Hell via an 800 number

Hell via an 800 number:

OR the Number of the Beast is NO LONGER 666

A friend told me once, and I've heard it repeatedly since, that it is not a question of IF your computer will break down, it is a question of WHEN.

I have found this to be a truism of the current age.

Remember, I was born at the middle of the past century: I grew up with telephones-- one per household unless you were wealthy-- and television-- and I remember when color TV was new and exciting.


I remember my Grandpa Bill AND my Grandpa Ernie each with their new color tvs-- long before my parents got one. They just couldn't leave the color controls alone-- flesh tones were always a little green or a little red...

But I digress.

The point is, even though I can remember what a big deal a FAX machine was when they first showed up, it's hard for me to remember how to get along without my computer.

Especially without my laptop.



Which is what I had to do, for many weeks.



To really appreciate this story, one must go back almost two years ago. When I first bought this current laptop, I chose this particular brand BECAUSE the laptop I had before this one was the same brand, and lasted for five years. In fact, that laptop only died because I accidently spilled coffee on the keyboard.



Apparently, this is something that is terribly upsetting to laptops.



I have learned that the typical lifespan of a laptop is three years, so my laptop pre-coffee was a veritable Methuselah. AND when I had a problem which needed service with the first laptop in the first year (still under warranty) I received said service promptly and with minimal fuss.



So I bought my second laptop from the same brand.



I didn't buy the extended service warranty. My sons (the techno experts in my life) said that most likely anything that might go wrong would go wrong in the first year, and the extended warranty was another $349.99.



Indeed, something DID go wrong within the first year-- I had a problem that needed solving just two weeks until the warranty expired. So I called. And waited, as one always does, "for the next available service representative."



Finally, a voice (with an accent that told me his given name was most likely NOT Sean, as the voice claimed) responded.



First, he said it wasn't under warranty.



I said, oh yes it was, I am holding the receipt.



He said, we do not show your warranty. You will need to fax it to us.

(Apparently, once one INVENTS the fax, one must use it constantly.)

ARGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

So, we faxed our receipt, called again, waited again, finally spoke to a rep, finally discovered that (duh) the problem was not one easily resolved by plugging in the computer or rebooting it (I'm not THAT much of a techno idiot, I did try that!), we finally sent the laptop in and got it repaired.

However, WHILE I was speaking to the rep and resolving the issue, I caved and bought the %^&*&^%^&* extended warranty.

I said: That's 3 years from TODAY December 2006, right? for $349.99?

He said: Yes, correct.

(Now, mind you, he SAID this: he did not type it. So I should not have been surprised when I received the receipt for the warranty which was dated for 3 years FROM DATE OF PURCHASE OF LAPTOP, in other words about 2 years from date of purchase of warranty/date of conversation with "Sean".)

HOWEVER, I have now purchased warranty which means, PEACE OF MIND, right?

Fast forward to December 2007.

Apparently, it needs to be December, when everyone is busy buying new computers/ software/ problems.

Actually, it starts earlier. October. We are having problems with the laptop. It is fading out to WHITE (not black, WHITE).

Sometimes it will start, sometimes not.

Sometimes it will start in safe mode, sometimes not.

I first try to invoke the sacred warranty myself: I start the livechat with my company, but NO ONE SHOWS UP.

(A few days later I get an e-mail: Dear Lisa Kander,
"Thank you for contacting XXX Company Care.
This e-mail is a follow-up to your recent XxX Chat experience. It has come to our attention that you were not able to complete the process or respond to our message. We would like to take this opportunity to apologize for the inconvenience.
Unfortunately, you were non-responsive. According to our XXX policy, we should not wait until more than 6 minutes. So, I request you to contact us. One good news is that you can contact us at any time. we are available 24/7"
Yeah, well, I WAS THERE AND YOU DIDN'T RESPOND!)

Well, I know I will see my son who is one of my techno gurus (you have to have many techno gurus if you are me with a potent Personal Electro Magnetic Force Field and limited techno knowledge)

So when my son gets there I put him onto the problem and he calls the company who say:

We don't show you as under warranty.

Oh, yes, she is under warranty. I have it right here.

You will need to fax it to us.

WE WILL IF WE NEED TO BUT I AM LOOKING RIGHT AT IT THIS IS THE NUMBER AND WE ARE UNDER WARRANTY.

Finally, they admit that we are under warranty.

My son explains the problem.

The tech on the other end says, Your mom's laptop is getting a little old. Might she consider upgrading to a new laptop.

My son (who has a sense of justice, fairness, and common sense that we have instilled in him) says: SHE SPENT $349.99 SO THAT SHE WOULDN'T HAVE TO BUY A NEW LAPTOP!

Eventually, after asking if the laptop is plugged in, if we have tried rebooting, etc, etc, they finally recommend we back up all data, reinstall all programs and see if that fixes our problem of:

FADES TO WHITE

Well, believe it or not, my son, married and well over 21, does not live at home so he actually leaves to go home and I am left to back up my data.

Which takes me awhile.

Because I am not techno savvy, and because I have a life.

So I finally get everything -- or as much as I can-- backed up, and find an island in time when I can actually call in to the 1-800 number.

I wait for the next available service representative.

