I’m not big on sharing. I always hold the popcorn at movies and never request two spoons for dessert. But our Fifth Anniversary is an event I’m happy to share with readers, advertisers and everyone else who has supported us, critiqued us and led us through this interesting, invigorating adventure. ...
I’ve gone to seed since COVID-19 hit. It turns out that Mom’s description fits many scenarios. It’s been nearly four months since I’ve been to a hairdresser. A few weeks ago, I watched a YouTube video and trimmed my hair with sewing scissors. My nails look like they belong to a 10-year-old boy. A grubby one. I no longer change clothes for Zoom meetings. ...
It’s been a productive few months, by pandemic standards. Aside from stumbling around with Zoom — the video conferencing app — I’ve tackled several projects: pitching failed hair products jammed under the bathroom sink; trimming hair from my golden retriever’s feet and matching plastic lids with bowls. I also sorted insurance statements and moved winter clothes to a back closet. ...
Our theme, “Get a Plan,” seemed like a tidy, ambitious topic to kick off 2020 when we hammered out our editorial lineup for the year.
Plans are good. Plans are necessary. I like plans in theory. Execution is another matter. Plans are fine for other people but my failure rate is too high to embrace much planning.
Privilege and Plans Clutter is a first-world problem. I’ve read about people in other parts of the world who collect cigarette butts, separate the pieces, and sell the bundles by the pound — you read that right, by the pound, to earn a bare-bones living. I’m assuming that’s a clutter-generating enterprise.
I’ve got first-world clutter; too many shoes and coats and casserole dishes and — I’m just realizing — a significant collection of drinking glasses. I planned to clear things out after reading Marie Kondo’s, “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing.” I skimmed the book (too busy), fast-forwarded the show on Netflix (too impatient, ) and dove in (too hopeful).
I ruthlessly bagged up my castoffs and dropped them at donation bins. I rolled sweaters, sorted clothing by colors, and rethought my casserole dish collection. The dogs thought they were the next to go.
The minimalist lifestyle suited me, but only for a minimal amount of time. I soon was back to my old habits, cruising consignment shops and hitting estate sales. I was a junkie who craved actual junk. My decluttering plans sputtered and then died in a heap on the closet floor.
That’s just one example of failed plans. Each January, I plan to carefully pack away my Christmas lights so I never have to untangle them again. Eleven months later, I’m untangling Christmas lights.
Here’s another: I plan to watch higher-quality TV — more PBS less Bravo, but deep down I’m drawn to the Kardashians and “My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding.”
After years tethered to an academic calendar, school started without me, or at least without me noticing.
Other signs of the season were there, of course. The daylight started shifting in mid-
August. Cricket and locust chirps grew more persistent. The golds and purples of wildflowers replaced the white and pink flushes in ditches and fallow fields. Still, I was surprised to see the school buses go by.
Without kids in school anymore and no grandkids (yet), my calendar is a rambling, undisciplined affair that lands mostly on work deadlines and holidays. It’s a bigger-picture type of calendar that I follow these days, marking time by seasons instead of school days. It gives me the chance to take a long view of things. My focus is broader, not narrowed by someone else’s timeline.
This broader view fits our theme, “Restore.” We profile three Boomers who conserve and preserve special things, some centuries, others decades old. Experience counts, as these conservators prove. You can read about them on page 30.
Taking the theme further, we have two stories about yoga and its enduring benefits. If you haven’t tried it or gave it up years ago, our story on page 32 provides plenty of reasons for another look. I’ve heard about goat yoga but never understood the appeal of having one graze near my yoga mat. We explain the charm of goat yoga, too.
Here’s a blast from our past: the Richfield Coliseum. Rising from fields in the middle of nowhere, the massive structure deserved the coliseum moniker. It’s now a haven for birds and bird watchers. Two decades after the Coliseum’s demolition, we’ve got a story about the property’s restoration on page 34.
We have two more Restore topics: cosmetic tattoos and side gigs.
The older we get, the more our roots keep us grounded. That’s why “Roots” is the theme of this issue. I’m not sure younger people have had time to fully appreciate the importance of roots. Let me explain…
The roots on the top of my head is an ongoing concern that I turn over to my hairdresser every four weeks. In a desperate attempt to seem current, I floated the idea of a short, natural look. She said I have “bad gray; not the good kind.” We haven’t discussed it again.
Then there’s gardening and the roots that I cultivate throughout the summer and into fall. A botanical smorgasbord, my plants are always on the move. I shift established perennials a few inches to suit my vision. Others get relocated to the compost pile to serve penance for poor performance. Like my hair, their roots have an appealing impermanence.
I’m wary of the roots that are measured through DNA tests (page 34.) Lots of people have harmless fun finding that they’re more Irish than German, and vice versa. That may account for the popularity of lederhosen on Amazon.
I also know people who discovered first cousins and unexpected grandparents because of long-ago liaisons by now-elderly relatives. No thanks. I’ll keep the family I know — or think I know.
It’s All Relative
That brings me to my recent “Grateful You’re Not Dead” tour. Excuse the irreverence; it’s a family trait that usually gets a laugh from relatives but rarely from outsiders.
I have only a few aunts and an uncle still with us from the original full set. It had been two years since I saw Aunt Connie, my late mother’s only sister. She’s 89, in good health and living in Arizona. I owed her a visit.
With our feature story on, and incredible photography by, long-time Cleveland rock-and-roll photographer Janet Macoska, we’re honoring the region’s role in rock history. She’s got tales — plenty of them — and she shares a few in our music section that starts on page 30
We also know that music covers many genres. We’ve put together a list of places to enjoy for free, or mostly free, outdoor music. From folk artists to opera singers, one of the best places to listen to music is outdoors, in a park or sitting around a community bandstand, letting a warm breeze push the notes through the summer air.
Many of us indulge our love of music later in life. We’ve got profiles of several Northeast Ohio residents who’ve rekindled their passion and reframed it for the second stage of their lives, sharing it with others along the way.
And our music issue wouldn’t be complete without our pop culture columnist Mike Olszewski weighing in. He talks about NEO’s music venues and the personalities who performed there. We’re also happy to print an excerpt of his latest book, co-written with his wife, Janice, “Smoky, Sweaty, Rowdy, and Loud: Tales of Cleveland’s Legendary Rock & Roll Landmarks.”
Don’t Judge
Some people can’t imagine life without music. I’m not one of them, or at least I don’t think I am. As the first of four kids, I didn’t have older siblings to influence my musical development. The best we had was a console stereo and hand-me-down albums from my bachelor/ cool, Uncle Don. He owned a Corvette. I remember a Marty Robbins album with the song “A White Sportcoat and a Pink Carnation” — and that’s it; a sorry foundation for a ‘70s teen.
A high school friend — an enviable only child — introduced me to The Beatles.
With each glance and conversation, I flew through a virtual time machine, zipping between 2018 and 1978 as middle-aged faces seamlessly dissolved into teenage grins. It was thrilling and unnerving and perfect. ...
