A phone tale

 

      Last Saturday, my husband woke up with a great idea. It was a beautiful morning and he suggested that we head out to Parke County, Indiana for the Covered Bridge Festival. I have to admit that the idea of seeing nature at it's most colorful, appealed to me. So we made our plans to go.

    As I was getting dressed, Philip - my husband, put his hand on his jaw (like he often does when he is hatching an elaborate plan) and said "We could go by that phone place I was telling you about and check them out. Squealing tire sounds could be heard in my head. "What....no, I don't want to go shopping!" I grunted. I know how he is when it comes to shopping - (it's an all day event).

    "This store is on the west side", and "We'd be heading that way anyhow," and "You need to pick out a phone," and "It won't take long," and "We'll get back home before dark (I have things to do in the garden)."- sales pitches came rolling from his mouth. He wanted to go look at phones. Me, being the easy mark that I am, said "OK, OK. I'll go but let's not spend all day looking at phones and phone plans.....UGH!" Then he does a turn around and says that he can't do it today because he doesn't have his latest bill with the account number on it and he was told he'd need a current bill. I breathed a sigh of relief.

     We get in the car, fire up the GPS/Garmin and set out for a beautiful day in nature. When we got to the west side of Indianapolis, Philip remarks "That phone place is right near here." I cringed. We have now started re-negotiations. "I thought you needed your bill with the account number." I argued.

"Let's just go look at the phones." he replied. And with that we programmed in the address for the phone place and headed their way.

      Right away we had trouble finding the place. It didn't have a store front. The shop was located in an old strip mall. We find the place. Amazingly enough, the parking lot was full. We park and head for the entrance. Let me describe what I saw. There were sliding doors, like you might see at Walmart, except these sliding, glass doors had metal strips (like you see in cabinets to support the shelves) screwed across the inside of the glass panes - thereby thwarting any attempt to smash the glass and break into the building.

    Inside the building, Mariachi music blared from the sound system. The carpet had given up being a floor covering and was now working on becoming part of the concrete beneath it. There were booths everywhere. Mostly marked by their chain link fence walls covered over with pure blue tarps. Most of the merchants were selling tatooey design t-shirts, moped equipment , fancy/frilly little girl's party dresses or big girl's 'party' dresses.

    We proceeded to the back of this lovely assortment to find the phone place. A guy who looked to be about 16 stood in front of the counter. Another man, behind the counter was talking to a customer in Spanish. Philip approached the 16 year old (he was probably actually 25 but everyone looks like a baby to us).

      He started asking a million questions of this kid. And the young man tried to answer all of Philip's questions. They looked at the various phones that would be included in this 'new' phone deal. Then Philip asked more questions - something about programming and something about flashing. They looked at the phones again. Then Phil asked more questions, the kid went in back and brought out another phone, which they looked at and more questions were asked and then they looked at the first group of phones that they had previously discussed. I was losing my mind!

   At one point, when the kid went to ask a question of the 'man behind the curtain" (wall) (and he did this several times), I pulled Philip aside and asked him "Honey, has it occurred to you that these guys could be gone from here, this time next week?" Philip shook his head in agreement and the kid returned with more phone information. Then, they looked at the phones again.

     We ended up buying one new phone which turned out at check out was actually a used phone and we had my phone reprogrammed to accept the new service. We had to leave these phones at the phone place for all the reprogramming. So two hours after we'd first entered phone world for phones, we left phone world without phones and headed to Parke county and all of autumn's natural beauty.

     Around 6pm we started back towards home. Phil tried to call his brother on his old phone (they told him at the phone place that if he used his old phone to try to make a call and it didn't work, that meant that his new phone was reprogrammed). We decide to swing by the phone place and pick up our phones. It was a mad dash.