Finally, I am connected to a voice (whose accent declares that it is extremely unlikely that her name is Barbara, as she claims).

I describe the problem, I give her all the numbers from my phone, my computer, my warranty.

She says, we don't show you as under warranty.

I say, I am looking right at it. I paid THREE HUNDRED FORTY NINE DOLLARS AND NINETY NINE CENTS and I am UNDER WARRANTY.

She says, we don't show you as under warranty.

Using extreme restraint (because I don't want to have to replace the telephone once I rip it out of the wall) I say, I am going to give the phone to my husband and I know he will want to speak to your supervisor because I paid good money to you people so that I would be under warranty and I gave you all the numbers and I AM HOLDING THE WARRANTY IN MY HANDS.

So my husband takes the phone, and apparently, either because he has a penis (and I have a vagina) or because he is a bass (and I am a soprano) they suddenly discover


I AM under warranty!

So they tell me to reboot (which I have done) and re-seat the RAM, and take out and replace the battery and etc etc and low and behold we still

FADE TO WHITE

and so "Barbara" agrees that we need to send it in.

So, a few days later I get the FEDEX box, and box up ye olde laptop and send her off and keep watching the tracking e-mail...

Well, it's DECEMBER in the WESTERN WORLD and there's this little HOLIDAY that affects shipping and ...

ANYWAY, rather than a week it's two, but ultimately I get back my laptop (on which I am now typing) and it is repaired/healed YET

I still ask:

WHY don't they have a record that I am under ((&Y((^&())T%%%$% warranty??

WHY does the service rep insist that his/her name is Sean/Kelly/Barbara/John/Pam when CLEARLY his/her name is Hussein/Issam/Malika/Yaida...?

WHY can't service be SERVICE?

"Your call is important to us..."

Yeah, right.

But, at least I have my laptop back.

of her own volition

In today's news:

Today a headline caught my eye and the story broke my heart.

Galveston, Texas: the body of a two year old girl was found in Galveston Bay.

Although awaiting the results of DNA tests for confirmation, officials are fairly certain that the child is Riley Ann Sawyers. They are holding Riley Ann's mother and stepfather.

According to the mother's statement, the child was beaten with leather belts, repeatedly had her head held under water and was thrown across the room-- among other things.

"The mother told authorities how the girl died "of her own volition," sheriff's Maj. Ray Tuttoilmondo said Tuesday on CBS' 'The Early Show.'"

Indeed? Of her own volition? What does that mean? This TWO YEAR OLD begged to be murdered? The three skull fractures were self-inflicted?

She was "asking for it?"

How can this happen? How is this possible?

According to this horrific story, that simply gets more horrific, the mother's statement detailed that she and the stepfather placed the body in a storage shed for two months before placing the body in a plastic bin and dumping it in the bay. The mother and stepfather forged papers to "prove" that the child was taken by social services.

What is the story here? What could a two year old do that could provoke such -- what? cruelty? rage?

Who can these people be to commit such outrages on the very one, the vulnerable one, for whom they were supposed to be responsible?

darkness

I have been here before.

I know this place too well.

The days are long here, and the nights are longer still.

Nothing has value; shades of gray with no contrast.

No light.

The geography is too familiar-- the terrain rough in its eternal sameness.

How is it that I find my way here so easily-- and cannot find the way out.

D-Town

MY TOWN:

Motor City Named Nation's Most Dangerous

The Grande Mariner cruises on the Detroit River next to the city's skyline i...

By DAVID N. GOODMAN, AP

DETROIT —

In another blow to the Motor City's tarnished image, Detroit pushed past St. Louis to become the nation's most dangerous city, according to a private research group's controversial analysis, released Sunday, of annual FBI crime statistics.

The study drew harsh criticism even before it came out. The American Society of Criminology launched a pre-emptive strike Friday, issuing a statement attacking it as "an irresponsible misuse" of crime data.

The 14th annual "City Crime Rankings: Crime in Metropolitan America" was published by CQ Press, a unit of Congressional Quarterly Inc. It is based on the FBI's Sept. 24 crime statistics report.

The report looked at 378 cities with at least 75,000 people based on per-capita rates for homicide, rape, robbery, aggravated assault, burglary and auto theft. Each crime category was considered separately and weighted based on its seriousness, CQ Press said.

Last year's crime leader, St. Louis, fell to No. 2. Another Michigan city, Flint, ranked third, followed by Oakland Calif.; Camden, N.J.; Birmingham, Ala.; North Charleston, S.C.; Memphis, Tenn.; Richmond, Calif.; and Cleveland.

___________________________________

I ended the quote here to let you know that my OTHER town, Flint, is number THREE!

I will be in Detroit today, and I was in Flint yesterday. Such is my life.

education

Working on my dissertation project involves working everyday Monday through Friday in a school setting.

Whew!

As noted in an earlier post, I am not a fan of institutions. This school at which I am working is a "good" school. The standardized tests that the students take (the MEAP here in Michigan) to assess the school's performance show excellent scores.

And yet.

