I’ve been under the weather lately. It’s ok. I’m fine. What started out as allergies graduated to body aches and a cough that ends every attack with particular statement. If you listen closely, the cough speaks toward the end of the crunchy cycle. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m heading straight to your lungs,” seems to be its battle cry. Never to be thwarted, I mixed up a home remedy rather than going to see a medical doctor. That’s how we do things around these parts.
I come from a long line of medicine women. If only my mother were here to take care of me. Why, she’d go straight to Settler’s gas station and drain one of those 13 oz glass Starbucks frappucino drinks so she could have the bottle. 48 hours later, the cure would be in my hand. See, that’s how long it takes the Crown Royal whisky to dissolve the army of peppermint sticks in the bottom of the bottle. Two tablespoons later, I might need a stint in rehab, but my cough would be gone. While I stick more to the organic honey with turmeric and cayenne pepper method, it did make me think about all the things we used to be able to do that we cannot anymore. And, yes, drinking Marsha’s cough syrup is definitely on the don’t list these days.
In 1976’s Rocky, first one and best one, the main character kicks off his early morning training session with a glass of raw eggs and a jog up the museum stairs. It’s reported that Sylvester Stallone drank raw eggs for over a year in preparation for the filming. What I remember the most, however, was standing in my grandmother’s kitchen while she made Nestle Toll House Cookies from the recipe on the package of chocolate chips. I can hear her voice saying, “If you don’t stop eating the raw dough, we aren’t gonna have any cookies to show for our hard work.” Next, she would playfully whip her cup towel through the air a few times and pop me in the derriere. The raw cookie dough was far superior to the baked cookie, in my humble opinion. We can’t eat the raw dough anymore. It got cancelled. They say raw egg consumption is a sure-fire way to die from salmonella poisoning. Other salmonella dangers include snuggling with your pet iguana, FYI.
When my children were all living at home and times were hectic, I had one power move to sleep enough to wake up at 4 am, marginally rested, and do the whole thing over again. I would take a shower and go to bed. Period with a t. For me, wet hair in the pm led to tousled waves in the am. A few licks with a medium barreled curling iron and I was ready to face the world. Today’s influencers, 100% of whom I am old enough to have birthed, say this has been cancelled. Sleeping on wet hair compromises your locks, you see. The results are breakage, roughed up follicular cuticles, and even tension alopecia from the pressure of your hair and the pillowcase friction that occurs when you flop wildly like a fish in the night. Ain’t nobody got time for tension alopecia. I’ve been bald before. I have no desire to return.
My son gifted me with an amazing Mother’s Day present this year. He got me Prince’s Purple Rain soundtrack on vinyl! That deserved the exclamation point. Of course, I was prompted to tell “the story.” Since it was Mother’s Day, though his eyes did glaze over, he felt obliged to allow me to tell “the story” from beginning to end. Here’s an abbreviated version for you. In 1984, I hopped into a van full of band kids wearing the avant guardiest outfit I owned, the one I usually wore to the Casa Linda theater to watch the midnight showings of Rocky Horror Picture Show, to venture out to Reunion Arena where Prince was in concert. Sheila E. opened for him - that seems unimportant but Sheila E. on the timbale drums cannot be discounted. We had no tickets, just 16-year-old me in a miniskirt and glitter tights with a man’s pearl snap shirt tied around my waist and rubber kitchen gloves as accessory wear. I can’t explain the gloves, but it was my thing. I had big 80s hair and even bigger hoop earrings, one of which sported a luggage key that made a whirring sound as I tilted my head, coquettishly, as I often did. Janet Jackson wore a key to the Neverland Zoo on her huge hoop earrings, after all. I hopped out with more cash that a little girl should ever carry, approached a scalper on the corner, and scored us floor tickets at a highly competitive rate. While it felt so good to be the hero of the evening, that can’t happen anymore. Scalpers were cancelled. They call themselves Ticketmaster now, which is basically a scalper wearing a tie. Playing outdoors unattended as children, having a stick shift as your first car, and watching a plane take off from the comfort of the gate while tears stream down your face over unrequited love – these are but a few of the other things that have been cancelled. It is no longer the age of innocence. Many of these things needed to go the way of a swift cancellation. I cannot discount that fact. But the next time you see the flicker of the streetlights popping on as the sun sets, just know that 50 years ago, we were all running for our back doors in an age where the gorgeous impossible was far more probable than you could ever imagine. Also, the incredible, edible egg is pretty spectacular.
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