Greeting Cards

I hate shopping for greeting cards. When I send someone a card, it has to say something that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to actually say to that person. It has to have some remote connection to the way I feel. I started shopping for a card for my daughter-in-law weeks before her birthday this month. I devoted a lot of time to this project, reading hundreds of cards in numerous southwest Florida supermarkets and drugstores, while my ice cream melted and Charlie tapped his foot, only to leave each store frustrated and cardless.

“You’re telling me there isn’t one suitable card for our daughter-in-law in all the hundreds you just read?” Charlie would ask.

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

It seems that birthday cards fall into two broad categories. The first category includes cards with flowers, windmills, rainbows, kittens or puppies. And if the artwork isn’t enough to make you vomit, the inside verse will finish you off. These cards have more over the top cliches than a Danielle Steel novel. Category 1 cards make me sick, unless I happen to be the recipient of such a card. On the right day, when I’m sufficiently puffed up, I can be convinced that I do bring sunshine into every room I enter.

Category 2 cards are the funny cards, which I further divide into two sub-categories: the cards that are trying to be funny, written by people like your uncle Louie who has worn the same antler hat and flashing red nose to every Christmas party for the last 50 years, and a few cards that are truly funny. The funny cards are mostly “You know you’re old when...” cards.

In my experience, there’s a very small window of time when people actually appreciate receiving “old” cards. The window opens in your 40's, when you’re not really old yet, or you think you’re not, so there’s a tacit agreement that no one actually means it. The window starts to close in your mid-50's, and by the time a person turns 70, they’re downright insulting.

I’ve noticed that humor for the elderly consumer in Florida seems to be reverting back to 2nd grade bathroom jokes. There are lots of birthday cards about flatulence and incontinence. They even make jokes about dementia. I actually approve of those. At least the sentiments are real.

Which reminds me of the cards I used to whip up for my mother using cut up grocery bags and crayons. Like the one from the year she let her third driving permit expire without getting her licence, when she desperately wanted to learn to drive. It said:

Some Moms drive Jeeps,
Some Moms drive Hondas,
My Mom stays home
and makes me lasagna

I think I’ll go back to making my own cards.

Maalox Through the Years

Middle age makes people do things they swore they’d never do, like boring the pants off their kids by waxing nostalgic about all the stuff that used to be different. I never thought I’d do that, but now that I do, I’d like to think that my nostalgia is much more interesting than the stuff my Dad went on about.

There’s technology at Stone’s Concerts, techniques in tie-dye, and the evolution of Maalox, to name a few. Like millions of other Beemer-driving, cell phone-talking, workaholic baby boomer slime, I have been chugging Maalox (the Johnnie Walker Black of antacids) for 30 years. And unless you’re gastro-intestinally challenged and over 50, the many forms of Maalox may have escaped your attention.

Back in the 1970’s, there was only the liquid variety which I kept in the top drawer of my desk at work, next to my tissues, so I could discreetly wipe the chalky residue off my mouth after covertly chugging an ever-escalating quantity. I was in my 20’s then, a new manager with AT & T in Chicago and one of the busiest, most important people you would ever want to meet. I had a closet full of cheap suits and matching 3-inch heels, and I would clatter up Rush Street every morning in search of a cab, and then chain smoke my way to the office while reading The Wall Street Journal, most of which I didn’t understand.

Sometimes I didn’t leave the office until eight or nine o’clock, after which there’d be another smoky cab ride back to one of my favorite near-north bars where I drank my dinner with other yuppie scum while discussing the problems of our days in hyperbolic terms. I believe there were a number of people who thought that I was single-handedly responsible for dial tone in the western world.

The 80’s ushered in the chewable tablet form of Maalox. They still turned your mouth and tongue white, but at least they wouldn’t spill all over the inside of a diaper bag, and you could pop them discreetly during business meetings and nursery school co-op, with no one the wiser. These were the days when I felt like a hypocrite most of the time, trying to straddle the fence between the mommy camp and the working woman camp. It’s not that I was alone on the fence. It’s just that we fence women had no time to meet for coffee and commiserate like the other mommies, so we just thought we were nuts most of the time.

Sometime during the 90’s, Maalox rolled out a product which truly was an antacid and a desert topping. It came in an aerosol can and I believe it was called "whipped" Maalox. The consistency was more like shaving cream than whipped cream in that it stood up on a spoon in a neat little mound.

I was in my 40’s then, had jumped the fence and landed on the mommy side, but with a huge asterisk. Not satisfied with the most important and exhausting job in the world as my only job title, I filled my "spare time" with night classes, The League of Women Voters, and a column for my local newspaper. Later, I owned a bookstore for a few years, and then ran a print and Web publication about books out of my kitchen.

My shrink kept suggesting that my identity and self-worth were tied to my jobs and activities, like that was a bad thing. I was further frustrated because, after giving up drinking and smoking, my health was declining. I was now popping two prescription ulcer medications each day in addition to shooting whipped Maalox directly into my mouth. I enjoyed that. It reminded me of hiding behind the fridge door with a can of Reddy Whip when I was a kid.

Much to my dismay, the whipped variety of Maalox was not around for long. Probably too many people, like myself, had quickly dispensed with the spoon and were over-dosing themselves. The late 90's brought us "Quick Dissolve" Maalox tablets, which seem to melt faster and not get stuck in your teeth like their predecessor.

Now that I’m in my 50’s, my goals are simpler. I’m trying to learn to meditate without hyperventilating. I’ve taken up yoga and Buddhism, and turned into an earnest cliché. The new millennium turned up a new, fun and tasty variety of Maalox - called Maalox soft chews, available in chocolate and cherry flavors. They were the consistency of a Starburst Candy and came individually wrapped in foil. I must tell you that I loved the chocolate, although they were difficult for me to chew due to my TMJ, which is basically a terribly sore jaw which comes from clenching and grinding your teeth too much. The soft chews didn't last long. I don't know why.

And finally, a word of advice to the makers of Maalox, if you’re listening: Although the soft chews were my favorite, they won't fly with dentures. I hope you’ve got something still tasty but softer in the works for me when I hit my 60's.