What learning can happen in 40 minutes? Where is the continuity? Where is the depth?

warning signs

http://www.healthyminds.org/cmhdepression.cfm

How do I know if I have major depression?
The symptoms of depression include:

• persistently sad, anxious, irritable, empty mood
• loss of interest or pleasure in activities that were once enjoyed, including sex
• trouble sleeping or sleeping too much
• significant appetite and/or weight changes
• difficulty thinking, concentrating, remembering, making decisions
• feeling tired, rundown, loss of energy
• feeling restless, agitated or physical slowing
• feelings of guilt, worthlessness, hopelessness, helplessness, emptiness
• persistent physical symptoms such as a headaches, digestive problems, chronic pain that do not respond to routine treatment
• recurrent thoughts of death or suicide, or suicide attempts

Not everyone with depression experiences every symptom. The number and severity of symptoms vary among individuals and over time.

death of a dream

Due to a number of circumstances, a dear dream of mine seems to be near its doom.

We can none of us do it all ourselves; I have realized this more and more.

Part of me recognizes that yes, indeed, we each need to make our own paths; yet a part of me has to question the timing of at least some of these events.

Part of me is bitter: how could you weep, and tell me that I changed your life and saved your life... and now walk away when my utility to you is ended, even though now is the time I have need of you.

mortality

My father said that when his father died, my dad suddenly had a new and immediate relationship with his own mortality.

It was as though all my dad's life, his father had stood between my dad and the Grim Reaper.

Somehow, even well into adulthood, our parents remain the Giants that we feared and revered all those years ago when we were small. Somehow, we still are small in their presence.

Somehow, embarrassingly, almost shamefully, there is comfort in that.

Like the smug sense of false security when speeding just behind a motorist who is speeding faster than you: surely he will be caught and I will escape because... he is ahead of me.

But this is not so.

Every once in a while, the siren wails for the car behind. And whether there be Giants ahead or between, be we ever so small, we are always seen.

Live with joy. Know that this moment is all that is certain; fill it.

baby showers

So I went to a baby shower yesterday.

This is a ritual in our culture. Generally, these affairs are all-female events. The women, the carriers of the mitochondrial DNA, the daughters of Eve, gather to shower one of their number with abundance for the new life to come.

It is a useful ritual. I had a couple myself.



Like all rituals, these have an expected format. First, the in-gathering: women from different areas of the chosen one's life gather, meet and mingle. Each brings a gift deposited on a table or in a corner designated to receive the offerings.

Games are announced: for each package of diapers, a woman receives a ticket for a drawing. A giant baby bottle is passed around filled with jelly beans; we are each to guess how many.

Finally, a diaper pin rests on each placemat. Each woman is to put on her diaper pin. Each is to listen to hear when any one says the four letter word: BABY. If you hear this word, you win the speaker's pin, and any other pins she has collected.

She who wears the most pins at the end wins.



Then there is food: line up for cut up veggies, chicken, macaroni and cheese, Swedish meatballs. Later, there is a cake in impossible pastel shades.

Winners are drawn for the diaper lottery. The winner is announced in the bean-counting. The diaper-pin wearing, non-BABY-saying winner is not announced yet: save this for the end, when all have had plenty of chances to say the WORD.

The pinnacle... or at least, the POINT of the ritual takes the longest. This is the unwrapping of, displaying of, and cooing over of each and every gift.

How many ways can you say cute or soft?

I understand the utility of the ritual. Still, I was struck by the materialism, the consumerism.

The lost opportunities. Here is a gathering of women, at a moment of power. Rather than recognizing and celebrating the awesome creative power that moves through us, we squeal and giggle and nibble and niggle.

The baby this shower welcomed is known to be a girl. Pink and lavender colors washed over and through the gifts.

There was no strength here -- and there should be.

overextended

I really don't know how people do it.

I know that I am not the only one.

So many, many people are over-extended.

Working full time at a job. Working full time at a relationship. Working full time at a family. Continuing life long learning.

Working hard at playing! Working hard at relaxing!

As if!

Currently, I am teaching Sundays (2nd grade Hebrew and Jewish Theater), Mondays (undergraduate class in Intro to Theater), Tuesdays and Thursdays (3rd grade Hebrew). I am teaching/directing Mon-Fri for an hour a day (a Shakespearean production with 7th and 8th graders) and directing my youth theater troupe on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.

Saturdays are usually taken up with social obligations. See, it says "obligation" and it does feel more like an obligation than a day off.

So, how do people manage? I am eagerly awaiting the opening of the show in a few weeks, to relieve my Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday evenings.

Looking forward still more to January and the end of the Monday through Friday commitment.

How do people manage?

On top of this I am working on a relationship, a family, serving on a board, trying to participate in a religious community.

I feel stressed, struggling and sometimes desperate.

And guilty.

Because I'm not even "full-time" at anything.

And because my house is a mess.

How do other people manage? Full time jobs, families AND a clean and orderly house?

Red, White and Blue

September 11, 2007

At the school where I am conducting my dissertation project, today is "Red, White and Blue" Day. While I feel certain that the 7th and 8th graders that I am working with know why today is R, W & B day, I wonder what the kindergartners and first graders know, or think.



There is a movement afoot to make today a day of good deeds. That seems to me a good, a positive, a hopeful response to hatred.



