Lost in the Mayhem

 A Few of Those Things We’re Missing ... 

Remember the original Herbal Essence shampoo, the one that smelled like Mother Nature? You can’t find it anymore. It’s been replaced with what seems like dozens of other types and smells and additives. 

Remember Ding Dongs wrapped in foil? Long gone. When This American Life podcasts were more slice-of-life stories and less politics and investigative news? Do you remember when you could tell a Chevy from a Ford from a Volkswagen and car colors weren’t mostly gray and black and white? 

Yeah, we do, too. 

We know the world is constantly changing and the products and media and foods we consume are following suit. But we can’t help missing some of those things we loved that got lost in the change ups. 

Here’s a few of those things we think the mayhem took. Let us know what you are missing.

Cursing Villainous Attempts to Kill Off Manual Transmissions
by Mary Kay Roth

My sweaty hands are slipping off the steering wheel in one of my most vivid teenage memories, understandable to anyone who has ever learned how to drive a stick shift.  Stopped at a red traffic light on the incline at 27^th and Van Dorn, I panic as my dad sits in the passenger seat attempting to guide me through a smooth launch.

We fail.

Stomping on the accelerator, I peel out – the car lurches forward – and I paint a loud line of burnt rubber while quietly pledging a plague on manual transmissions.   

It is a pledge I will heartily renounce.

 After all, anyone can drive a dull automatic. Give me a stick shift and a five-speed any day. Give me that gloriously perfect rhythm of clutch – and pedal to the medal. 

Alas and alack, several months ago someone totaled my beloved Honda Fit and when I went looking for another manual transmission – like every car I’ve owned – dealerships laughed. 

Apparently, the manual is not immortal. When I was learning to drive, stick shifts accounted for more than half of car sales – today they tally up to a scant 2 percent. Car makers, those scoundrels, I curse them all. They’re trying to kill off the very best way to drive an automobile.  

Miracle of miracles, thanks to an intrepid Subaru dealer – I did eventually find a 2019 manual Impreza with five-speed transmission, 2.0-liter four-cylinder engine, 152 horsepower.

Hail the mighty stick shift, you’re not dead yet. Get out of my way, folks, I’m still laying rubber. 

Missing this Scent 
by JoAnne Young 

Scents have a remarkable effect on our emotions, moods and memories. For some of us, the scent of lavender or citrus or flowers soothes our moods or energizes, and puts us on a good path for the rest of our day or night. 

I used to love to step into the shower and spot that bottle of Black Currant Vanilla Body Wash. It would
without a doubt heighten my mood, calm and comfort me at the same time. The vanilla had a smoky/musky aroma, and the fruity, woody scent of black currant emboldened it. The warm shower mist would send the fragrance throughout the bathroom and down the hall, making the entire house smell wonderful. 

Sorry to say it was discontinued from Bath and Body Works’ aromatherapy products, and I miss it terribly. I found it on Amazon, but now it’s out of my price range, going from about $17 for a 6.5-ounce bottle to $124. I guess I will just continue to miss it. 

These Shoes
by Mary Reiman

These shoes. These shoes that fit my feet perfectly...and make me smile. This particular style of this particular brand that I’ve been wearing for years and years and years. How could they suddenly stop making these shoes? I need them. I purchase them every year. Actually, two pairs each year. Whatever colors are in stock. Some say there are others that will fit just as well. That’s not true. Over the years, I have tried on (and purchased) many brands, many styles, many less expensive. No, no, no there are no others that love and shelter my feet like these do.

What will I do? My favorite shoe store recommended I check online. So of course, I googled it. Alas, two pairs were still available in my size. Yes, I purchased them immediately. I now have one more year before facing the anxiety of shoe shopping.

When they are selling a great pair of shoes that make feet so happy, why discontinue them?

