Oh, the pleasures of family dynamics; those complex networks of affection, animosity, and, it seems, rent. What if I told you a small story from the front lines of my own soap opera to start things off?
Imagine this: Dad recently passed away and went to the great beyond, leaving Mom sad and alone. So, of course, I propose that she move in with us, partly out of compassion and partly out of sheer guilt. You know, to socialize with the grandchildren and take in the warmth of family.
Now enter my spouse, who has obviously been attending the “How to Be a Loving Family Man” course. His initial response was a firm no, but after some deft haggling on my part, he reluctantly agreed—but only under one condition. The worst part, get ready: my distraught mother would have to pay the rent.
You did really read correctly. Pay rent. in a home that we currently own and are not renting. Start the crying or laughing. His logic? He replied, grinning in a way that I can only characterize as evil, “Your mother is a leech.” “After she moves in with us, she won’t go.”
His reasoning continued, a train on the loose about to crash down a precipice. She simply doesn’t make sense to utilize anything for free when she will consume our food and electricity. This residence is not a hotel, and she has to know that!
With my blood boiling, I knew something was wrong. The reason for this issue is that I wedded a man who seemed to believe he was the Ritz-Carlton’s management. How daring! Here we are, with equal rights to the house, having both contributed to its acquisition, and he’s enacting capitalist regulations as if we were operating a profit-making Airbnb.
The worst part is that my spouse isn’t a horrible person. Really, no. He and my mother have simply disagreed from the beginning. He told me the truth about how he really felt the night he turned into Mr. Rent Collector. “Ever since I met her, your mother has detested me. She wouldn’t feel at ease living with me right now.
I am therefore torn between my mother, who is in great need of her daughter’s support, and my husband, whom I really love despite his imperfections. I ask you, dear reader, the million-dollar question: What should I do? In true dramatic manner. Shall I rent my mother a room or my husband’s empathy?
What Your Typical Day Was Like During ‘The Golden Age’ Of Commercial Flying
From the 1950s to the 1970s, flying was a luxurious experience. Aviation historian Graham M. Simons recalls it as a time of elegance, with spacious seats and stylish crew. Passengers dressed up, adding to the sense of occasion.
Flight options were limited and costly. A round-trip ticket from Chicago to Phoenix in 1955 cost $138, about $1,200 today. Aviation expert Guillaume de Syon notes that flying was four to five times more expensive than now, making it accessible only to the wealthy.
Airlines served lavish meals with delicacies like caviar and foie gras. Some even hosted fashion shows on board. Former flight attendant Suzy Smith remembers serving beluga caviar during flights.
Flying felt like a cocktail party. Passengers dressed formally, and relaxed security allowed unusual items like pet birds in shoeboxes. This freedom contributed to a laid-back atmosphere.
Pan Am epitomized luxury and glamour. Former employee Joan Policastro recalls star-studded flights with exclusive lounges.
Flight attendants had strict appearance standards, wearing high heels, white gloves, and corsets. Airlines imposed rules on appearance, hair length, weight, and marital status.
Despite its end, the Golden Age of flying is fondly remembered. Groups like World Wings, former Pan Am employees, cherish memories of when flying was an adventure synonymous with luxury and excitement.
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