Today I will be especially kind. I will mail off some donations. I will look people in the eyes and smile with love.

Remember there is not enough darkness in the world to put out the light of even one candle.

Travel

I am wondering if, perhaps, I am supposed to stay home for awhile.

It started when I traveled to visit my daughter in the Deep South. For the return flight, I arrived at the airport at approximately 4:00 pm to see that the plane was listed as "on time" for a 5:00 pm departure.

The flight was listed as "on time" half and hour later at 4:30.

The flight was listed as "on time" at 4:45.

Somehow, at 5:00 pm it was DELAYED. Delayed, in fact by an hour and a half. I got into a LONG line to talk to the airline employee at the gate, because I had a connecting flight. When I got to speak to the employee, she congratulated me on having planned a LONG layover, so I didn't need to switch my flight. I would arrive in time to make the connecting flight.

So I wait.

And wait.

And, when the appointed hour arrives, the flight is delayed... again...

So, I get in another long line. Finally speak to the airline rep, who says that yes, now I will miss my connecting flight so she rebooks me for THE NEXT MORNING at 6:30 a.m.

Yikes!

My dear daughter picks me up from the airport to spend the night with her once again, while our friend H, who also is to fly out the next morning, tries to get my flight switched to HER flight, which is leaving at a humanly-possible hour, such as 10:30 a.m.

To accomplish this switch, H goes on line, only to discover that I have been REBOOKED, again, as the 6:30 a.m. flight is canceled and I am now on an 11:00 a.m. flight.

Good thing we checked. Otherwise, I would have been SERIOUSLY ticked to arrive at 5:30 a.m. to find that my flight was canceled and I was rebooked and could have SLEPT.

That flight does leave, eventually, and in time to make my connecting flight in Atlanta.

Which is canceled.

There is a HUGE line waiting to speak to the airline reps. I get in line. I am in line for about 1/2 an hour when I get to a scanner that allows you to scan your boarding pass and find out if you are rebooked.

I am.

For 9:30 a.m. the NEXT MORNING.

I have already missed one rehearsal and had to send in a substitute director. THIS is NOT ACCEPTABLE! I won't accept 2 rehearsals missed and a 3 day flight home!

I call my husband and get him on the issue on line, and I get back IN line. Wait about another 40 minutes to speak to a human being, who first of all says that if it's weather related and not equipment related, they won't DO ANYTHING, but if it's equipment related...and waves me toward a bank of phones. I wait another 15 minutes for a phone to become available. I have to try three phones before one works; and am promptly put on hold for another half hour.

When I finally speak to a PERSON, the person is all sympathetic, books me on an evening flight and puts me on standby for the next available. She is not hopeful for the standby (remember all those lines? Clearly I am not the only one stranded.), but the standby will roll over to the next available.

So, I drag my luggage to yet another gate... to find that the standby flight has been moved to a different gate... trudge over there, not especially hopeful, explain all to my husband who has an hour drive to pick me up on the other end.

Then low and behold I am called at the last minute to board the standby flight, without even time to call my husband and alert him.

I arrive, safely, only about 24 hours later than planned.

So that was the air travel adventure.

My next adventure, Dear Reader, is a road trip to deliver my youngest child to NYC for her year of service to City Year.

We begin on Thursday of what shall forever be known as the Extended Weekend of HELL.

Thursday: Husband K and I (and daughter C) met with son J & daughter-in-law J in
Brighton (half-way point
between our home and theirs) at Best Buy for son J’s advice to daughter C on a laptop
purchase.

About Thursday: More than a week ago, C had told both my husband/her dad K and my son/her brother J that she
was keeping
Thursday night open for family, but apparently she forgot that because she made
plans with her boyfriend and his family and / or friends. So we had to squeeze
laptop purchase into the pre-dinner hours, and I loaned her OUR CAR so that she
had a safe drive and SHE didn’t pay for gas to get to her dinner
appointment 45 minutes away.

She left the laptop with us and J was going to clean up the trial ware
and ads that came with it… and discovered that the H key, the backspace key, and
the windows key did not work. We didn’t discover this until after taking J & J out to dinner so by now Best Buy was closed and I had to make time
somehow on Friday morning to drive to Best Buy to exchange laptops.


Friday, August 24: I wanted to leave before noon, and make it to my friend
W's home (in Reading, PA) by midnight. No such luck. K and I had packed our
1998 Ford Explorer… which we were planning on selling, since its manual
transmission was starting to act up… anyway, we had packed the Explorer with the
dresser that C wanted and the Ikea couch/futon that I had bought for Cl
that was carefully still in the box.


Since on Thursday I had fetched the Explorer home for C to pack; I
thought,she had mostly completed her packing. After all, she had asked me to
switch cars with K so she could pack.

But no, she still had PLENTY to pack... I left her to it while I drove back to
Brighton to exchange her laptop. When I returned home, C said we must change plans to meet her friend R, therefore take I-75 rather than I-23, the preferred route.

Oh well, it is only about 20 minutes or half an hour longer.

Plus the hour we spend with R at the Coney Island.

Later and later... and then there was construction so when W called, I said wouldn’t meet on
Friday, instead I would meet W Monday morning on my return trip.

