Ch-ch-changes by Liz Flaherty

It's such a pretty time of year here in Indiana's middle. The beanfields have gone from dark and heavy green to golden as the trees are trying on their shades of orange and yellow. Kids and teachers are back in school. Football and soccer fields have replaced baseball diamonds as the bleacher sites of choice. 

I've never been much of a fan of change. I despise DST with the kind of anger I reserve for pedophiles, racists, homophobes, and misogynists--yeah, I know that's extreme--and really wish Facebook would stop insisting everything in my house that I love is passe and obsolete and should be gotten rid of immediately if not sooner. Every time it's mentioned that Boomers are no longer relevant, I want to cry (I'm not only extreme, I can be childish as well), because I think we are relevant indeed. We have knowledge and memories to share, we are funny, we spend money, and we remember when kindness and truth were good things.

Oops, sorry-not-sorry, I didn't even intend to go there. 

Where I meant to go is to admit that I'm often wrong about change. Changes of seasons are just the tip of that iceberg. 

As in, for years and years, we drank a certain brand of coffee and we loved it. I remember when it came in one-, two-, and three-pound cans. Then, as the cans all grew smaller and the prices grew bigger, they started offering different blends, and we loved some of those, too, only every time we got used to one, they discontinued it, so we changed brands. 

It's better, and our chosen blends have been around for a long time. I wonder if it was better all along, or if we were the ones who changed. 

My grandkids all print. I think they can write in cursive, but they usually don't. In truth, I don't like it that it's not necessarily taught anymore, but that's because I DO still write in cursive, which means everyone should, right? I haven't yet looked at anyone and known which way they write, so maybe my concern is a non-starter. 

The moon--I think maybe it's the harvest moon; depends on who you ask--is extraordinary right now, and none of our pictures do it justice. It will still be extraordinary next week, too, but it will be different. It will change. And we'll still hang over the porch rail saying, "Oh, wow, look at that!"

I remember when cataract surgery required long hours of lying still. People approached it with dread. Now it's done with lasers. It's fast and painless. 

I used to have my oil changed every 2000 miles; now it's every 6000, and both the dash of my car and my phone let me know when it's time. 

If I were still working on a typewriter, I'm pretty sure I'd have given up writing books a long time ago or be spending much more than I can afford hiring a typist. 

So, yeah, I love...well, no...I accept that change is often good. Sometimes fun. And yes, of course that's my natural hair color--it hasn't changed at all. 

Speaking of change, I have a new release of an old book with a great new cover by Nancy Fraser. I hope you'll give The Girls of Tonsil Lake a look!

https://books2read.com/u/bxGQQk

https://a.co/d/h9vKvxL