Musings From the Middle: So Long, Farewell

by Cathy Allie

Forgive me if I don't act immediately as though I really like you and want to be friends. It's just that I have...well, a secret that I need to tell you. Things I really like sometimes disappear, so I just don't want to get too connected for fear you will do a vanishing act as well.

Now I am nostalgic to say the least, but I am not talking about older model cars no longer manufactured, or vanishing indoor malls, like my beloved Blue Ridge and Bannister, that died slow, sad deaths under painful urban consequences, but rather things that seemed a bit more solid.

I first noticed the problem with favorite items on restaurant menus coming under the swipe of the magician's wand. You know how you look at two choices and just think, 'Well, if I could combine these two things and leave off this, it would be the perfect meal'? At Red Lobster there was a Chesapeake Bay Sampler, which was the perfect mix of seafood. Now it only shows up during special seasons, leaving me playing a guessing game as to when to venture in for a bite.

Applebees’ Riblet and Chicken finger basket with just the right portion of each deserted me next, once again relegated to a platter size, special menu, or special ask. A carefully curated s'mores dessert at Houlihans had its flame doused. Some whole restaurants I actually loved fully vanished themselves.

Old timers will remember Gold Buffet up north, where you could fill up either before or after bowling--yes, I know that sounds gross- and you could view the glittery gold Vegas-like wall stars with photos of the real stars who had eaten there. Poof! Gone!

Liberty's Hardware Cafe, the site of many leisurely post shopping lunches, complete with coconut cream pie, and Hobo Joes barbecue in Raytown both left me in the dust, just about the time the wait staff was getting to know me.

I don't have much luck with perfumes, either. It began with a favorite from high school that accompanied me on first dates and Homecoming celebrations, called Stephen B by Coty. I first purchased it at a drug store close to home-- probably a clue when its launch was there instead of a department store. It carried me through late high school into college and the last dregs of a bottle remained as I started my career.

When I couldn't buy it anymore, I switched to the clean, soapy smelling Weekend Burberry, now relegated to discount store's clearance shelves, and slowly working its way off those as well. I purposefully selected a new launch last year at Christmas, and it evaporated by Easter. Everything now just smells like a combination of insect repellent and dish soap with fruity undertones to me.

So I can't eat what I want, and I can't smell the way I want. What else can take a leave of absence? How about any television show I ever thought was clever or cutting edge or funny or sad or that I connected to in any way?

Some just passed with time, like my favorite line up of The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Julia, and Room 222, which made up my youthful Friday nights and which I can find now on my cable provider's newly minted retro stations. I am okay binge watching the iconic Seinfeld, Friends, or The Office, in reruns and truth be told, I won’t even type the name of my Thursday night favorite from the last three years due to this jinx.

But others shows didn't even get a chance to thrive. American Dreams was like the best of Bandstand marred with 60's trouble, even examining religious and women's issues. Friday Night Lights seemed to need just one Hail Mary pass to save it, with the handsome Coach Taylor and his pretty wife Tammy tackled in their primes!

The Black Donnellys had these devilishly handsome, but thug-like Irish brothers who stole my heart, and one sweep of the conjurer’s cloak and they are gone, so many Jameson whiskeys left to drink. Some, like Match Game have attempted a comeback, but it was so raunchy I couldn't even watch it in the same room with my visiting mother-in-law.

Sadly, the vanishing act has passed on to my family. When my daughter was little, we doused her in Baby Magic lotion and snuggled and sniffed her. One day I read an article that the manufacturer would no longer make the lotion, and I made the rounds of local stores collecting the precious pink vessels to stockpile. When I had purchased about two dozen bottles and had ordered another five from a tiny Green Bay general store, my husband put a stop to the madness.

He told me I could not rob those Wisconsin folks experiencing dry, itchy winter skin from the relief they were due...and more importantly, he showed me another article which said that because of great demand, the company would now continue production.

Whew! Crisis averted. Momentarily, at least. The following week, our favorite brand of cloth diapers took a hiatus and the dog’s favorite treats exited the market in carcinogenic shame.

Just so you know, I have also lost a dentist, a pediatrician, and a trusted mechanic to a family move, a weird religious cult, and another profession. A laundry detergent, a sweet smelling car air freshener, and a favorite candle scent have all dissolved into thin, albeit unscented air.

I still mourn the loss of a favorite lipstick shade and a beautiful coral nail polish, and in the cruelest twist of fate, I found a pair of tennis shoes that feel like a dream only to no longer be able to purchase the thinnest little pair of no show socks I have loved for years to wear with them.

If you have heard me give a mediocre review of a little vacation spot, it might not be that I didn't really like it, but just that my great love for it may doom it to foreclosure. If I compliment my pastor's sermon, will he suddenly be struck mute or become a boring orator?

Look. I would love to meet you for coffee. But if the coffee is good and maybe there is a little muffin or two we share, and we agree to meet the next week for another chat, will our spot even be there? If you know what is good for you, you should probably just keep your distance. Darn shame. I think we coulda' been friends.