So, we spent the night at motel for $86 and I took Cl to dinner late in the motel. I read for
awhile in bed while she checked e-mail. I barely was able to check email… the
wi-fi was slow, the room was hot until the air conditioning that we turned on kicked in, no
continental breakfast.

Saturday: C slept in, slow to get up, slow getting ready, barely checked out by 11:00
so another late start.

About this time, I am reminded of the problems with transmission, by the Explorer kicking from time to time as we drive through the mountains. Not pleasant.

We are trying and trying to get to NYC, and everything is taking longer than planned. FINALLY
get within about an hour or so of our destination-- and get a flat tire. On the busy interstate highway. On Saturday night. As the sun is beginning to set.

C says, we can change it.

I say, Noooo, that is why we have AAA

Call AAA, start unloading vehicle to get the spare tire (turns out spare is UNDER car,
but tools WERE under the packed items, so it wasn’t worthless… except…). It’s
hot, we are on the side of the busy interstate in NJ.

AAA arrives. Takes a while to figure out where is tool. Finally find tool. He
starts working on tire. After ½ hour, he concedes he will not be able to get
tire off, will tow car and drive us to NJ auto shop where car will be repaired
on MONDAY… it is SATURDAY. C has to be in Manhattan on Monday a.m. at 8:30
and all of her stuff is in the car.

I call dear husband K… GET US OUT OF HERE! Find a rental, SOMETHING… all rentals are closed on this lovely Saturday evening.

To make everything more interesting, at our home K is without power, as a tornado has struck a couple of blocks away.

As we are traveling in the tow truck (after having RELOADED the Explorer) I overhear our driver's walkie-talkie that a mechanic may come in on Sunday if necessary and they may find us accommodations overnight.

About this time I get a call from son J.

He says, I hear you are having some problems.

I say, Yes, indeed-- oh, wait I have a call coming in from New Jersey--

He says, that's why I called-- take that call!

So I take the call, which is from a cousin, of J's wife, who lives in New Jersey (where we are stranded).

She says, I have an idea.

I say, Wonderful! (with visions of rescue dancing in my brain)

She says, why don't you call Newark airport, take a cab to the airport, and then you can rent a car from the airport.

Well, I say, that is an idea I hadn't thought of. I will think about that.

I hang up. I call K.

I say, who is this crazy woman calling with a suggestion that will cost us at least $200???

He says, I don't know. I will keep working on it.

More time passes.

(By the way, I should mention that about an hour before we got the flat, I had a large iced tea. So it's been 3 or 4 hours, and I have to PEE. NOT helpful to my already sour attitude. You might say I was pissy.)

Now the cousin from New Jersey calls back.

She says, I had another idea.

I say, What?

She says, How about if we come and get you and you spend the night here, and I can loan you our car tomorrow.

I say, That would be lovely! Thank you so much.

I let C know this. We have now arrived at the automotive repair shop... which, thankfully, has a bathroom.

What a relief.

When I get back, C, who has been thinking about this, says, Do you think the cousin will drive me to Brooklyn tonight?

I say, I doubt it.

She says, Will you ask her?

I say, No, I won't.

C is beyond irritated with me, why can't I do this for her, it is SOOO important that she get to Brooklyn tonight, yada yada yada.

Fine, I say, if it is so important YOU ask her.

C says, I don't know her.

I say, NEITHER DO I!!!

At this point, when the great debate is whether matricide or infanticide is about to be committed, our AAA tow truck driving man walks in and says that: You're all set.

I say, What?

He says, One of our mechanics was hanging out here and he fixed your flat. You are good to go.

Hallelujah!

So I call the cousin, and have her call off her husband. We get back on the road.

Off we head for New York CIty and then Brooklyn.

Adventures here, too: For instance, I had no idea that the Holland tunnel takes EIGHT lanes of traffic down to TWO.

We somehow get through the tunnel.

Drivers that are passing us are signaling us. Finally one manages to let us know that sparks are flying from behind our car.

We pull over and check. Apparently, a long wire with a nut attached (part of what keeps the spare tire attached, if you have one), is dragging and sparking. Reassured that the car will not blow up, we continue driving. (Note: for the rest of the time that I drive this vehicle, helpful passers-by wave frantically and seek to alert me that my car is going to blow up. I smile and nod thanks.)

We are devotedly following the directions that my son A's friend N has phoned in to us because we had changed plans, and we needed revised directions, and A was on his way to work...

ANYWAY...

We are supposed to turn left on Myrtle, and we do.

Right on Washington, and we do.

Right on St. Marks.

There is no St. Marks. We go up and down the street several times in both directions and there is NO St. Marks. We are about to despair.

About this time, son A calls.

A says, Just checking to see how the drive is going with N's directions.

Are you near a computer!! We ask. There is no St. Marks, and we are SO close to our destination but there is no St. Marks! We need help!!

A asks, Where are you?

So I announce our cross streets.

A says, so you turn left on St. Marks...

We shout in unison, THERE IS NOT ST MARKS!!! Choose something ELSE!!

After A recovers his hearing, he finds an alternative and guides us, back on track, right to our destination.

Whew!

So, I'll breeze over late night Sunday the wonderful helpful apartment mate who helped us unload, the shopping on Sunday, and hassles and heartaches and hugs.