Saving My Face
by Marilyn Moore                         

Many years ago, probably decades ago, my dermatologist recommended I use Neutrogena Healthy

Defense, a moisturizer and sunscreen.  So I did.  It was easily and reliably available at the drugstores where I routinely shop.  It’s a solid gold name….who doesn’t recognize Neutrogena?  It was easy to use, just apply in the morning, and that’s it for the day.  And it seemed to work.  At least, it prevented sunburn, for which I’m grateful.  And then, it was gone.  No longer on the Neutrogena shelves, nor any other shelves.  Not in my usual drugstores, nor in others where I made a point to look.  In its place were some new products, with the word “retinol” in the label.  But no Healthy Defense.  So, I switched to a house brand of a similar product, a combination moisturizer and sunscreen.  It seemed to work well, also.  And now, it’s no longer available. 

Today, in my drugstore prowl, I found the next iteration, back to Neutrogena.  Its name is Collagen Bank, an SPF moisturizer sunscreen.  I don’t know that I need a bank of collagen…I don’t really know what a collagen bank is.  It promises a collagen-rich glow.  I’m just hopeful it will prevent sunburn, and if it smoothes out those fast-developing wrinkles, that’s a bonus.  Glad to have a Neutrogena product again, though there was only one container on the shelf, so I fear I may be repeating this exercise again in a few months.  

Don't Mess with My Breakfast!
by Penny Costello

I love to go out for breakfast. It's my favorite meal to have someone else cook for me. Way back in the 1970's, when I lived in Boulder, Colorado, my favorite place to go to breakfast was the International House of Pancakes. And my favorite thing to order there was Swedish Crepes. 

The menu described Swedish Crepes as "Four delicate crepes topped with sweet-tart lingonberries and lingonberry butter.” I had never heard of lingonberries before I tried them, but they delivered what for me was the perfect balance of sweet and tartness, and the dish became one of my favorite breakfast treats of all time. No need to add syrup. The combo of the lingonberry compote and lingonberry butter was the perfect balance of sweet-sour-buttery deliciousness. And the lightness of the crepe instead of a bulky buttermilk pancake never made me feel like I might need a nap after breakfast.

My favorite thing to order there was the Smokehouse Combo, which offered two smoked sausages, two eggs, hashbrowns and a short stack of pancakes. I always substituted Swedish Crepes for the short stack, and I never minded the upcharge.

Cut to the 21st century. The International House of Pancakes became IHOP, and an evolutionary force called the COVID-19 Pandemic presented a truly disruptive impact on the restaurant industry. Not all the developments were bad. As a culture that loves it when things are made easier, we have totally embraced curbside take-out service. But the service at many of our favorite restaurants has dropped off due to staffing challenges, COVID-induced shutdowns, and other economic winds that have blown through. Restaurants closed down completely, menu options were reduced in those that stayed open, and the impact is still felt today, in spite of the fact that, in many ways, we've moved beyond the pandemic mindset.

Sadly for me, among the casualties of the pandemic was the removal of Swedish Pancakes from the IHOP menu. I know, in the grand scheme of the losses we incurred, a breakfast item on a menu is not a big deal. And the longer we live, the more we all have to live with the impacts of those winds of change.

As I was thinking about writing about this, I did a Google search asking why IHOP discontinued Swedish Pancakes. And I found I was not alone in my disappointment and grieving tastebuds. On Reddit, someone posted "They killed my Swedish Pancakes. I'm all for change, except when it affects my favorite item."

Another person posted, "Right there with you, man. Swedish Crepes were the reason I went there instead of Denny's."

Another post read, "Why does this keep happening to the things I love?" 

I guess we all feel that pain at one time or another. Whether it's a favorite scent, shoes, face cream, or stick shifts, that pesky old saying keeps holding true. All good things must come to an end. So, I'll endeavor to adjust my attitude, and try to be more open and welcoming to that next new thing that will come along and be my new favorite breakfast surprise. On the bright side, I came across a couple of 'copycat' recipes I can try and see if I can satisfy my cravings. To borrow from another old adage, "Give a woman an IHOP Swedish Pancake, and she'll eat for a day. Teach her how to make her own Swedish Pancakes, and she'll eat for a lifetime." Yeah. Either way, bring it on! 