     We get to the phone place with about 30 or 40 minutes to spare. Unfortunately, they had not ''flashed' the phones. We wait and wait. The entire mall had taken on the aroma of sweaty, gym socks and over the sound system the folksy music had changed to a more Saturday night leaning with a  rapper crooning on about "F this" and "F that" in a 'lovely' chorus that never actually switched from the chorus. I look around at all the young kids running around in the place. Children who have to hang out at this joint because their families are trying to make a living. An hour after our arrival, we leave with Phil's new (used) phone, leaving mine behind because they were having trouble flashing it.

    As we headed home, Philip began to grumble about the whole phone place experience. "Nobody told me that this was a used phone, I didn't want a slide/touch screen, I should have" blah, blah, blah. At first, I almost tried to console him but then I just sat back and enjoyed the drive home. It's like they say, "experience is the best teacher."

    

 

 

Make Out Sessions

Life sized cut out of David Duchovny and Juliana Moore 

playing the part of Charleston Heston and Lee Radziwill's stand ins.

 

    It happened last week. I was working away at my desk in Anderson, Indiana when I heard a  male voice, half yelling, "Come back here!" At first, I thought someone was in the building, maybe in the hallway. I got up and went out in the hall. Nothing.
    I went back to my desk, figuring that it was probably someone passing in the street. Then I heard more loud talking. I looked up again and noticed the top of a man's head, just above the bottom part of the window in the show room. I eased over to see what was going on.

    The man looked like a young Charleston Heston, except, without a visible gun. He had yellow hair that was cut into a peach fuzz, flat top. He was in a loud, heated discussion with a woman on the sidewalk

    I got nervous. Was a woman being accosted in the street? Should I call the police? Maybe I should call across the street to have the school maintenance guys come check on this. I was in a quandary.
     I went back to the hallway to peak out from the side. The guy had a yellow scooter sitting beside the sidewalk. It was the smallest scooter I've ever seen. Something a clown would ride.
    The conversation in front of the building continued. They were oblivious to the commotion I had started making in the building to distract them and perhaps get them to move along. After all, if I did have a customer show up to buy cabinets, would they be willing to interrupt this dramatic scene from As the Stomach Turns?"
   And then, things got worse. They started making out right in front of my building! He had the woman pressed against the building and the talking had ceased. Ugh!
    In an act of desperation, I went to the door, threw it open, and interrupted their lovely moment. Wanting to say "Get a room!", I instead asked in a voice sweet as an angel, "Are you guys waiting to get in the building?"
   They both turned my way, a little surprised, and said, almost in unison "Oh, no." without embarrassment or explanation. The guy immediately turned back to look at the woman.  I looked at her, too. She smiled at me, adjusted her sunglasses and gave a small shrugg of her shoulders - like 'that scene went well.' She looked like a movie star with those big, Lee Radziwill (Jackie O's sister) sunglasses and the lovely thin scarf around her neck.
   I went back to my desk and left them to settle up in the street and move on. Suddenly it occurred to me that some kind of soap opera was taking place right out front. High drama, free of charge and if they had waited until night time, the street light on the corner of the building would have lit the scene perfectly.

Return of the Permanent Records

 

     I mentioned last week that I'm looking for funny things in the day to day world. I asked my husband what he thought of my last blog entry describing the humor of middle aged aches and pains. His response, "It sounded like you were feeling sorry for yourself." Obviously, he "gets me."

   I was not feeling sorry for myself. I was just making observations that I thought were funny. And I could do this with any age group. Babies are hilarious because of the mind trapped in an evolving body. Teenagers are funny with their braces and pimples and OMG everything is everything thinking. Pick an age group, I can make fun of it. And I'm sure that in 20 years when I am forgetting names (including my own), it will be hilarious.