Skip all that.

On to:

Sunday night:
I want to start out while it is still light, but no. My plan is to drive about 3 hours, close to my friend W's but spend the night at a hotel. I have a lot of work on my dissertation that I am burning to do. My plan is to brunch with my friends on Monday morning, and drive on home, arriving in Michigan sometime around 10 pm or so.

One would think that finding a motel along the interstate highway would not be a difficult task; however, apparently it is, at least on the East Coast. I drive until I am out of the mega-la-polis, and start looking for lodging. I plan to get a room and be checked in by 10:00 pm.

Nothing.

It's 11, still nothing.

Meanwhile, the Explorer is having serious issues with the transmission. It's a manual transmission. It's flashing lights at me. Every time I sweep off the high way to get gas or look for a motel, I have more and more trouble getting the car in gear.

You NEED gears when you are traveling through the Poconos.

Finally, it's after midnight, I find a sign for a motel in Allentown, PA, I get off the highway, I follow the signs, I arrive to see:

NO VACANCIES

And now I'm navigationally challenged and having trouble finding the highway again. I'm tired. I decide: Screw it! I'm sleeping in a parking lot.

I find a strip mall that is well lit and has a Panera Bread restaurant. I figure I'll get up at the crack of dawn, take my laptop into Panera Bread, find out where I am and how to get to where I'm going.

Only, the parking lot is SO brightly lit, and I am too long and too wide for the seats in the Explorer. I can't sleep. I CAN'T.

*sigh*

So, I figure, what the heck, I'll drive over by Panera and see if I can get a signal. I probably can't but I'll try.

And would you believe it, I get a signal!

Hallelujah!

I google "Panera Bread, Allentown PA"

I know where I am!

I google "Days Inn, Allentown PA"

Up comes a number!

I call. They have vacancies!

I mapquest, and before 2:00 a.m. I am at last checked in, with a bed, and all.

I must tell you, though, that the transmission is getting more and more frightening.

And I must face the mountains in my driving.

So, next morning when I call husband K with my progress, I tell him about the car and the dangers thereof.

I start driving to the W's.

K calls back.

He says, There's a flight out of Harrisburg tonight. I'll book you. We'll sell the car in PA. It's not worth it.

And, with some scrambling, that is what we did. We found an automotive shop that was willing to take the car to auction, my friend W drove me to the airport, and I arrived, at long last, home sweet home.

back again

back at last.

Too much to do.

Somehow, will do it.

Working on dissertation project.

need to create 4, count 'em, 4 syllabi:
3rd grade Hebrew
Jewish Theater
Intro to Theater
-- dissertation project--

write a script

cast a play

and more

whew1

marriage

Those who know me know that I feel quite conflicted about marriage. I am a participant. I have been married now for over a quarter of a century. Faithful that entire time. Raised four children.

All carry my husband's name.

This marriage has been a source of stability for my husband and for all four of my children. And, let's face it, for me.

And yet...

I don't fit well in institutions. Marriage is an institution. Like organized religion. Like school systems.

Like prison.

Definition: from About.com
in·sti·tu·tion (ĭn'stĭ-tū'shən, -tyū'-)
n.

1. The act of instituting.
2. 1. A custom, practice, relationship, or behavioral pattern of importance in the life of a community or society: the institutions of marriage and the family.
   2. Informal. One long associated with a specified place, position, or function.
3. 1. An established organization or foundation, especially one dedicated to education, public service, or culture.
   2. The building or buildings housing such an organization.
   3. A place for the care of persons who are destitute, disabled, or mentally ill.

--- Look at definition 3.c.

Gives one pause.

This discomfort I have with the institution of marriage surfaces from time to time. Sometimes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, I can determine the trigger.

I've had several recently.

The play my daughter is performing in is "Dinner with Friends" and marriage, the good and the bad and the simply mundane is the play's subject. In this play, the break up of one marriage has a major impact on the marriage of their close friends.

Recently, I was visiting with my own recently divorced friend.

Other triggers for me have been my birthday-- time passing; and struggles with my youngest child-- obligation and ties, without gratitude or reward.

My friend, in her first year post-divorce, was wild and free. Now, as she has settled somewhat into her new single status, she is somewhat more contemplative. She reckons some of the costs. She has had to deal with some of the fallout.

Still, she pushes and praises and proselytizes her freedom. For her, I think, much of it is true. Her marriage was a bad one. For a variety of reasons, divorce was probably best for her. However, I think the costs are higher than she is willing to admit. I think the positives are somewhat overstated.

Maybe it's just sour grapes on my part. I have to admit that part of me envies her kicking off the traces, her freedom, her opportunities to be wild.

In my heart of hearts, I still believe myself to be the wild, free and passionate young woman I once was. But I am threatened in my belief about who I am, in part by my friend. Am I truly still the wild one when I live in this cage of middle-class marriage and abide by its rules?

Part of what bothers me about marriage is its very origin: it is the sale of the woman by her father to her husband.