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Breaking patterns, shaking sameness

By JoAnne Young

 

Can something be welcome and unsettling at the same time? The feel of fall is a little like that for me. I am ready for changes, but know it will come in bits and chunks, like waking up to a temperature that requires pawing through the closet and drawers for long sleeves and sweatshirts, only to go back a step to short sleeves and short pants a few days later.  

 

A week ago, I was shaken from sleep with a strong eagerness for change. People were returning to their homes and their routines from faraway places they had gone in the warmth and freedom of summer. I had traveled, too, but to more familiar, comfortable places. Pleasant as could be, easy, but not bold or gutsy. 

 

I know the brain craves patterns, a sense of control of our environment. Patterns in nature and in us have repeated and repeated since as far back as we know. Those patterns can be beautiful. The star pattern runs from the oceans to the heavens. Spirals twist around nature and humans. Computer algorithms try to compete with the workings of the mind. 

 

But breaking a few patterns seems necessary sometimes. Fall couldn’t have come soon enough. The summer warmth was becoming artificial. The freedom was hinting at boredom.

 

I wanted real warmth, the kind that comes from inside, somewhere in the gut and the heart,  and radiates out. Identifying as a Five and Four on the Enneagram Type Indicator, I tend to be studious, quiet, an observer more often than a participant, sometimes a little too introspective.  I spend my time in solitary activities – reading, writing, photography. I love them, but the isolation or social distancing that comes with them can be exhausting. 

 

I don’t know where my feelings go in the summer. They simmer somewhere out there ... wanting to hide from heat, the screech of grackles and starlings, from air conditioning and having to get up at 5 in the morning to see a sunrise. By August, my tide is low and ebbing. 

 

But here we are, just a couple of weeks away from the fall equinox, when balance occurs, when days and nights, light and darkness, are about equal.  That’s a good signal for me to seek balance, too, in my own dark and light, complexity and simplicity, aloneness and camaraderie, work and play.

 

It’s time for me to emulate the balance toys I love, letting the patterns and unexpected both find a home here. 

 

The universe is already giving me a hand with that equilibrium. Two dear friends, somehow without knowing, spontaneously texted Saturday afternoon and invited me and my husband to watch the Husker game on their patio and eat homemade pizza cooked magnificently on the grill. It was exactly what I needed. God bless them and God bless Husker football and fall-ish nights on the patio listening to avid fans in the neighborhood set off booming fireworks for every Big Red score. 

 

I have lately become inspired by Joni Mitchell, herself a Four, who sought a change in her own ennui, feelings of weariness and dissatisfaction, by leaving her popular music routine, which she called her hit department, and crossing the road to find her art department. She didn’t want her music, her life, to stay in one key, one modality, so she pushed forward, she evolved. She took a leap and recorded The Hissing of Summer Lawns, a breakout album.

 

My life is not that dramatic, and neither will my autumn be. Mine will be incremental, like a change of the season that fades from hot to cool to cold to warm. I don’t plan to jerk the steering wheel to one side to the other, but gradually navigate myself out of a rut. 

 

When the sun in the fall equinox hits its balance, I hope to be on my way. Some days, as the light shrinks, I will seek some imbalance, favoring discomfort or inconsistency or the unreasonable. 

 

Talk to three strangers a day for a week (or more). 

Let a spider crawl up my arm. 

Sleep until 10 a.m. (Yikes) 

Not judge the man at the lake running in a thong. (He must have had his reasons.)

 

Maybe I’ll start with those letters I’ve been procrastinating writing for the past couple of years. Wouldn't it be lovely to make some sort of little magic happen every day. 

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Don't you wonder...or the moral of the story...

