Author Archives: Ellen Shriner

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About Ellen Shriner

I write short memoirs and personal essays on topics of interest to working women, middle-aged mothers, Baby Boomers, people who love to read and write, and those who belong to writers' groups and book groups.

Scheduled vs. Spontaneous Phone Calls

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A spontaneous phone call from with a close friend or family member is a nice surprise. Depending on who it is, we might chat about upcoming plans, air out concerns (kids, siblings, work, the country), discuss a plant I’m excited about, describe a meal that turned out way better than expected, or grumble about how hard it is to find shoes that fit. 

After a good talk, I feel closer to the person and buoyed by our connection. I think the habit developed years ago when I lived 16 hours away from family and friends. Then the calls nourished and re-centered me. They were the logical extension to my in-person conversations—I definitely got the Shriner talk gene.

Recently, a few friends and family members have started asking to schedule a time to talk instead of trying our luck. That surprised me, since I like spontaneity. For some people, it’s a way of saying our conversation is important—let’s make sure we don’t miss each other. For others, it’s about being in different time zones. Fair enough.

But here’s the thing—I’ve also discovered unscheduled phone calls can irritate some people or make them anxious. There are varied reasons for this:

– Some rely on texting for casual chatting. A call signals trouble (Uh oh, what’s the matter?) Yikes! That never occurred to me since I prefer a call to a text. Calling offers nuance. Sarcasm, sympathy, irritation, worry, and amusement are easy to convey in a person’s tone of voice, but with texting, emojis have to do the heavy lifting of communicating emotional content. 

– A spontaneous phone call may seem intrusive. Well, it can be. If I’m making dinner, working in the yard, or on a walk with my husband, I might not want to be interrupted. Then I let voicemail signal, “Not now.” If I make an impromptu call, I never assume the recipient has time to chat. I always ask if my call is convenient. If not, no worries! We’ll connect another time.

– Texting to request a call time is now seen as more polite. The recipient will be spared the potential awkwardness or discomfort of saying, “Now isn’t a good time.” It took me a while to wrap my head around that idea, since I’m comfortable telling a caller I can’t talk if I’m in the middle of something. Or I just let the call go to voicemail. Apparently, that reaction isn’t universal.

Scheduled vs. spontaneous phone calls? It seems to be a stylistic difference, maybe even a generational one. I have my preferences, but the goal is to connect, so I want to be sensitive to others’ needs and adjust if it improves our communication.  

But if you’re thinking of me, just give me a call! I’ll let you know if I can’t talk.

Thoughts on the Urge to Purge

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Loads of articles encourage retirees to declutter our possessions and purge decades of accumulation. My generation is repeatedly reminded our kids won’t want our stuff. True. They’ll want it after we’ve given it away. Or never. 

Purging sounds so virtuous.

The philosophy of decluttering or purging goes like this—discard what you don’t need. Pare down your belonging to the essentials. Ideally, give your stuff to someone who can use it. The process is also supposed to offer emotional benefits:

  • Get rid of what weighs you down—the boxes full of old files, the clothes that don’t fit, the shopping mistakes. Let go of the emotional weight of caring for all these things. The sense of responsibility and guilt are bad for you. 
  • Think how light and refreshed you’ll feel when you have less stuff. Less to take care of. A clean slate. (Who the heck even knows what a slate is? Well OK, I do. It’s a personal chalkboard students did schoolwork on. I have one in my office closet that belonged to my grandfather. I’m not even that attached to it. Would a history museum want this artifact? Probably not, since my brother crayoned on it.)

The decisions and matchmaking are what short circuit the urge to purge. 

Neighborhood Buy Nothing groups make it easier. You feel good about the matchmaking. The groups are well suited to offloading housewares and furnishings you no longer use. When we got a king bed, someone wanted our queen size mattress and bed frame. All I had to do was snap a photo and post the items. The neighbor who wants your stuff picks it up. No more loading up the car for a trip to Goodwill and driving bags and boxes around for weeks until you do the drop-off. No more staging a tedious garage sale only to find you still have to dispose of what didn’t sell.

Local Buy Nothing groups do a brisk trade in kids’ clothing, toys and equipment. I recently acquired a second booster seat for family dinners and I often scan posts for age-appropriate toys. My granddaughters’ wardrobes are supplemented with barely-worn-before-they’re-outgrown clothes and shoes from active Buy Nothing groups. The amount and quality of free stuff is astonishing. 

People of my generation used to take things to Goodwill or similar charitable organizations. Sometimes I still do—mostly clothes. Recently, an energetic friend’s clean sweep inspired me to pack up a load of clothes and old purses I don’t use. Won’t use. I do feel a bit virtuous. 

But right now, I’d like to purge any additional demands to declutter. Unload all those reminders and the associated guilt. It’s yet another thing that would be good for me . . . that I don’t feel like doing. Besides, the slate doesn’t take up much room in my closet.