My age bothers me. In the culture in which I live, there is no real status or benefit for growing older, especially if you are a woman. From here, at 51, to at least 80, there is no reward at all for aging. No additional respect. No great opportunities (unless one considers AARP membership an opportunity). At 80, or older, one begins to get some notice for mere survival. Make it to 90 with faculties intact and you get more notice. If you make it to 100, with faculties intact, you get some real notice and attention.

Although, I don't know that one really gains respect. Rather, one is a novelty, almost a freak. Age, in today's culture, gets one condescension, sometimes care, but really no respect or appreciation for a life lived, for wisdom gained.

The struggles with my youngest underscore this lack of respect or appreciation. I realize that this child-- now 18-- is in fact egocentric in the extreme. It's not about me, it's about this child-- at least in the teen's perspective. Still, I suffer a fair amount of abuse from this child. It has lessened somewhat in the past couple of months. A few months ago, when the situation was really difficult, my oldest child told me: "Mom, if this were your spouse treating you this way, you would have divorced two years ago."

And this is true. But children, born into a marriage, cannot be divorced. I am stuck: I will never NOT be this child's mother. Some obligations that come with this relationship, especially legal ones, are now ending, as the child has reached 18. Some obligations are cultural, emotional and virtually inescapable.

This is part of what I dislike about marriage: that one takes on obligations that are virtually inescapable. Divorce is a possibility; but even here, as my friend is learning, one is still bound up with the other, through children, mutual friends, mutual history.

Can one ever truly escape the past?

Which brings me back to "Dinner with Friends." In the production I saw last night, the director seemed to lean towards the couple that has divorced, Tom and Beth: underscoring sympathetically the happiness each claims to have found in freedom from the other. The playwright is more open-ended, I think. The play, to me, is Gabe and Karen's play, most of all Gabe's play. This couple has chosen to stay married.

There are differences between the couples. Tom and Beth have little in common. Gabe and Karen, on the other hand, work together, share a love for food and for travel. Tom and Beth grate upon one another. Gabe and Karen complement one another, which at one point Gabe acknowledges.

Had I directed, I would have underscored not the "happiness" of those who have divorced, but the contradictions and edge of desperation in Tom's new relationship with a much younger woman, in his need to boast of his sexual exploits and new positions; in Beth's plans to marry again, a lawyer like Tom, who worked with Tom, who cheated like Tom-- with her, ten years before Tom and Beth divorced.

Beth says: "He's not Tom."

Yeah, right.

It is a deep emotional truth that the divorce of close friends wounds and terrifies their married friends.

I would have highlighted the relationship of Gabe and Karen: in their terror, they turn to each other.

I doubt I will ever resolve my conflicting feelings about marriage. I'm still a participant. It is partly due to my husband's wisdom in giving me his trust and much freedom, without complaint. It is also partly due to my husband's stubbornness.

And maybe, somehow, I am choosing this myself. Still.

Put your oxygen mask on before assisting others.

I flew to the South to visit my daughter and watch her theatrical performance-- a pleasure I haven't been able to enjoy for a few years, due to our distance geographically and her busy academic schedule.

So, of course, I heard the flight attendants' usual spiel about the safety features of the plane and the use of the oxygen mask. As ever, the attendant included the caution:

Put your oxygen mask on before assisting others.

Now I am far from the first to note how appropriate this advice is to life in general. You have to be able to breathe, if you want to help others to breathe. If you don't take care of yourself, you won't be there to take care of anyone else.

So, taking care of number one IS important. Who will argue that?

Well, actions speak louder than words and I feel we are so out of balance.

Some of us grab our oxygen masks, put them on, and grab our neighbors' too, just in case ours don't work.

Some of us suffocate ourselves and those who need our help by not heeding that essential instruction: put your oxygen mask on before assisting others. We are refusing to value our own selves enough to take care of basic needs, and claiming to value others so highly that we rush off to save them before we ourselves are safe.

And soon, they, as well as we, are lost.

More meditations on this topic: Breathe: I so often forget to breathe. If only an oxygen mask would pop out each time I had a change in the cabin pressure of my life.

Saturday, July 21 2007

Errands can eat up an entire day. This morning I fed and watered the dogs and took them out into the fenced back yard to do their "business". I had coffee, checked e-mail, and prepared my list. Once I'd showered, I was off to mail a book I had sold via half.com on ebay; to get gas for the car (got it at Speedway station-- the price was $2.94/ gallon and with my "Speedy Rewards card" the price came down to $2.89/ gallon).

Stopped at the Pet Supplies Plus store, as that is the only local shop carrying Pro Plan dog food by Purina. Pro Plan is the preferred food for Jasper, as he is a stud dog for Leader Dogs for the Blind.

Jackson, on the other hand, would eat anything-- in fact, diligently tries to eat my rugs, my floor, my shoes...

While at Pet Supplies Plus I picked up another leash (since one of ours is standing in for a defective latch on the tie-out for Jackson in the backyard), dental-chews, Nylabones, and doggie treats.

Rewards seem to work well with these two.

On to Target (NEVER the dreaded Wal-Mart of Evil), where I picked up a 40DD bra (*sigh*) as well as organic coffee, Reeses Peanut Butter cups (for my cast of Much Ado About Nothing-- I don't touch the stuff), and CLR cleaning supplies and Drano for the tub.