By Mary Reiman

Don't you wonder...

About where they keep all those cones in the winter? It must be a very large storage unit. You know, those orange and white cones that seemed to be around every corner this summer. Maybe there were road repairs only on streets I drove this summer. I greatly appreciate the work, but those cones kept multiplying throughout the summer, like the little tribbles on Star Trek.  There were a lot of cones, even after they removed the ones that had been run over. If only those cones could talk, what stories they would tell.

About the red spray paint sprayed on the streets, especially downtown. I searched for information about what that means. Have not yet found the answer. New curbs? New electrical lines or cables going under the street? Or simply a reason to put out more orange and white cones?

About labels. I’ve never been too concerned about labels. It doesn't matter that I'm  not wearing the latest fashion. I simply want clothing that's soft and comfortable. The same with cars. Get me wherever I want to go…and home again...in comfort.

So imagine my surprise, when I suddenly realized I had been labeled. I had read Hillbilly Elegy, so I knew Mr. Vance as an author, but I doubt he ever read my blog so he doesn’t know me, and yet he feels the need to give me a label. 

Yes, I am a childless cat lady. Well, I was. In reality, I was more of a childless dog lady, although my original pet was Tommy, the gray farm cat we dressed up and put in the baby buggy and pushed around the front yard. She was amazingly compliant.

I don’t have children, but I sure do have family. My loving biological family and my fabulous friends' family. Those in Lincoln, as well as those far away, sustain me. How lucky I am.

Needless to say, I never thought I would be labeled as someone ‘without a direct stake in our country’ because I do not have children. I pay taxes, vote, support our community, and reside in a state that has a relatively high inheritance tax for those who are not married and do not have children. Financial planners say we should definitely not be single and die in Nebraska. The state will take too much of our money that could be left to causes of our choice. (Yes, that's exactly how they say it). But this is my home and I don't want to move. I often wonder if our state officials consider this as one reason why people are leaving our state?

About today. It is Labor Day and we honor and thank all laborers of the world. Those who are paid for their hard work, and those who volunteer their time and energy to provide services to us all. 

This could lead me to two topics I really wanted to write/rant about this week. 

Not the announcement of the placement of someone new to the Nebraska Library Commission board, but the removal of one of the current board commissioners. A good woman, a knowledgeable woman unanimously elected chair of the commission board earlier this year whose name is no longer on the list of board members. If you followed the report in the newspaper, you know the story. 

I will not be writing more about this right now because a few months ago when I was critical of our state politics, my blog was removed from Facebook. I’m still not sure what the trigger words were that led to the disappearance of that blog, never to be seen again. But I will keep researching how and why some Facebook posts vanish. Be assured, I will come back to both of these topics at a later date.

About the label I would rather have: Cousin...or in this case, maybe second cousin twice removed?

I was visiting a cousin this week, and she informed me that Tim Walz’ mother’s maiden name was Reiman. Who knew? 

When my grandpa moved to northwest Iowa, his brother moved to northeast Nebraska. Both brothers had several sons. And those sons had several children. In Butte, one of those children was Tim Walz’s mother. And in Milford, one of those children was me.

Yes, it was a large family. My great grandparents had many children, and those children had many children. When I was in elementary school, grandpa’s brother would often come to visit. We called him Uncle because that’s what dad called him. In reality, he was my great uncle. I don’t remember any of his family coming with him. We did not take vacations, never went to Nebraska, so I never met them. I don’t remember even looking up Butte on the map. We just knew that’s where grandpa's brothers lived.  Those who study genealogy could probably easily determine if we are second cousins twice removed, but that’s what I believe when looking at the family tree. (If you know for sure, please let me know!)

So the moral of the story is…you just never know! And yes, it is a small world. And yes, I hope no one feels I have offended anyone on Facebook causing this blog to disappear. And yes, it’s sort of fun to say I'm related to a vice presidential candidate.