The Slow Goodbye of Cash

 

In a previous post (See a Penny), I talked about the quiet retirement of the penny, which in days gone by was our little copper workhorse.  This workhorse of a coin has been rattling around in pockets for over 200 years. I fear it won’t be the last coin to head for the great mint in the sky. Wasn't that a song? Oh, wait, the song was Spirit in the Sky, a one hit wonder. My bad. 

On a recent trip to France and Belgium, I got a glimpse of what a coin‑less future might look like. Belgium still clings lovingly to cash bless their hearts, but France has gone full “tap and go.” Digital transactions rule.

In one shop, I tried to pay with actual money, the kind you can fold, and the clerk looked at me with genuine distress. She couldn’t make change. "Did I have a credit card?" The way she said it, you’d think I had offered her a sack of doubloons which I picked up on quick stop to Brigadoon the Scottish village that appears every 100 years for a single day.

The only time coins were truly necessary was when we needed to pay a euro to use the bathroom facilities. And let me tell you, that became a small crisis. We were having such a hard time using our euros that we couldn’t break any of the bills. Imagine standing outside a pay toilet, waving a €20 note like you’re trying to bribe your way into a speakeasy.

Our next big trip is to Germany, where I’m told cash is still king. Thank goodness. At least we won’t be locked out of the bathrooms. I mean, picture spending an afternoon in the Hofbräuhaus, beer steins so big you can drink half of a six pack in one mug and then discovering you can’t use the restroom because you don’t have the right form of payment. That’s not a cultural experience; that’s a cautionary tale. Coins may be fading, but bodily functions remain stubbornly analog.

But I still love my currency, and it still feels useful to me. I’m just not physically, mentally, or emotionally ready to let cash go. I hope the remaining coins stay in circulation for a while. I’m far too attached to them to say goodbye.

Maybe that’s the real tug beneath all this talk of pennies, euros, and tap‑and‑go terminals. It isn’t just about money. It’s about the tiny rituals that used to anchor our days—digging for exact change, hearing a coin drop into a palm, tucking a few bills into a travel wallet “just in case.” These were small, ordinary gestures, but they made the world feel tactile and knowable.

Now a days everything just hums along invisibly in the cloud. It may be efficient, but also a little, disembodied. When the coins disappear, a part of daily life will disappear with them.

So yes, I’ll keep tapping my card with the best of them, after all, the credit card companies make it awfully rewarding to do so. Many of my hotels in Europe were paid entirely with points, which feels like winning a tiny lottery every time I checked in.

But I will not give up my bottle of pennies or the little stash of coins I use at Aldi or for my beloved mahjong currency. Those coins stay. They remind me of a world where value had weight, pockets jingled, and you could always buy your way into a bathroom with a single, solid euro.

Some things, it turns out, are worth holding onto, even if they’re only worth a cent.

A Trick of the Light: Reading Between the Brushstrokes

I always find it interesting to read authors who aren’t from the United States—it adds another dimension to the experience. Not only do you have to orient yourself to the characters, but you also get to immerse yourself in a different cultural and geographic setting. That’s certainly the case with this book. Louise Penny, a Canadian author from Montreal, sets this mystery in and around her home province of Quebec.

A Trick of the Light is a murder mystery centered around Clara, an up-and-coming artist celebrating her first solo show. The morning after the opening and the party that follows, a woman is found dead in Clara’s garden. To Clara’s shock, the victim is her estranged childhood friend, Lillian. As it turns out, Lillian had no shortage of enemies, and many of them were present at the party—making for a long and tangled list of suspects.

While the book isn’t fast-paced, Penny excels at character development and atmosphere. She draws the reader in slowly, layering relationships and motives with care until the murderer is finally revealed. 

This book was published in 2005 and in total she has written twenty books in the Inspector Gamache series.