    Well, I had lunch with my son, Barnaby, this past Wednesday.  I asked him if he was keeping up with all the election coverage, especially with it being the day after the vice presidential debate. Nonchalantly, he says "No, I've not really been following it." Stunned, I asked why not.  And my Zen Master son lays it out very simply for me. "At this point, everyone has made up their minds. (Even the undecideds have decided.) There's nothing you can say to change anyone's mind at this point. I know who I'm voting for so what's the point of listening to anymore?" Case closed. I felt instantly better. The campaign season, which is way too long, just tugs relentlessly at our society. There's a sense of waiting to see which team will win out. Whose heart will be broken? Political ads in abundance. Businesses hold back, waiting for an answer. Election year is a slow death. With my son's Zen answer, I thought "yeah, there's peace in being decisive." So, I'm ready and waiting. Now if I can just stop checking the polls which scare or delight me on any given day.

     Later in our discussion, the topic of permanent records came up. I was telling him that "If I could go back in time to when I was a teenager in school and still retain what I know now, I would definitely be a handful for my teachers. If they threatened that my actions were gonna be recorded in my permanent records, I'd say 'make sure you get everything in there.'"

  Barnaby says "Mom, that comment's going into your permanent records! Everything you've done since leaving high school is in there! "

    I gave him a questioning look and said "The high school that I went to is no longer a high school. It's been closed down for years."

    He said "That doesn't matter, there's a file cabinet sitting out in an open field with your permanent records in it."

    We both burst out laughing!

 

 

 

Killer Comedy

 

     The above picture is me in my 1969 "going-to-prom" best. My mother paid for that Kardashian/Jersey Shore hair style. It lasted through 3 dance numbers and fell apart like the souffle that it appears to be. I am just posting it to announce my new love. Comedy.

    The dress was beautiful. It featured a gathered skirt that just barely touched the floor and sweet, puffy, 'poet' sleeves with see through dotted Swiss fabric. There was gobs of lace. I could have gone from the prom to my wedding and never missed a beat.

    Now, on to comedy. After I wrote that piece on Political Pon Farr (weeks ago), I felt free. It was my coming out party. In that entry, I may have revealed my last, personal secret - except for the stuff that you'll never get out of me! NEVER!  I've come to realize that I've spent this portion of my life on planet Earth in my "Fear Cave." Not wanting to step on any toes or raise anyone's blood pressure. Well, my parents are in heaven now, so who cares? Now that I am out of the cave and the sun is blinding my eyes, I am on the look out for funny things.

    And my timing couldn't be better. I am now entering a hilarious time in my life. My hair is getting thinner so parts of my scalp peak through.That's comedy tonight! And the hair that hangs from my head is brittle and breaks at the sound of a bird chirping.

    I've never had great teeth. I once had a dentist ask me if I smoke. I told him "no", since I in fact do not smoke. So he asked if I drink coffee. Well, me and coffee are like that (&) so he suggested that I use a straw to drink coffee. I can tell you that when I am dead and gone and my mouth full of teeth are slowly becoming a puddle of molecular goo in the Earth, it won't matter a hill of beans if they are pearly white or cracked mocha - I'm not using a straw to drink coffee.

        (Excuse me for the break, I had to go get a cup of coffee).

    I think the funniest thing that is happening now in my hilarious life is my walking. I get out of a car and give myself a second to let the hip bone re lock into my pelvis. I take a step just to see if all joints are engaged. The other day, it occurred to me that maybe as we get older we should disguise the re locking joints by doing the cool dude strut, similar to the one that Kramer did on Seinfeld when he walked down the street wearing the Joseph's Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat - dreamcoat. I was explaining this theory to my daughter in law and she laughed out loud. She later confessed that she thought when I said cool dude strut, that I was talking about the pants on the ground crowd who hold onto the front of their pants while the back of their pants let it all hang out. When I consider the acid reflux that occasionally grips my colon, that might not be a bad idea. 

                           Me, holding white gloves - with a long sleeved dress, ready for the
                             prom. We were a family of nine kids, so the door got a little wear.
                                             Note the square of silence around my head.
                         