Home to take the dogs out again, water the tomato plants and stake them upright, loaded some more books for sale onto my account on half.com, got the mail, put away dishes, made myself lunch: potatoes, spinach, eggs and cheese stir fried together, and drank some orange juice.

Answered some more e-mail. Wound up the clock... started it once again when it stopped...

All this, accomplishing small tasks, while avoiding the really large ones still ahead: Dissertation work, sewing a cape for Much Ado About Nothing, starting publicity for Much Ado, deciding on a script for Boxfest, and perhaps finding some order in my life.

cars

At times, I feel old.

I was born near Detroit, Michigan around the middle of the 20th century. I remember cars that were huge and lumbering and no one cared that they got about 9 miles to the gallon.



Above, an example: a 1971 Pontiac Catalina. Cars were big and sprawling. In those days, my dad bought a brand new car every two years or so. People changed cars like seasonal clothes or high fashion: the latest style, the latest color.

Growing up in Michigan, home to the Big Three automakers, everyone was encouraged to buy cars. Buy them often.

In those days, you could claim your car loan interest payments on your itemized deductions on your taxes.

Even today, there is some sentiment that buying a car supports America. At least, here in Michigan, where I have landed once again.

Only, the Big Three aren't so big anymore.

Once, I even fancied a sports car myself. I rather liked the Jaguar. It sounded exotic; and I even spent some time in one in the late 70s.
Of course, in those days, a gallon of gas was about $0.30. Yes, that's right, about thirty CENTS.

Not like today. Gas prices, and the lines outside of the "cheap" stations, are enough to inspire road rage in a Quaker.

Nowadays, my dream transportation has changed.

I want something reliable. I want something that doesn't cost me an arm and a leg to acquire or to drive (see above).

My dad bought a brand new car every couple of years. I, on the other hand, have bought just ONE brand new car in 35 years of driving. I buy my cars used-- excuse me, "previously owned" and drive them until they won't drive no more.

My real dream car these days is a solar powered super silent super fast hovercraft.

That's affordable.

Is that too much to ask?

Independence Day

As is true for many in the United States, I watched fireworks light up the sky on the Fourth of July in celebration of Independence Day. It is our family's tradition to travel to Northern Michigan and spend the day with the extended family and watch the fireworks over Lake Michigan. This year's fireworks, and in particular, the finale, were outstanding.

I cannot help but muse on the use of fireworks to celebrate Independence Day. According to info at
http://www.bigfoto.com/themes/fireworks/index.htm

"It is generally recognized that fireworks originated in China during the Sung dynasty (960-1279). A cook in ancient China discovered that a mixture of sulphur, saltpetre, and charcoal was highly flammable and would explode if confined in a small space. This discovery was first used for entertainment. The technique was soon adapted to weaponry and used to shoot rocket-powered arrows."

This is interesting to me in that here in the United States it seems that the progression has been from weaponry to entertainment, rather than the original progression from entertainment to weaponry, as with the Chinese.

And the rockets red glare
The bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night
That our flag was still there.

Near this country's beginning, rocketry was used not only as bombs, but also as lighting for night fighting.

Now, of course, we have night vision goggles and infra-red vision glasses. We can seek and destroy in the dark just fine. (BTW, in searching for a night vision image, I found where I could purchase the "first affordable thermal weapons sight designed specifically for homeland security.")

So now, the fireworks-- the bombs bursting in air-- are seen as celebratory only, a joyous spectacle.


Other observations of Independence Day: although beer and bombs do not seem a good combination to me, they certainly are associated on this holiday. Fire and fire water and fireworks are combined in backyard barbecues across the land. It is nothing short of miraculous that as few accidents happen as are reported.

Although in Michigan, as in many states, fireworks are illegal for John Q. Public, and the official fireworks displays are run by firefighters or trained professionals, this does not stop John or Joan Q. P. from setting off fireworks of their own.

I am not speaking metaphorically; I do mean fireworks.

Why have a law if it is not going to be enforced?

Perhaps the police are too busy dealing with drunks to chase down the fireworks offenders.

Question: how much independence do you feel YOU have on this Independence Day?

A beginning

Having been inspired by the keen observations and ready wit of my dear friends and dearer relations, I begin anew to write. This journal will seek to take a look at this new millennium as it begins to take shape.

In my lifetime thus far, I have seen remarkable changes in communication. Once, most homes had a single telephone (INSTRUMENT-- let alone phone line), with the line often a party line, and the instrument itself with a rotary dial.

Today, a party line might refer to a political agenda or a Conga line dance, but rarely to telecommunications.I remember when the Princess phone









and then Touch Tone phone



were innovations.

Now, there are cells, razors, Blackberries, iPhones.

Amazing.

When I was a kid:

cell










or










When I was young: blackberry



When I was young: razor








As for an "Apple iPhone", in my younger days I could only have imagined that such a phrase would be some kind of rebus; yet just now the introduction of this newest communications tool is hailed as nothing less than revolutionary.

"It's a product of mythical proportions, " says Entner, senior vice president of IAG Research. "They're not saying the iPhone will cure cancer and bring world peace, but that it will do everything else."

It's been said change is the only constant. Let's see how much we can notice while we are in the midst of it.