Louise Penny’s novels are known for their rich character development, philosophical depth, and the atmospheric setting of Three Pines, Quebec.  Her books are best enjoyed in order, since each book published adds a little more depth and insight to her reoccurring characters.  So, if you are just discovering Louise Penny, start with Still Life where you meet the wonderful and often eccentric characters of Three Pines. And if, by chance, you've picked up one of her later novels without reading the one that started it all, consider adding Still Life to your reading list. 

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Voicemail: The Original Long-Form Message

 

There was a time when leaving someone a voicemail felt like an actor delivering their lines. You cleared your throat, waited for the beep, and delivered your message with the confidence of someone who believed this was the most efficient way to communicate. We Boomers had perfected the art of long, winded updates that could fill an entire tape. Today? Most people under 40 treat voicemails like a nuisance—too much time, too much effort, and far too much talking. In fact, and this is only my opinion, young people are losing the art of conversation.

So, are the replacements better or just different?

I am inclined to agree that voicemails can get very long winded. I just have to listen to one from my husband who absolutely loves to talk bless his heart, Sometimes I want to say, “Honey, just send me a nice, succinct text with the information I actually need.” For me, and for the younger generation, there’s nothing like speed, convenience, and the ability to multitask while texting. 

But when voicemails first arrived on the scene, they were an event. There were blinking lights, rewinding tapes, and the robotic voice announcing your message count.

Why did we love voicemails so much?  I don't know about you, but I loved hearing the actual voice of a loved one whether it was my mother, grandmother or my boyfriend. A voice carried warmth, personality, and presence. A text can’t replace that. Oh, what I would give to hear some of those voices again—people who are gone now, or simply no longer in my life. And if it was someone I didn’t want to talk to? Well, nothing beat the satisfaction of hitting the delete button.

Even now, when my husband leaves one of his famously long messages, I still get to hear him. His voice. His tone. His little quirks. There’s no substitute for that.

Voicemail-to-text is the modern compromise that lets everyone win but once again we lose the sound of someone’s voice telling you they care or that they are thinking of you or that they love you.

Voicemail may be fading, but the desire to feel connected isn’t. I don't know, maybe the real legacy isn’t the message itself, it’s the reminder that someone took the time to reach out.

I loved to hear how you feel about this topic.  Please add your
comments.

Next Up: The Slow Death of Cash

And remember, "We may be losing the things we grew up with, but not the stories they left behind" Me

When the Boomers go So goes........

 

I’ve been writing this blog for a while now, and I’ve always been a “one‑and‑done” kind of writer. Pick a topic, explore it, wrap it up, and move on to the next curiosity. But recently I came across an article about the things quietly disappearing as we baby boomers age and eventually pass the torch. I expected a nostalgic little trip down memory lane. Instead, it hit me square in the psyche.

And for any whipper snappers reading along—yes, I’m talking about baby boomers.  But first some definitions just so that we are on the same page.

Baby Boomers (noun):

A generation born between 1946 and 1964 who grew up drinking from garden hoses, survived without seatbelts, memorized phone numbers, and still believe voicemail is a perfectly reasonable way to communicate. Known for working hard, showing up early, and owning more good china than any human could possibly use in one lifetime.

And since fairness matters, here’s your turn:

Whippersnappers (noun):

Anyone under 40 who can operate three apps at once, thinks cash is a conspiracy, has never balanced a checkbook, and believes the world began around the time Wi‑Fi did. Known for speaking in emojis, ghosting voicemail, and treating boomers like charming historical artifacts.

Now that we’ve established the cast of characters…

It wasn’t sadness I felt reading that article. It was more like recognition—an awareness that the world we grew up in is slipping into the rearview mirror faster than we realized, grow. The objects we touched every day, the rituals we practiced without thinking, the beliefs we carried, many of them are fading. Some are already gone, vanished without so much as a goodbye.

And it made me wonder:

Are the replacements better

Are they just different?

Or are we losing something we won’t fully understand until it’s gone?