Curiosity Has Landed

 

 

 

     A couple of months ago, the Curiosity spaceship was headed for a rendezvous with planet Mars. A lot of planning went into this meet up. As time got closer to the landing, more and more media outlets were reporting various aspects of Curiosity's journey; spaceship design, what the landing would look like, interviews with assorted individuals associated with the landing, etc.

     I've always been a bit of a space nut, so I admit that I was a excited for what was soon to happen. Then the big moment arrived. Unfortunately, since I live in the Eastern Daylight Time part of the country, I wouldn't be able to see the live broadcast of the landing unless I stayed up until 1 AM.

     Though I'm a big, space nut - I'm an even bigger nut for the restorative powers of a good night's sleep. I was in a quandary. Then my husband says "Go ahead and get a good night's sleep. You can always see the taped versions on tomorrow's morning shows."  So I agreed and went to bed.

    At approximately 5 minutes within the time that Curiosity was to land, I woke up - wide eyed.  I decided to get up and see if the wonder ship had landed safely and accurately or would NASA be crying buckets of tears.

     I turned on the television. None of the local stations chose to run the story - even at the 1 AM hour and since we don't have any type of cable television - I fired up the Internet.

     I came in on the scene with all these folks at the Jet Propulsion Lab, hugging each other, slapping five, fist pumping and some even tearing up. Curiosity had landed! And landed precisely! I was thrilled.

    I sat and watched the proceedings for about 15 minutes. During that time, the hugging, slapping five, tears and a bit of appropriate yelling took place. At about 10 minutes into the celebrating, all the JPL people returned to their work stations. And a disembodied voice started talking scientific lingo to them. 

     They had started a systems check. Everyone was in serious science mode! And the voice said something to the effect "science,science, science at 20 knots per second" (I'm making these words up because the science talk was Greek to me). And as soon as the voice said this the entire room broke out in huge laughter with more slapping fives.  It was like watching rats in a maze as I tried to figure out what they were saying. It was all over my head.

    They got quiet again. Paying deathly attention to their work. Then the voice said "Science, science, science 250 kill-o-vessels" -(or something like that - but not that). And again with the big laughter!

    This scene struck me funny. I was grinning about it as I made my way back to bed. As I lay down and was drifting off to sleep, another image came to my mind - an image that tells this story in a short, precise manner - and I did in fact laugh out loud right there in bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Political Pon Farr

 

 

     The other night, as I was settling down to sleep, I started to think about politics. Well, what a way to ruin a good night's sleep! I couldn't help it. My brain had ceased up on the topic and there I lay, weighing it all out.

     I started to ponder why it is that people get so 'strident in their corner 'when it comes to the general election. Already this year, I've seen or heard tell of friendships ending over political views. Folks are being un-friended, right and left. My own, younger, sister 'very gently' told me of her love for Fox political news, adding that she doesn't like to talk politics. And she asked the question "Why can't people get it?" (it being, this view - her view - the real answer.) It's the same question I've asked as well with the opposite view in mind. How is it that I can take in all the information and come up with the reasonable, logical choice and yet so many around me choose the opposite or wrestle with indecision? Indecision! Are you kidding me? This isn't rocket science!

    I have to admit, my sister was not revealling anything new. This summer when I was in the mountains of North Carolina visiting my family, everyone was watching the FOX News, cable channel. It was almost cult-like. Every house I went to had the same FOX News channel on - every house! At some point, it felt like a scene from the Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I was kind of afraid to fall asleep, in fear that a life sized replica of myself would be the one waking up and tuning in to FOX - "All praise Chris Wallace! All praise Shawn Hannity!" I love my family to bits but I have to confess, it was spooky.

     Laying there, in my bed, I had a revelation. This political situation every four years is very much like the Vulcan - Pon Farr. If you're unfamiliar with Pon Farr, I refer to the Star Trek (original series) television show. Mr. Spock (the science officer) was a character in that show. He was a Vulcan and was at all times logical, reasonable and rock solid, reliable. Then the season of Pon Farr came upon him and he became a hot head! He got into fights, got aggressive with the women and just plain couldn't hold a thought. Then Dr. McCoy (down to Earth and folksy MD) explained that Mr. Spock was experiencing Pon Farr - the Vulcan mating heat. Spock would need to go to his home planet and mate with a predetermined mate - or die!

