Remembering Mom

A post from 2009:  The gooseberry pie lesson

This is a picture of the gooseberry pie I enjoyed this week at my mom's house. Here is the recipe:

• Locate thick woods with wild gooseberry bushes.
• Spend at least an entire hour picking each pea-sized gooseberry individually from the thorny bushes - one pint quart* is required per pie. Humidity and voracious mosquitos are a given.
• Spend at least another hour stemming each gooseberry.
• Prepare the filling, make the crust, and bake.
• Watch the whole pie being eaten in less than 10 minutes.

I had always taken the these pies my mom made for granted until I went gooseberry picking myself once. Unlike the hybrid gooseberries that are the size of a shooter marble, the wild ones are very, very small and it takes a lot of them to make a single pie.

I guess the lesson here is to never underestimate the effort others may go through on your behalf - or a mother's love for her family!

* Common knowledge according to my brother... Sorry.

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My mom passed away Friday evening at age 91. I doubt I will ever eat a piece of pie, let alone gooseberry pie, without thinking of her. 

Planning ahead - way ahead

If all goes according to plan, at this time next year I will be just finishing a two week boat-bike trip from Passau, Germany to the Iron Gates in Romania along the Danube River. Yes, it is a year away.

This is not the only trip planned. This fall my friend Heidi and I will do a road trip to Glacier Park and Banff. And in January we will head to Argentina and Chili to hike and cruise Southern Patagonia. And I have my eyes open for a possible trip somewhere interesting this November or December. 

I ask myself if I am wise to plan travel so far out in the future. What if the politics in a country that is to be visited turn violent? What if I should experience a health or financial issue in the next few months? What if Heidi comes to her senses and decides she doesn’t want to travel with me? Yes, I do buy travel insurance for these distant, somewhat costly journeys, but should I really be booking this far out?

It is perhaps my experience last summer that motivated me to reserve an early spot on these organized tours. Both Venice and Yosemite were jam-packed with tourists when we visited in 2023. Scoping out the websites of a couple of my favorite travel companies, Road Scholar and Boat Bike Tours, I found that specific dates for many of their tours fill quickly. I often get a discount for early booking. 

Newspapers report that despite all the whining about inflation, the US is currently experiencing record-breaking numbers of people flying and driving on vacations. National parks are requiring reservations to travel on certain roads (or even enter the park). Venice is starting to charge a day tourist fee to reduce the number of visitors and no longer allows cruise ships to dock in the heart of the city.

I just want to be at the head of the queue by booking early.

Perhaps as you read this, you are asking yourself “Do retired people actually need vacations?” Well, “need” is a tricky word. Do I need a break from a stressful job? No, I love my volunteer work. Do I have young children I would like to see have an adventure? Not anymore. Have I not experienced much of the world and would like to explore other places and cultures? I’ve been to over 60 countries, so not really. 

I “need” these vacations for the same reason people need other hobbies or recreational opportunities like woodworking, golf, or bing-watching worthless streaming series. They give me pleasure - something both to look forward to as well as to remember. In planning my retirement, I purposely chose to live in a small, inexpensive home, drive a modest car, drink cheap wine, and eat out only a couple times a week. I simply economize where and when I can so I can spend my discretionary income on travel. (Even when traveling by myself, I tend to be more of a Motel 6 rather than Hilton kind of spender.)

One reality of being well into one’s eighth decade of taking up space on Earth is that no one is guaranteed that their physical or mental health will last. Aches and pains, memory lapses, contemporaries disabled or dead, all are warning signs that I may not be able to bike along the Danube River five years from now. If I am going to hike Torres del Paines, I gotta do it NOW. 

So “do it while you can” is my new motto. Perhaps it should be everyone’s. Life doesn’t give you many guarantees.

The death of paper checks: a sentimental or historical read

One book of 20 paper checks now lasts me about a year. At one time, I blew through them at a rate for a book a month or more. How we pay and receive moola has certainly changed.

According to this morning’s newspaper, Target stores will no longer accept personal checks. Cash or card (or, I suppose, shoplifting) are the customer’s only options. I am glad to see that because usually the person ahead of me in the checkout lane is some old fart paying by check, carefully inscribing the date, pay to, numerical amount, written amount, description, and signature after a long search in their handbag for the checkbook itself. Me, I hand’m my debit card, collect my receipt, and, whoosh, I am headin’ for the parking lot.

I started using checks as a teenager back in the 1960s (I add the century since some people may think I am referring to the 1860s). Those were the days when one could simply reach for a blank check at the gas station counter. I don’t remember having checks with my name and address printed on them at the time. Checks were handy when it was close to payday and you needed gas. If you were careful, you could “float” a check knowing it would take a couple days to clear. If you were overdrawn, the penalty was like three bucks. 

As I became a more responsible adult, I started carrying my own checkbook, carefully recording each check - date, number, payee, and amount - and calculating the running amount remaining. Each month I would receive a statement from my bank, showing which checks and deposits had cleared and I could check my balance against what my checkbook showed. Easy peasy. My paychecks were actually physical checks, doled out each Friday afternoon. 

Of course in the bad old days, 90% of transactions were in cash - gas, groceries, clothes… Checks were written to pay the rent, car loan, and utilities. When writing a check, you could always ask to write it for ten bucks over the amount and get some cash back. 

Today? Hmmmm, I have finally started using my debit card to pay for even small purchases. The hundred smackers I get out of my ATM machine lasts a month, if not two. I use the tap feature on my cards so I don’t have to struggle finding the dark, hidden slot of the credit card reader. I suspect I will soon be simply paying using an app on my phone. (Are there already younger people standing in line behind me cursing that I take so long when using a card instead of my phone?) 

I can log on to my bank accounts - savings, checking, credit card - from my home office (my recliner) any time, as often as I wish. All my regular bills are automatically paid online as are my monthly donations to charities, club dues, and such. My children and grandchildren no longer get birthday checks from me, but Amazon e-gift cards or pre-paid VISA cards. I get an email each time my credit card or debit card is used to make a payment over a certain amount. When I get the rare paper check in the mail, I endorse it, take a photo of it with my phone, deposit the digital image, and tear up the paper copy.

So, Target, congratulations for keeping up with the times. Do, please, let me use my little plastic cards to pay until I figure out the banking app on my phone. I know that I am a grudging late adopter…