The Way I See It...

Publisher's Letter 

Robin Rogers, Ed.D.

June 2025

It’s my birthday month, which has me in all of my feelings. “Double nickels” is knocking on my door, and, hormones be damned, I’ve got to open up. I’ve never really stressed about aging. “Life is a highway; I wanna drive it all night long.” And most nights, I do stay awake all night long, as sleep deprivation occurs more in your 50s than when you have a newborn (or so say I). These days, I blame my sleepless nights on the changes in my body that are beyond my control. And, in lieu of slumber, I’ve become a mad Ambien online shopper (again).

I’ve obviously got some addiction tendencies. There’s plenty of alcoholism in my family (no, Mom, I am definitely not referring to your side), along with gambling, and who knows what else. Thankfully, I didn’t get any of the dangerous addictive vices, but let’s just say that if discount shopping could kill you, I wouldn’t have made it this far in life.

I may have shed a tear when the local Big Lots closed down. It wasn’t like I was buying all of my groceries out of the closeout store, but my laundry detergent? Oh yeah. Us kids born in 1970 knew that if you found a penny, you had better pick it up; otherwise, you’d have bad luck. A penny saved is a penny earned, and if I could save 300 pennies a pop on a jug of laundry detergent, and I had a 20% off coupon? I might as well buy as many jugs as they had in stock because I was practically making money! (No joke: earlier this year, I had laundry detergent in my storage building, and in all of the cabinets above my washing machine, and even a few stashed in the bathroom cabinets. It’s not like that stuff goes bad!)

I would much rather spend a day at a TJ Maxx or a Dirt Cheap or a Big Lots (rest its soul) over a day of designer shopping at Northpark in Dallas. Let me stock up on toilet paper, paper towels, and cleaning supplies at bargain-basement prices, and I’ll be thrilled. Occasionally, I’ll run into Ollie’s, another closeout store in Oaklawn Village, but it’s a little dingy for my preferences. I don’t do the bin stores, either. Sifting through returns in an old Kmart that stinks like cigarettes and sweat totally grosses me out. But, a good estate sale? I’m on it. Those people know to light candles, open windows, and stage fans. 

Back in the ‘90s, when eBay was new on the scene and I had just become an Ambien user for sleep, packages would unexpectedly arrive at my door several times a week—little gifts I’d purchased under the influence of Ambien that my daytime self had zero recollection of. I still have the furry knee-high boots, designed for Colorado, Montana, or Wyoming winters, that came to the house one humid summer day. I hid them in the closet to ensure my family members didn’t see them; trying to explain their purchase in 105-degree heat would never fly for my significant other, so after that, I had packages delivered to my office. One Christmas, my employees gifted me a single share of eBay stock. Sentimental old me still has that stock certificate in my safe. Now, when my kids find it, they will know where it came from.

Though eBay has fallen out of my regular rotation, the all-night internet buying highway still beckons. These days, my people tease me about my obsession with Good Morning America and their “Deals and Steals.” As I’m writing this, I’m looking at a pile of goodies that GMA’s Tory Johnson curated just for me: nine pairs of no-show socks, four pairs of compression socks, a recirculating watering bowl for the cat, magnesium creams, tallow (because, sure, everyone is using unscented beef tallow as a lotion now), candles, eyeliner, cup towels, bras, peepers, and sunglasses that have never been opened—but I saved so much money on them!

After I peruse all of the deals and especially the steals, I start watching social media reels like a darn teenager. But the algorithms know I’m not a broke middle schooler but instead a middle-aged sucker with a couple of credit cards and chronic insomnia. I wonder if there’s a way to get the credit card companies to deny any transactions between the hours of 10 p.m. and 7 a.m.? Or, maybe I should employ my daughter Emily to restrict my device access at night (oh, how the tables have turned).

Then I would never be able to write these enlightening editorials, or watch ridiculous reels, or buy nonsense stuff from people getting rich selling nonsense. They say that 55 is the new 45, thanks to better knowledge, skincare, and Botox. It seems to me that 55 may be the new 15. I need a bedtime, an allowance, and parental controls.

Even if I stumble upon discounted hiking boots or a like-new climbing pack that’s practically free, trust me when I say that even impossible-to-resist shopping scores will not convince me to try mountain climbing. Recently, I took a “little hike” with other members of our team to photograph Holly Gerrald, an actual mountain climber who is seriously passionate about summiting the world’s tallest mountains—and raising money for the smallest members of our community, babies in the NICU. Her story may inspire you to take up mountaineering, but as I am still recovering from our “little hike,” I’m less inclined to start trekking at 55. Her story does inspire me to do more for the organizations in our community that take care of children, disabled people, and the elderly. Maybe I can harness my budget shopping skills for the benefit of others.

All of our stories this month showcase people giving back in extraordinary ways. I know you will find them as uplifting as we do. As always, thanks for reading FSLM.