     So they take the big ship Enterprise to planet Vulcan. There, they discover that the predetermined mate is a floozy who has a lover on stand by. She chose Captain Kirk as the person who would fight for her. She would win out because she didn't have to mate with Spock (as the battle to the death would lift the Pon Farr)  and she would have her lover. A brilliant move! So Spock had to fight his dearest friend to the death.  Spoiler Alert - they faked the Captain's death, Spock came out of the heat and they flew off to their next adventure.

     Now tell me, isn't that just like the general election season? I mean really? It's like "Ugg, there's my friend - the Democrat - what a loser!" Or "There's Jim and Suzie with their ritzy-titzy Republican friends. They're so obnoxious!"  People get pissy with each other and yet, a week after the general election is over, the heat has lifted and you're thrilled to see your friends, the previous election - a distant memory.

     There in the darkness, I giggled a little at this line of thinking. That's when a new question popped into my head. "Why is it that I was born into a family of 9 kids and from all I can tell, I am the only Democrat among all these Republicans?" There I said it, I'm a Democrat. I don't talk a lot about it so the confession feels like an AA moment.  I have voted for Republicans before, so I'm no Yellow Dog Democrat. At least there's that.

     I began to think about my childhood. I will admit that I might have been a bit argumentative. (If my siblings are reading this - yeah, I said it.) My Dad and I argued politics all the time. He was a staunch Republican - a Yellow Dog Republican! As I lay there thinking back, counting back through the various administrations to my childhood. I arrived at Nixon. And then I remembered John Fitzgerald Kennedy. I was ten years old when he was shot dead in Dallas.  My fifth grade teacher came into the classroom crying and informed us of the president's death. The news was heart crushing. Especially since my Mama was hundreds of miles away, helping my oldest sister with her new baby.

     There he was; the president - young, handsome, articulate. A Dad. The following days were filled with TV images of the president, the assassin and the assassin's assassin. The president's funeral with the riderless horse and the president's son, saluting as the body of our slain leader moved through the streets. It still makes me cry. My Mom was home by then so that was some comfort. The Kennedy era touched me with it's big ideas for the nation.

     Then Nixon and Vietnam and women's rights and civil rights. My Dad and I had a lot of areas to discuss, heatedly. He once called me a "Commie Pinko," and "A Red Agent." He was always going on about the Communist lurking at every corner. So being called a Commie Pinko by him might have warped me.

      I'm saying all that to say this: When I turned 18 - voting age. My Dad drove me to register to vote. And in defiance to him, that great, big, Republican, know it all, I registered Democrat! When he found out, he was a bit shocked. I could see it in his eyes. He grimaced at me with a look of disbelief. Yet, there was a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. He knew defiance when he saw it. However, I don't think he ever got over it. He once told me "For one against me, I have eight with me." God, he took politics personally! In his later years, he use to kid me about our arguments, so I think we were OK with each other at the end.

      I was pondering this whole sequence, there in the dark of my bedroom and I had to laugh. Me registering democrat is my "tattooed forearms," it's my  "mohawk hair cut" (died red and yellow), it's my "goth look," my "pierced nose," my "boyfriend of a different race."  Registering democrat is my act of defiance to my Dad that lasts until this day.

      These revelations in the dark have been very enlightening! Ultimately, we're all in this together so whoever is elected in November, will be my president. That is what a citizen does, they accept the decision and move on. We've got a great country here in the USA so let's stay friends.

