Out With the Old (Holly Schindler)

Unless you're cleaning out drawers all in one fell swoop, the out-with-the-old business happens slowly, and it's only after an extended period of time that you can say, "Oh, hey. That changed."

I remember the things that used to mortify me when I was younger:

When I was in high school, Mom drove this Oldsmobile station wagon that only had an AM radio. She always had a portable radio in the car to listen to FM--and that silver antenna sticking up inside the window used to embarrass me to my toes. 

About the same time, we had this tile that was loose in the front hall--it jiggled and jingled and clinked when you walked on it. Inevitably, my dates (I'm a dinosaur that actually went on dates when I was young) would wind up stepping on it, looking down, wondering what had just broken. 

They're little things (hard to believe they ever bothered me at all), but they always carried with them these really brutal humiliations. 

Those little things (and more) don't bother me at all anymore. That's age, some of it. But it's also seeing the imperfections of the rest of the world, during Covid. It's watching Jimmy Fallon's kids crawl all over him while he tries to do the monologue from home. It's doing a Zoom meeting and seeing that co-workers have unfolded laundry and cluttered shelves. It's watching everybody have the same struggles with tech (that lawyer who went viral for the cat filter still holds a special place in my heart).

Life is imperfect. It just is. 

So my out-with-the-old, in '22, is actually something that appears to have already gone out. I'm just going to hang on to the out-ness, if that makes sense. 

If you're in my area, come on in. The tile's been re-stuck long ago. (No more jingling.) Now, though, the dog likes to watch the world through his storm door. So his beds are strewn there in the doorway. Oh, and it's cold, so I've stuffed some pool noodles and towels in the door crack, to block the wind. This dog has epilepsy, so if he has a seizure, just grab the vanilla ice cream from the fridge. It helps him recover. The fridge is missing its handle, so just open the door from the side. 

We'll laugh at the nuttiness of it all. Because, let's face it, your house has a leaky roof, and later on, when we have coffee at your place, we might get a few rain drips in our mugs.

Life is imperfect. True friends let each other in on their imperfections. And quirks are a hell of a lot more interesting than shiny new everything. 


Holly Schindler is the author of books for readers of all ages. Her first YA, A Blue So Dark, will re-release soon. Subscribe to her newsletter for the official release date. 


  1. I really enjoyed this post, Holly! Thanks!

  2. A wide friend once told me that true serenity is living with unresolved problems and not caring.


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