Time Travelers
By
Gerry Niskern
I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything new lately on this blog. I’ve been neglecting this site because I’ve been spending a lot of time helping writers become time travelers. That’s what people who write a memoir are called: Time Traveler.
Anyone who has ever attempted to write a memoir of any kind must dig into the past, with all its pain and joy. It is usually a perilous journey to do that personal excavating and discover an abundance, beautiful and heartbreaking both, that you didn’t even suspect was lying beneath the surface.
People often ask “ Why would anyone be interested in my life?” I’ll tell you why; because everyone is unique. There is not now or ever will be a person exactly like you and your story. Your family is like no other. There are undiscovered stories in all of us. Telling those stories are how we learn our true self.
It’s your chance to set the record straight. It is your chance to tell some family history from your point of view.
As a memoirist you will be getting a better understanding of how you came to be who you are today. The people in my creative writing workshop are completing a collection of personal essays that they may use in the final version of their memoir.
I’ve worked with this small, but delightful, group of writers who have been striving to be more creative in the way they tell their stories; in ways that will hold future readers interest. I’ve written along with them on weekly projects and have discovered that I only have so many “words” to give in a week.
When and how they decide to share their stories with the world is up to them. Some will self- publish, some will have print small booklets just for the family and some will finish, put their work away to be discovered by another person some day, but they will have recorded their history that is theirs and theirs alone.
Permit me to refer to the quote I used at the beginning of my own memoir,
The word that unites all families is, “Remember!”

This popped up on Facebook Share again today, so I thought some of my new readers might enjoy it.

“The Stir Stick”

By

Gerry Niskern

There used to be a running joke in our family about who will inherit the “stir stick”. Which offspring will be deemed worthy of the old pine stick that my grandmother, my dad’s mother, used to stir her clothes in the big tubs hold the laundry rinse water? That piece of pine was bleached white and worn smooth as satin as she stirred the clothes round and round the old tubs till they were rinsed clean. She raised six children all alone by taking in boarders and laundry, with the help of that one small stir stick.
My own mother inherited the stick from her mother-in-law and used it many years. However, somewhere along the way the stick was retired, pushed to the back of a cupboard. That probably happened when she purchased her first automatic washer.
She didn’t get a dryer though. Mom insisted on having the fresh breath of wind and sun on her towels and sheets. Actually, she didn’t take quickly to any new gadgets for the home. I wonder what she would have thought about the new cooking parties that the young homemakers are giving?
I can imagine Mom’s running commentary on the latest cooking tools.
As the hostess carefully demonstrates how the new colanders can be used to drain not only pasta, but also canned peaches; I can just hear Mom saying, “What’s wrong with using the can lid like always?”
The innovative measuring cups have a cup on either end, so if one’s messy, you can use the other end. Mom’s comment would be “Ever hear of measuring the dry first, then the wet?”
The new baking stones are touted to bake every cookie perfectly even. “But what if you have one kid like his cookies real soft, while another wants his dark and crisp. And then there’s dad who likes the date bars cut from the edge of the pan because they’re crunchier?”
The exhibition of the special onion chopper and handy tomato slicer would have brought the retort, “use a knife.” When the hostess explains that the new garlic press can be used in a real emergency to crush bullion cubs. Mom would say, “Make your own chicken broth, it’s better for you.”
Don’t even mention the improved spatulas that sell for thirteen dollars! “Nonsense. Cake batter tastes just as good licked off a ninety-eight cent spoon.”
Something tells me those women, like Mom, of years ago who melted down their soap pieces on Sunday evening to get ready for Monday’s wash and saved their potato water to make gravy, wouldn’t be good ones to invite to today’s cooking parties.
But actually, if you look closely, some of the old customs are new again. Nostalgia is back in a big way. Young couples are snapping up the old Victorian homes. They’re hanging lace curtains and searching for handmade quilts. Spinning wheels and butter churns are sought after items to place in the entry hall and Grandpa’s wicker rocking chair is sought for the front porch.
The latest trend is to knit your own afghans; some women’s magazines are now carrying complete instructions. The sewing pattern industry is reporting a big comeback as stay- at- home Mom’s are buying sewing machines.
Cooking is back. On kitchen stoves the size of small Volkswagens, today’s homemakers are simmering Thai stews and soups with Eastern-European flavors as they celebrate their ethnic backgrounds.
Everyone is embracing the “rootedness” of the home. They’re very keen on traditions. Parents desire a way of life they can pass on to their children.
The other day I saw some antique, hand decorated wash tubs hanging on a back patio. Since I’ve been hanging on to that old piece of bleached pine, I’ve been wondering, is it possible that we might see the return of the “stir stick?”
Nah.

Huber Rides Again!
By
Gerry Niskern
Have you taken an Uber ride lately?
I had rode with Uber in the last few weeks to get to the doctors. A lot has changed since my first experience a few years ago when ridesharing was pretty new. After some surgery, I didn’t feel like driving and I signed up with Uber.
On the first occasion I needed a ride, I was told the doctor could squeeze me in if I could make it by a certain time. I summoned Uber and watched in frustration as the tiny little car wandered all over the mountain above me on the screen as the minutes ticked by. When he finally arrived I got in and started to explain my time problem when suddenly, the very large man behind the wheel pounded his fist on the ceiling and said, “first of all, we are going to need a change of attitude”. I was struck speechless, and little voice in my head that sounded like my mother was saying “never get into a car with a stranger!”
After that terrifying moment, when I could finally speak again, we started down the street. I started to explain my time schedule again when he suddenly slammed on the brakes and declared, “ Do you want me to turn this car around and go back? I will get you there on time if we can just proceed.” And he did. Needless to say, after my medical issues were over I was happy to be driving myself again.
When I quit driving at night I started taking Uber way out to the family holiday celebrations and catching a ride home with one of the younger drivers in the clan. It’s worked out great and I’ve been fascinated meeting my many different drivers over the years.
I like to ride up front and most are happy to accommodate me. A few weren’t. When I explained that I was very claustrophobic one fellow insisted I get in the back. He said that’s silly and he argued that I would have more room in the back. When I insisted on the front he was not happy picking up the trash he had accumulated in the front seat.
I always tip something because I know the customer service business is hard, but I recently learned that around 60% of Uber users do not tip. I was a little surprised, but I could understand the reluctance sometimes. Most guys were happy to engage in friendly conversation but a few were not. They only answered in one word or two.
When I ask how long they have been driving in Phoenix, I find that usually “breaks the ice.” I love it when they declare they have been here for twenty years and that I wouldn’t believe the changes they have seen. I love it even more when I tell them how long I’ve been here and watch their reaction.
Some drivers get out and open the door for you. Other do not. Some help you carry you packages to the door at Christmas. Others do not. In my experience, not always, but as a rule, the older men are more courteous and helpful. The drivers from another country like to talk, tell you about their family and any other work they are doing.
When I need special rides from family members on a medical issue they are always willing, but It’s also great to have uber available and totally improved since my first wild ride.