That question lingered long enough that I decided to do something I’ve never done before: write a series. A whole collection of posts exploring the things that are disappearing with our generation—voicemail, cash, checks, formal dining rooms, handwritten letters, the 9–5 workday, retiring at 65, and so many more. Some of these changes make perfect sense. Others feel like losing tiny pieces of our cultural DNA.

This is a nostalgic pause. It’s a reflection. A gentle farewell tour. A chance to look at what shaped us, what we’re leaving behind, and what the next generation is choosing to carry forward.

Because whether we like it or not, the world is changing. And as boomers, we didn’t just live through these things, we shaped them. Now we get to watch how they evolve.

What This Series Will Explore

• The objects that defined daily life

• The rituals that shaped how we gathered

• The beliefs that guided how we worked, lived, and aged

• And the replacements—some brilliant, some baffling, some still finding their footing

Each post will take one disappearing piece of boomer life and look at it with humor, honesty, and a little tenderness. Not to cling to the past, but to understand it, and maybe appreciate it one more time before it slips away.

And as for how many topics I’ll cover. Well, I haven’t decided. I’m just going to take it one post at a time and see where the road leads. When I’m done, I’ll be like Forrest Gump—after miles and miles of running, he simply stopped. When the moment feels right, I’ll stop writing this particular series. No fanfare. No grand finale. Just a quiet, satisfied “that’s enough for now.”

I am going to try and stick with my Monday/Wednesday publishing schedule. I hope you stick with me to see where this goes.

Coming Up First: Voicemail—The Original Long-Form Message

Because nothing says “boomer” quite like leaving a voicemail long enough to require a snack break.

Pinot, Pals, and the Perfect February Night

 

February felt like the perfect time to celebrate Galentine’s Day — that unofficial holiday devoted to honoring the women in your life: friends, sisters, coworkers, chosen family, all the people who show up.

Since I never watched Parks and Recreation, I had no idea Galentine’s Day was coined by Leslie Knope, Amy Poehler’s character on the show, until I finally Googled it. In a 2010 episode, she gathers her closest girlfriends for a brunch overflowing with waffles, gifts, and over‑the‑top affection.

I’m glad the idea stuck. It filled a gap we didn’t know we had — a celebration of friendship that isn’t tied to romance, family obligations, or gift‑giving rules. So, thank you, Leslie Knope.

My Sips and Apps group didn’t meet on February 13th, but on February 11th. Close enough.

Our spotlight “Sip” was Pinot Noir, and every bottle we opened was delicious. The wine hit that sweet spot for me: fruity, but with an earthiness that leans more toward mushroom than dirt. (I can practically hear the wine aficionados cringing when I say “notes of dirt,” but here we are.) The bottles we chose offered raspberry, cherry, and strawberry, with a subtle spicy warmth that made each sip inviting.

Maybe some people prefer a bold Cabernet Sauvignon, but after this tasting, I’m happily leaning toward a good Pinot Noir from now on.

Galentine’s Day may be unofficial, but the joy it brings is very real. Good friends, good food, good wine, that’s a holiday worth keeping.

Carry‑Ons, Chaos, and One Very Unhinged Passenger

 

Listening to my favorite morning show, The Bob and Sherri Show, Sherri was talking about airplane behavior. She’d been on a flight trying to get some work done on her laptop. The guy in front of her—a gamer with a headset—was deeply into whatever he was playing. 

Sherri said that despite the stereotype of gamers being quiet, sedentary creatures, this one was basically conducting a full-body workout. At one point he launched himself backward with such force that her cell phone flew off the tray table and landed squarely above her eyebrow.

She tried, very politely, to ask if he could maybe dial it down a little and he did just a smidge. But she didn’t push these days, you never know which stranger on a plane is one seat recline from going nuts.

