G LIKE HUMAN CONTACT!”

BY

GERRY NISKERN

My Granddaughter thinks I am as old as Methuselah. She called me yesterday from a snowy land far, far away, to check in and chat for a while. She has a small business and so does her husband.  She asked me how long it took for this country to recover from the “Great Depression”, ‘since you lived back then.’

I replied, “Well, first of all, I was born in l932, so I only experienced it as a child. But I have learned over the years of the history of our country, that the depression didn’t really stop until military production started for World Warll.”

One incident that I remember vividly was my dad coming home when I was six and saying that his hours had been cut to two days a week. But remember, we were lucky. Many fathers were out of work and had been for a long time. We lived in the country and men would come hiking along our rural road every day, looking for work in exchange for a meal. We called them bums  like our playmates did, but our mother scolded us. “Do not call them bums. They are just men out of work and having a hard time.” She always scrambled them a big plate of eggs, piled slices of bread on top and made a fresh pot of coffee.

My caller also asked me about the Spanish flu. (which by the way, did not originate in Spain.) I explained that the Spanish flu started in 1918 so I could only tell her my mother’s memories. My mother was around eight years old at the time, but she talked about it often when I was a child. The flu diminished after a year but flared up again the following year and she recalled so many people in her neighborhood dying from it. I remember her telling the story often about how she kept my sister away from everyone for a long time when she was born, in l929, because she was so frightened for her baby.

After I answered those questions, we must have talked for over two hours about lots of things. Good things. Happy times. That phone call from my beautiful granddaughter lifted my spirits like  one of those hot air balloons and I soared thru the rest of what would have been another lonely  isolation day.

COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS!

By

Gerry Niskern

I have just one thing to say to everyone, the mantra that was intoned by my mother at least once every day when I was growing up. “Count your blessings, young lady.”

Yes , we are in the middle of a Pandemic. Yes, we have been asked to ‘Shelter inside’. And yes, it is scary. I know it can be boring. I got so frustrated being home that I broke into a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints that I was saving for my turn for refreshments at Bunco.

Those in their 80’s or even older might remember the whole country being on food rations during WWII. You needed a ration coupon to buy butter, meat, sugar or even a pair of shoes. Everything was sent to be used by the Armed Forces. Most all families were so worried about their family members fighting overseas that the few hardships of every day living was not important.

Now, everyone is being asked to Please stay home and only go out for work, Doctors App (and those are being cancelled mostly) and Groceries. People are trying to stay six feet apart when they are out. They are not to gather in groups of ten or more. Less is much better or not at all. I’m no covering everything here, but you know the drill.

There is just one problem. Everyone is not complying, especially the Seniors across our country. Yes,  The Seniors! The very people who are the most vulnerable. Their attitude is “If it’s my time to go, it’s my time.” Wrong. It’s not about you! The Sheltering request is to keep the surge of the sick down as much as possible, so the hospitals don’t get overwhelmed.

It is not much to ask everyone to do for your community. There is anything you want on TV. There is the Internet and your phone for communication. There are video games and online games too. And don’t forget books.

We can wait this out. And there is another activity you can do while Social Distancing. You can count your blessings.

I’m counting mine!

LOVE THY NEIGHBOR!

By

Gerry Niskern

I’ve lived in l8 neighborhoods, give or take a few. The one thing I’ve learned is that neighbors are a luck of the draw.  When Ken and I bought our first house, we assumed our neighbors would be around our age. We visualized new friends and great parties. Wrong!

Our’s was the first house built in the subdivision.  We watched in dismay as people old enough to be our grandparents moved in all around us. Turned out, their idea of Happy Hour wasn’t sharing parenting woes and the sound of  babies crying. Our entertainment instead was listening to  the Italian couple across the street arguing every night, even above the noise of the evaporative cooler and the TV. Seems  there was a question of what she did while he was overseas fighting in WWII that still needed to be settled.

Our next house had a big yard and we put in the only pool  in the area. Some preteens weren’t happy about that and decided to throw several buckets of paint into the water one night. It took a ton of Pot Ash to clear that up.

Don’t get me wrong. Some neighbors have been great!. I still remember the warm feeling of welcome when a couple from Alabama welcomed us to our new place in California with a wonderful chicken dinner. They introduced us to Shakey’s Pizza and shared lots of good times.

Once in another house the people next door regularly called the police when our two sons and friends were practicing with their band in the garage. Their children asked us quite frequently why we didn’t go to  church.

We lived in a condo in Costa Mesa once and the elderly lady above us rearranged her furniture every night. Another Senior stood and stared at our picture window for l5 minutes at a time. We weren’t sure, but thought she was the same woman.

For twenty-five years we lived on the side of the North Phoenix Mountain and had a fantastic view of the valley. I’ll admit we were kind of smug and  didn’t really worry about neighbors. Except for one.He lived down below and  stood in is garage and stared at his huge tool box for hours on end; not working, just staring. Turns out he wasn’t the one we should have been worried about. One evening the police set of a couple of percussion bombs that shook the neighborhood and raided the house next to him. They picked up several druggies. You never know.

I’m in another home now. I’m the new kid on the block. I’m very slowly meeting everyone; they are all super busy. Someone just bought the house across the street. When I came home yesterday a skip loader was hauling dirt out of their back yard. Seems they are building a pool.

I think it is  time to introduce myself.

WHAT IS RETIREMENT AGE?

By

Gerry Niskern

We had a retirement at my house the other day.

I was cleaning out my car and throwing away junk accumulated in the back. When I got to the bottom, there was my trusty, old friend. My aluminum lawn chair. You know the kind. It’s made of aluminum tubing and the seat and back are woven fabric slats.

The best thing about those old chairs is they are so light weight. There are all kinds of super deluxe chairs out now. They are made nylon, have cup holders and pockets and are super heavy. Ken bought two and insisted on carrying them too. But when he wasn’t along I grabbed my light weight friend.

Together that old chair and I attended baseball and soccer games when our grandsons played. It held me when I watched my granddaughter slide into home many times. Something I never thought I would see that girl do. Sometimes there were bleachers and sometimes not. And besides, those bleachers are hard!

I sat in that chair and watched my first Great-grandson play baseball too. I don’t think his heart was ever in it, but he did want to please his dad.

I saw my Great-grandaughter play softball for a while. She was good at it, but she soon changed her sport to volleyball and she excelled at that game for many years.

My chair went to her brother’s first base ball game at age three. He loved the game and couldn’t wait to start. Then, he bulked at the last minute and decided he didn’t want to play. Big surprise!  Pleading, bribes, nothing worked. Until his thirteen year old brother offered to go out on the field with him and then he went. The last game my chair went to was to watch him play for PVC.  Now he’s playing for Arkansas Tech on a baseball scholarship.

My chair’s sports days are over. So it’s taking a well deserved rest in the back of the garage…….but not too far back, you never know!