th...

"I love the past, 'cause I hate suspense." - Diane Young, by Vampire Weekend The interesting thing about being alive is that we know what's come before, but not what will be. Well, that isn't the only interesting thing, obviously, but it's an aspect of existence that fascinates me. Put another way, we know the past, but never the future. And, there will always be a future -- something epochal would have to occur for that to change. I've been ruminating on the aforementioned reality somewhat often during this pandemic. Additionally, I've considered the importance of the shared experiences we have, both en masse and amongst our smaller, more tightly-knit sub-groups (friends, family, that sort of thing). It is a significant factor to know our history, but there's nothing quite like going through a major event at the same time as those we know, those fellow humans who mean something special to us.

Our household regularly watches a television show that last aired (in its original run) over half-a-century ago. What's My Line? -- the popular game show that ran from 1950 to 1967 -- featured four panelists, a moderator, and multiple guests. The panel had to try and guess what each guest did for their "line" of work. It's a fun show to watch, and a fascinating time capsule of its era. We usually watch an episode or two every evening. Most everyone associated with the program is dead. This is true of Dorothy Kilgallen, a long-time panel member who died suddenly in 1965. One day, several weeks ago, we were watching an episode of the show on YouTube, and I read a few of the comments below the video. One of them purported to be from Dorothy's grandson, who said he was glad to be able to watch his grandmother at the top of her game, even though she long ago passed away. Whether or not that was truly Dorothy Kilgallen's grandson who wrote the comment, it...

T wenty-eight years ago today was, of course, another Valentine's Day. It was also the day that a great ice storm swept through Champaign County, laying waste to the urban centers of Champaign-Urbana. I was a resident of Champaign at the time, and remember it (mostly) well, though certain exact details are now lost to memory. February of 1990 saw me living on the north side of town. Mom and I (and her then-partner and step-kids) had moved over to a house in north Champaign. My maternal grandmother, Gummy, having recently moved back to town from Wisconsin, rented a small, cozy house in Urbana. My father still lived in Champaign, in a condo in the south part of town.

My late, maternal grandmother, Gummy, whom I loved very deeply and still miss to this day, was a bit of a conservative. On the one hand, that isn't so odd, since she grew up and lived most of her life in rural Illinois, during a time (she was born in 1928) that was already more traditionalist than the world we live in today. She also believed in life after death, reincarnation and alien visitations, so conversations with her ran the gamut, and that's one of the things I liked about her.   I mention Gummy because film aficionado and TCM host Robert Osborne passed away yesterday, aged 84. That may seem like a non sequitur, but the one made me think of the other because the two came from the same generation, and it has come to (public) light that Osborne was gay, and I remember how my grandmother treated the subject of homosexuality on occasion.

Reading Matt Zoller Seitz's remembrance of his wife , Jennifer, on the tenth anniversary of her death, filled me with a sense of dread, sadness and anxiety. Despite having read Matt's reviews on RogerEbert.com for years and being aware of the books he's written about director Wes Anderson, this was an aspect of his life of which I was unaware. I felt sadness for his loss, even though it is now a decade old. The dread and anxiety crept-in because such a read will invariably make one reflect on their own life situation and think, 'Oh no, what if it happens to me?!' Ashley & I will have been together sixteen years this June. First and foremost: if anything ever happened to him, I would be devastated. Of that, there is no doubt. It's not something I dwell on, though I do think about it perhaps more than I should. Every time he drives to work, or even goes off to the store on his own, I hope he comes back. I've known people whose spouses have died in...

You all cross my mind, perhaps more often than the dead really should. You are no longer living, breathing, thinking entities, though maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe the stories of so many religions across the millennia are true: maybe you all still exist somewhere, perhaps not alive (in the sense that we know it), but still cognizant of some form of reality? All I know for sure is that I miss you and, for many of you, I feel like you were gone too soon. Along with missing you is, in some cases, a twinge of guilt. For those who took their own lives I wonder, "Could I have done more?"  For those who passed away naturally I ask, "Did I convey to you how much you were appreciated?" Questions with unknowable answers. That could be why they resurface far too often.

"I'm touched by the idea that when we do things that are useful and helpful - collecting these shards of spirituality - that we may be helping to bring about a healing."                                                                -- Leonard Nimoy It's not very often that a celebrity death rattles me. They are, after all, people I don't really know. For whatever reason, River Phoenix's sudden passing hit me hard back in 1993, and I was pretty sad this past November when author P.D. James died. It didn't matter that she was 94-years-old. She was my favorite writer, and had been active up until her death, often making the news. And, of course, there's Roger Ebert. I've written much about what he means to me already. Now, dear reader, another celebrity death has occurred that has, frankly, left me gutted. Actor Leo...

My uncle Buster died on December 6th. While mom tried to jog my memory about meeting him at least once, I have no memory of the man. Marion "Buster" Snyder was someone I just heard her talk about sometimes. It's the same for her dad's side of the family. I remember meeting them once, after grandfather Dean Snyder had passed away, but the memory -- now some 20+ year ago -- is a foggy one. When mom and I went to Buster's visitation on the cold night of December 11th, driving from Champaign to her hometown of Clinton, we weren't quite sure what to expect. After mom was born, Dean and my grandmother (Gummy) broke up and Dean started over with a new family with the lovely Hazel, comprised of several children who are my mother's half-siblings, Buster among them. Mom hadn't been extremely close with the family, so we approached the visitation with some trepidation.

"I haven't seen Gummy in 15 years." I uttered those words recently, about my late maternal grandmother, after remembering that she'd died in March of 1998, and that I hadn't seen her for a couple months before then. What struck me about the turn-of-phrase is how it differs from how we typically think of those who are no longer with us. Usually we say, "she's been dead 15 years," or "She passed away 15 years ago." But the words I uttered -- which I gave no thought to during the moment -- were different. We tend not to think of those who are dead as possibly able to be seen or heard from again, for obvious reasons, but the lack of their presence in our lives is akin to someone who is still living, but whom we haven't communicated with in awhile. Only this time, the permanency of their absence is without question. I will never again see Gummy's face (outside of a photograph). I won't be able to hear her voice, my grandm...

You have the side door open. I see this while driving by. The busy intersection where your house sits on the corner lot. It used to be my grandmother's house. No doubt it's had several owners. Seeing the open door, looking in to the kitchen, I am reminded of the days gone by when Gummy used to live there. That expansive, yet simple kitchen. We would sometimes sit and drink coffee or tea or soda in that kitchen, around the big table that could seat upwards of six people. We'd sit and chat, my grandmother, my mother and I. Sometimes others. Friends of the family. Spoons and cups clinking on the saucers.

Today is the 83rd birthday anniversary of my maternal grandmother, affectionately known to me as "Gummy." This was due, I later found out, to a mis-reading of her handwriting. Originally, it had been her intention that I should know her as "Grammy." She wrote this down once, I looked at it, uttered "Gummy," and the name stuck. It wasn't until years later that I knew her real name was Emma Gene. Gummy suited her better. Grandkids know best about such things.