Mom’s Afghan

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Mom had a soft ivory afghan her cousin Kathleen, my godmother, crocheted. When they were younger, Mom and Kathleen were close. They didn’t see each other as often when they got older, but that connection remained. The afghan is made of intricate lacy stitches and generously sized so your feet and shoulder and hip will still be covered if you turn over. It’s a work of art and a gift of love.

But Mom rarely used it. She cherished Kathleen’s beautiful handiwork and wanted to preserve it. It was too good for every day. Instead, when she napped on the sofa—I’m just going to close my eyes for 20 minutes—she used the one Aunt Bertie crocheted, which was skimpier and had scratchy yarn. 

When did Mom start taking naps? In her 60s? 70s? My age? 

Now I assume she napped when didn’t she sleep well at night. But my younger self just took Mom’s naps for granted. I never asked or even wondered what kept her from sleep.  

After Mom died, her afghan from Kathleen came to me.

This morning I woke up predawn. Hot. Restless. My brain whirring with stray busy thoughts. I moved downstairs to the sofa and pulled the afghan from Kathleen over me in hopes I’d be lulled to sleep. I wasn’t. But on the day after Mother’s Day, the memory of Mom and my godmother covered me like a blessing.

Easter Traditions Evolve

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A recent conversation with several friends who are also lapsed Catholics got me thinking about Easter’s significance in my life. Why do I still celebrate it when I no longer attend Mass? 

Ties to my childhood faith remain, although they have thinned and frayed. I’m at a loss to explain why I still feel that religious tug, but I do. 

Some of the symbols associated with Easter have an even stronger pull: the natural world coming back to life in spring, daffodil and tulip bulbs blooming after lying dormant for months, and eggs representing new life. The idea of yearly rebirth and renewal resonates with me.

Maintaining an Easter tradition also matters to me, because it ties my small family to past generations.

Even though much of Easter’s religious meaning has faded for me, I feel a connection to my heritage and to the natural world. This Sunday my family will gather, eat a more elaborate meal than usual, and I’ll add a bouquet of spring flowers to the table. I won’t wear special Easter clothes

but our grandchildren might—mostly because it’s fun for their mothers to buy cute outfits. My granddaughters are too young to understand the idea of gathering pretty dyed eggs, so they’ll get small toys, and only the adults will get candy eggs.

Our celebration is not all past generations would have done, but it’s right for me.

Disappearing—The Joy of Reading?

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I was sad to hear a book group friend say her 11-year old-granddaughter didn’t consider it a treat to go to a bookstore to choose a book—she doesn’t read books. I was slow to realize the books I’d been gifting my 10-year-old niece weren’t a hit. Not because I’d chosen boring stories but because she doesn’t enjoy reading. It saddens me they won’t have the pleasure of being immersed in the imaginary worlds I have so enjoyed.

Although it sounds counterintuitive, fiction presents truths through the lives of made-up people.

I’ve learned about worlds I wouldn’t have access to any other way. Through novels, I’ve entered the lives of a Black Texas Ranger, an 15th century Chinese physician, an escaped enslaved woman, a modern-day reporter in India, Korean deep-sea divers, and more. I’ve gained insight and empathy by seeing cultures beyond my own and feeling the dilemmas of people unlike me. Memoirs also offer me inspiration and perspective for my own life.

Recently, the disinterest in reading novels and the related inability to read whole books has been receiving attention. Several theories may explain the change.

Instead of reading whole novels, many middle school students read excerpts and are tested on their ability to write critical analyses of the excerpts. To be sure, critical analysis is an important skill, but it appears to have the unintended consequence of editing out the joy of completing a good, satisfying story. 

Reading whole novels requires skills many high school students aren’t taught. They grow bored, can’t follow the plot, and don’t connect to the characters or themes.

That puzzles me, because TV and movies still engage us. With “Game of Thrones,” “Succession,” or “Slow Horses,” viewers enter into invented worlds and can track the plot and characters, so why not in novels and memoirs, whether paper or Kindle books? Perhaps nonreaders have lost the ability to imagine. With TV and movies, the visuals are supplied.  

Shorter attention spans are also part of the problem, and students aren’t alone in this. Myriad distractions clamor for our attention and our culture serves up lots of information in short bits—texts, Instagram posts, 35- to 50-word news summaries. In 20 minutes, I might read a dozen short clips instead of one 3,000-word article. Constant interruptions have diminished my powers of concentration. I can still enjoy a 400-page novel, but these days, I get restless and impatient with longer novels.

I learned to love reading whole stories as a girl when there were far fewer distractions. At 8 years old, I draped myself across an upholstered chair and devoured Nancy Drew mysteries. By 14, it was Daphne du Maurier. Often, I wonder about the characters in novels I’m reading and am eager to find out what happens next. 

I wish my niece, my friend’s granddaughter, and their peers could experience the gift of being immersed in good books. The joy of being transported to another time or culture. The hours of pleasure, escape, and knowledge.