THE INKWELL SOUL

Tag: #humor

  • PRAIRIE MADNESS

    *The ultimate Midwest cardio: the Trash Can 500! There is nothing quite like sprinting down a gravel road, hair horizontal, yelling at a bin of plastic that has suddenly developed a soul and a desire for freedom!!!

    The Wind That Whispered (And Shouted) Madness

    Hey there, fellow Midwesterners and wind-battered souls!

    I was just catching up with a friend from Kansas – another state that knows a thing or two about wind – and the conversation naturally drifted (see what I did there?) to the constant, relentless force that is the prairie wind. We were laughing about how it could drive a person crazy, and then it spiraled into talk of schizophrenia or at least a sudden case of Tourette’s.

    It turns out, I wasn’t just being dramatic. I looked it up, and there’s actually a historical term for this: “Prairie Madness.”

    What exactly is Prairie Madness?

    Back in pioneer days, “The Great Solo” of the plains wasn’t just about the loneliness of the wide-open spaces. It was the noise. Imagine a low, constant, vibrating howl that whistles through the floorboards and rattles your windows for seventy-two hours straight.

    This phenomenon resulted in documented cases of high stress, insomnia, and anxiety. Pioneers reported feeling like the wind was trying to peel the skin off their houses! When you’ve been listening to a whistle that never hits the “off” switch for a week, your grip on reality starts to get a little….breezy.

    The Modern Struggle: The Trash Can 500

    While we have insulation and modern comforts today, the wind still finds ways to test our sanity. Take the other day, for example. I watched my friend’s trash can decide it was tired of the driveway life. It took a high-speed trip across our rural road, aiming straight for the ditch like it was auditioning for a stunt in an action movie.

    I had to pull off the ultimate Midwest cardio: chasing a piece of plastic in a gale. Thank goodness it was empty, because if I’d had to fish individual soup cans out of a dusty ditch while the wind slapped me in the face, the “Tourette-like” outbursts would have been legendary! The neighbors would have learned vocabulary words they didn’t know existed.

    While we may not be suffering from full-blown Prairie Madness these days, the prairie wind is still a force to be reckoned with. It’s the reason our hair looks like a wind-blown tumbleweed after five minutes outside. It’s the reason we’re constantly yelling “WHAT?” when someone tries to talk to us outdoors while leaning at a 45 degree angle. And it’s definitely the ultimate enemy of the perfect selfie!

    Survival of the Fittest

    We Midwesterners are a hearty bunch. We’ve been dealing with this relentless force for generations. It might wreck our hair, hijack our trash cans, and occasionally make us question our sanity, but at least is keeps life interesting.

    So, the next time the wind starts howling around your siding, just remember: you aren’t crazy. You’re just participating in a long-standing historical tradition of prairie-induced grit!

    Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check to see if my mailbox is still in Nebraska!!!


  • Dating in Your 50’s: The Struggle is Real

    Dating in your 50’s. It’s not for the faint of heart, is it? It’s like trying to navigate a funhouse maze in the dark, with the added bonus of wondering if the person at the other end is actually a cardboard cutout with surprisingly good grammar. It’s less “meet-cute” and more “meet-cringe”, isn’t it? We’ve traded stolen glances across crowded rooms for swiping left or right on faces that may not belong to the person in the profile.

    Remember the thrill of meeting someone organically? The nervous excitement of a first encounter where you could gauge their vibe, their real vibe, not the curated, filtered version? There was a certain realness to it, a tangible connection before you even exchanged numbers. We met people at concerts, at classes, through friends… there was a tangible, human element to it. Now, we’re navigating a minefield of pixels and promises, trying to decipher if “outdoorsy” means “owns a tent” or “watches nature documentaries on Netflix.” It’s all swipes and super-likes, a digital cattle call where you’re simultaneously the buyer and the questionable merchandise.

    And let’s talk about the profiles, shall we? “Seeking my soulmate” (aren’t we all?), “Adventurous spirit” (translation: once went zip lining on vacation), “Looking for my partner in crime” (which, let’s be honest, could mean anything from one night flings to actual, you know, CRIME). Oh, and the ever-present “Good sense of humor” (which is highly subjective). You read them and think, “Wow, he sounds perfect!” You hit that little heart button, that virtual beacon of hope… and then, crickets. He’s witty, intelligent and his photos aren’t taken in the bathroom mirror. You send a message, a carefully crafted masterpiece of conventional charm. And then… silence. It’s like sending a message into the abyss, only to be met with the deafening silence of unrequited algorithms.

    Then, against all odds, you match with someone who seems promising. He’s kind, funny and seems genuinely interested. The conversation flows, the banter is witty, and you find yourself actually looking forward to checking your phone. It all flows like a well aged Merlot. But then the universe throws you a curve ball: He lives in “Upper Bumblefrack” which is approximately 300 miles and 3 time zones away!

    Ah, yes, the long-distance dilemma. We’re not in our 20’s anymore, ready to pack a bag and chase after infatuation. We’ve got our routines, roots, responsibilities, our homes, and our favorite side of the bed. The thought of packing it all up and starting over is… daunting. Is love worth a new zip code? Sometimes, maybe. The thought of uprooting our lives for a maybe, a what-if, is enough to make anyone reach for a bottle of wine and a good friend.

    It’s a lot. It’s frustrating, it’s funny, it’s occasionally heartbreaking, and it’s definitely an adventure. We’re a generation of strong, vibrant, and fabulous people who know what we want (mostly), and we’re not afraid to go out there and (try to) find it. We’re not going to settle for anything less than we deserve. So, we’ll keep swiping, keep messaging, keep laughing, and keep navigating this crazy, mixed-up world of 50-something dating.

    Keep holding out hope that somewhere out there, amidst the digital chaos, is someone who’s looking for the same thing we are: a real connection, a genuine partnership, and maybe, just maybe, someone who knows the difference between “your” and “you’re”.