WordSisters

Category: Humor

  • My New Rocket

    I recently bought an electric vehicle, which we’ll use as our around town car. After much research, we settled on a Hyundai Ioniq 5 because it’s highly rated and has AWD. Owning an EV launched me into a whole new mode of transport. Not exactly a jet pack, but definitely a different way of thinking about getting around.

    Some mind shift was inevitable. My RAV4 was 15 years old. Any modern car would have been a shock to my system. But it was time for some upgrades. To use the phone handsfree, I relied on an aftermarket media center we’d installed. Sometimes the tiny microphone and speakers worked. Often the system hissed during calls and wasn’t worth the trouble. I didn’t have a backup camera. In parking lots, I’d learned to swivel my head like a horror movie villain to spot any oblivious people walking behind my car.

    The Ioniq 5 is a beauty! Gray green with light gray interior. Sleek and modern looking. It has good pickup and handles well. It also has a million systems and functions I’m only beginning to understand.

    Fob + push button start. Keys were easy to remember. They were integral to unlocking and starting the RAV, but now there’s no reason for the fob to leave my purse. After decades of obsessively managing keys, this is a disconnect—one of many. 

    My phone can open the car. Until my husband (thank goodness I’m married to a very patient tech genius!) reconfigured it, the car unlocked whenever I walked by with my phone in my pocket. That’s OK in my garage. Not OK in parking lots. Eventually it would lock up again, but the uncertainty made me uneasy. Now I touch a magic spot on the door handle to lock and unlock the car.

    My car knows me (and likes me, I’m sure). When I open the door, it adjusts the seat and mirrors to my exact preferences. It greets me when my phone syncs. Nice, but a bit of overkill. My RAV never spoke to me (it was more of a humble workhorse), and adjusting the seat wasn’t an issue since no one else drove it. 

    Finding good driving tunes can be a lot. Now I have AM/FM plus Apple Tunes and Sirius. And way too many ways to change from an annoying song to something better. Toggle controls on the steering wheel up and down. Or press Star for Favorites. Or slide through 3-4 screens on the electronic control panel and push buttons. Whoa! Maybe I’d better pull over to do that. Thanks to the Tech Genius, I now can get from the local NPR station to Bluesville on Sirius and back. One day I may even figure out how to play a podcast. What I don’t hear is road noise. Only the EV hum. 

    There are endless ways to fuss with the temperature. The car is engineered so my comfort and the front seat passenger’s are paramount. Each of us can specify our preferences. Probably there are ways to enhance backseat passengers’ comfort (one day I’ll figure that out). 

    I can choose AC, fan/no fan, or I could even open the windows. The car also has air-cooled seats. (Wh a a a t?? Crazy, but good.) If I mindlessly set my temp at 71, the car will do everything in its power to keep it there including turning on AC without asking. If I turn off the AC, the fan will come on full blast in attempt to maintain 71 degrees. Wait, I didn’t mean it! 73 degrees with the window open a little is fine.

    Let’s not overlook the obvious—battery instead of gas tank. In the olden days, when the RAV was down to a quarter tank, I refilled. I got approximately 22 mpg, and a tank lasted about two weeks, since I just drove around town. Fill-ups ranged from $36 to $48.

    When I get in, the battery may be at 80%. Or 61%. The question remains: how much battery do I need for my ordinary trips? I. Do. Not. Want. To. Run. Out. That’s not likely since I’m only putting on 70 – 90 miles per week and the car has a range of 280 miles. 

    How often to recharge is a different learning curve. Before we had a high-speed plugin installed, we charged the slow way, which added about 10% to the battery overnight. I didn’t let the battery get too far down. 

    Now the high-speed system adds 25% in about 1-1.5 hours and costs $1.06 or $5.25 to charge the battery from 20% to 80% (car batteries last longer if they’re not charged to 100%). Hmmm. $5.25 for electricity every two weeks vs. an average of $42 for a tank of gas. Even I can do that math, and I love reducing the role of fossil fuels in my life.

    No more oil changes. It took a minute to register maintenance will be very different. No engine, so no lube and oil. No exhaust, so no muffler system. Now maintenance is the mothership computer talking to my computer on wheels. I’ll still need tire rotations and a filter or two. (Wait, how will I get my car washed if I never go to the gas station?)

    Although the technology surprises and baffles me sometimes, eventually I’ll master the major systems. I’m brave. I’m fierce. I’m doing this . . . with help from the Tech Genius. Most days I really enjoy this brave new world of transport.

  • Chasing Spring

    The youngest member of the extended family is crawling and wanting to walk. His four-year-old sister prefers hitting a softball that is pitched, not set on a tee. The older cousin is closing in on successfully completing her first year of middle school. They are progressing in predictable ways that we all celebrate.

    If only the spring of 2026 would be as predictable instead of posting temperatures inspiring sundress wearing one day and tumbling forty degrees in a handful of hours. Snow, sleet, ice, rain and sunshine can be experienced during a school or workday. In the cities frequent snowstorms topped with melt and freeze have turned streets, even major thoroughfares, into pothole disasters. In the Midwest, farmers ducks float where spring fieldwork should be happening. 

    We could accept Mother Nature’s uncertainty in April. In May, we are done with heavy fleece jackets and would like to get the kids out of shoes that were worn a size too small through late winter snowy, slushy weather. But we’ll wait until spring really settles in. Money is as tight as the kids’ old shoes.

    Farmers can’t afford the same amount of fuel and fertilizer they ordered in 2025. Families don’t talk about summer vacation travels. Many worry about the coming expenses of feeding kids two additional meals much less extra day care or camp programs. We’re putting in vegetables where marigolds or coleus filled garden spaces. It makes sense if you have the time. Teach the kids about gardening and tending vegetables instead of using gas on unnecessary shopping trips. Maybe neighbors can pool childcare to save money. This might be the summer the grandparents are able to host grandma camp, or a cousin would appreciate getting out of their own home to hang out with the youngers.  

    It’s been a rough year and we can weather this. The kids want to spend time with their parents whether on a lake or in a community pool. We made it through Covid with its isolation and money squeeze. We supported each other through the Ice surges. Now we must figure out soaring gas prices and inflation. If we share with each other from what we have for a few months, we can manage a decent summer.  If spring will truly let go.  

  • Thoughts on the Urge to Purge

    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.