About a year ago, my daughter and I had our own run‑in with questionable airplane behavior on a flight from Boston. I hadn’t flown in quite a while, so I was already a little out of practice. The plane landed, everyone started the usual shuffle of gathering their belongings, and my daughter and I were quietly standing in the aisle with our carry‑ons, waiting for our turn to de‑plane.

The woman in the row ahead of us suddenly turned around and began lecturing me—full volume—about the “proper etiquette” for getting off an airplane. Before I could even process that, she climbed onto her seat to reach the overhead bin, and in the process swung her bag down directly onto my head. Under my breath I muttered something about manners and not hitting people in the head, and my daughter quietly added that this woman needed to get over herself.

That was all it took. She absolutely lost it. She shoved ahead of us, marched straight to the exit, and complained about me to the captain and the flight attendant as if she were reporting a federal crime. My daughter and I just kept walking, choosing not to engage because we had no interest in escalating whatever… performance she was giving.

But she wasn’t done. Oh no. She then cornered the ramp attendant and started spewing a fresh round of wild accusations. I caught his eye, gave a small, weary shake of my head, and kept moving. Honestly, I could not believe what had just unfolded.

In the end, my daughter and I just looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept moving. Some people bring carry‑ons, some bring snacks, and some apparently bring full‑blown chaos — and that day, we wanted no part of it.

Honestly, I still shake my head when I think about it. It made me wonder how many other people have had their own run‑ins with airborne theatrics. Have any of you experienced something like this on a flight? I'd like to hear about it.

Read in Silence, Connect in Spirit

 

What could be better than spending an hour of your day tucked into a good book. I confess—I’m a “bookie.” Not the kind who takes bets, but the kind who loves stories, lives inside sentences, and reads with the enthusiasm of someone who always needs just one more chapter. I’m fairly certain bookie has never been used this way, but I like it, so I’m claiming it. Of course, I could call myself a bibliophile, that lovely term for someone who loves and collects books for their beauty or their ideas. Or maybe I’m simply your classic, run‑of‑the‑mill bookworm.

Recently, I stumbled across an article about Silent Book Clubs.

The Silent Book Club is a global reading movement that reimagines the traditional book club—no assigned reading, no pressure to perform, and absolutely no required discussion. Affectionately known as “Introvert Happy Hour,” it’s popping up in cities around the world. Founded by Laura Gluhanich and Guinevere de la Mare, the club celebrates the simple joy of reading for its own sake. It’s been praised by Oprah, featured on NPR, and embraced by readers who crave connection without conversation. Which leads to the natural question: what exactly is a Silent Book Club?

Here is the jest:

• You Bring Your Own Book (BYOBook): Members show up with whatever they’re currently reading, all genres welcome.

•You start the meeting with a bit of chit chat, and then everyone reads quietly for an hour

• You conclude the meeting with each participant briefly talking about their books—or not. No pressure.

I think this idea has real merit. It could be a gentle mix‑and‑mingle for book lovers, a space where people can grab a cuppa and maybe something sweet, then settle in with whatever they’re reading. A brief “book discussion” at the end of the hour becomes an easy way to meet new people—you already know everyone in the room shares a love of reading. There’s no pressure, no deadlines, no analysis required. It’s the perfect blend of solitude and community, ideal for introverts or anyone craving quiet connection. And the best part: you can read absolutely anything you want.

Meetings can happen anywhere—a bookstore, a coffee bar, the library, even a park.

In the end, it’s less about the location and more about the feeling—settling in with your book, surrounded by others doing the same, no expectations, no performance. Just a quiet hour that fills your cup in more ways than one.

In the end, it’s less about the location and more about the feeling—settling in with your book, surrounded by others doing the same, no requirements, no expectations. Just a quiet hour that fills your cup in more ways than one. And honestly, I’m seriously considering starting a Silent Book Club of my own. i might call it a Bingle for books and a mingle. A little community, a little solitude, and a shared love of stories feels like exactly the kind of ritual worth creating.