    

 

 

 

My Falls

                     

 

     Yesterday, at my studio in Anderson, I walked out to the dumpster to investigate a large, metal, door sticking out of the freshly dumped, dumpster. The door was wedged tight inside that metal box. It hung there, not all the way out - not all the way in, like some kind of weird passage way into a world beyond. I had no idea where this door came from but figured my local, trash pickers would be along shortly to pry it out and haul it away for the metal. Bless their hearts - they've saved me a lot of grief. 

     I was in a good mood. The morning had started at the end of a good night's sleep. I was ready to take on the day. I turned from the dumpster and started back toward the pavement. Suddenly, my right foot caught on a chunk of wood protruding, barely half an inch, from the dirt. I started to fall. Surprised, I remember thinking, "Can this be happening?" I moved my left foot into position to catch myself. That move might have worked too, if I hadn't brought my freshly freed - right foot - up to gain my balance but instead tripped on the edge of the concrete driveway. I was the victim of a double trip! The picture above is sort of what it looked like except I could see the individual specks of concrete particles edging closer to my face. For the life of me, I cannot tell you how this happened, other than pure instinct, but I remember thinking "Get your hand up to protect your face!" And my right hand slammed into position and saved my face and eyeglasses. For the rest of the day, my hand ached and could take very little pressure. Even turning the keys in my car's ignition brought grimacing pain.

     My loved ones all asked about me going to have my hand seen about but we all know how I feel about going to the doctor.  I said "I'll wait and see."

    This hesitancy got me to thinking about the last fall I had almost two years ago. My husband and I were walking our dog along a trail I'd cut through a thicket on our farm. He was telling me profusely how to train the dog to heal, sit, etc. At some point I'd had enough of his lectures. So I turned and huffed off back towards home. The sun was setting, I was pissed and hurrying. So I failed to see the small stump sticking out of the ground. Boom! I hit the ground like a sack of spuds! 

     My ribs were in pain for days. I eventually went to the doctor and got xrayed only to find out that these old bones can take a beating. Nothing broken, just bruised and radiated! 

     Yesterday, as I worked away on an art project that is weeks behind schedule. I started thinking about my falls. Suddenly I began to laugh out loud. My memory went back to my Grandma Stevens. She was always such a great story teller. She was born in 1893. She knew about life during the horse and buggy era. She told of mica mines in the mountains of North Carolina. And using dynamite boxes to make all sorts of play gear.  In her later years, she began to tell the stories of her various falls. When she was 9 years old, she fell as she climbed up to a cliff to gather hen eggs. A twig she'd been using to pull herself up, gave way and she landed on a big, flat, rock, on the back of her head.

     When she was 11, she made a sled and put it on a creek, frozen over with ice. As she started to climb into it - boom - down she went onto the back of her head again.

     And another fall she mentioned, happened when she walked out onto the front porch, fell off the porch onto her stomach and lost her breath.

     My grandmother wrote about her falls - among other things- and we were left with a nice journal of many of her trials and tribulations.  She chronicled about 15 different falls or accidents in her life. So after my falls, I got out her journal to reread about  some of her falls. The one below is a very significant accident. She was around 40 or 50 years old when it happened. She wore support hose for the rest of her days as a result of this and I can still see her changing her bandaged legs - some 30 or 40 years after the "9th accident" happened. In her own words:
 

 "Still at Clinchfield - I had a wash house out back yard had in a furnice a large black wash pot an old wringer washing machine started washing one day got them all through the first watter one of the children called me it was time to come in and make biscuits for dinner I then picked up an old 8 lbs lard bucket diped it in that old black pot got it almost in the boil come out and spilled that boiling water on my legs and feet had silk hose when I pulled them down part of the skin come off my legs I had to have a Dr that time it was 8 weeks before I walked this is my 9th acident.
I Remember."

     She was tough.  It made me feel sad for her, having to deal with such a horrible accident. My little trip is miniscule in comparison.  I woke up this morning with my right hand feeling better but because I took a tumble, and remembered her with her many falls, it was like having her here to comfort me.