Hello? Hello? Never mind.

Aw, nuts.

Let’s be clear from the get-go: I love having Comcast for Internet and cable television. It’s been a bit over a year since we had a landline with them, and we only dropped that part of the bundle when it became cheaper for us. But if there’s one thing we can count on, it’s good ol’ change and when the phone became affordable again we went for it.

Oh my.

I set things up on a Saturday, and was told it could be three to five days for activation. No problem; it was a weekend and Monday was a holiday so I gave it some time. When we still didn’t have a dial tone on Tuesday morning I set up a tech visit for Wednesday morning-ish. The tech was early (cool) and efficient—even better. He did his thing, I signed a paper and we had working phones.

Along with the resumed phone service we got some extra channels thrown in, and they were ones we love having. With the Australian Tennis Open in full swing, so to speak, we were deliriously happy. Then I had to decide I wanted the whole package (meaning having caller ID show up on the TV like it used to in the old days).

I picked Friday to call (on my cell in case they needed the landline for testing) and that’s when the nightmare began.

The request to the representative was simple enough, until she told me she couldn’t help me because our work order was still open. In fact, she said, we shouldn’t have any new channels and we most assuredly did not have phone service. I watched as the Australian open continued in front of me, and slid over to the landline to listen to the dial tone. Hmmm. One of us was losing it.

When it became obvious that the rep wanted me to call someone else to close the work order (she seemed miffed I hadn’t done this already), I must’ve made a funny noise because she offered to transfer me herself. Before she could do that I got a call waiting beep—it was Comcast asking me to take a satisfaction survey. Sure, that was gonna happen.

As you well know, each time we’re transferred we have to give name, phone number, address and account number, even if the current rep promises you that you absolutely won’t have to go through that again. Fun times.

With the third rep, I repeated myself yet again and was suddenly asked if my husband was home. He was standing two feet away watching tennis and I told her that. She politely informed me she would need to speak with my husband and if he allowed me to be put on our account, she could continue talking to me. I’ve only been on the account for almost 23 years so I guess I could understand that. By now I was wondering if it was worth paying for the repair of throwing a phone through a window.

Once I was allowed to speak again, I was transferred one last time with the absolute guarantee I would not need to repeat myself. After repeating myself, I was put on hold and, sad to say, I’d still be there if Comcast hadn’t “accidentally” disconnected me.

I’m kind of stubborn, so I used the live-chat on Sunday to get things straightened out. After 35 fun-filled minutes of speaking with (I’m not kidding) “Gemaima”, I finally waved the tiny white flag of surrender. We may not have caller ID on our TV, but at least we have what’s left of our sanity.

Those thoughts, how they race!

A calm, peaceful scene that doesn't always work

No matter how busy I think I am, there is apparently enough time to worry endlessly about things I have no control over.

For instance, on a recent trip to check the ol’ blood pressure there were enough minutes beforehand to worry about the reading being too high. Thinking I was being wise, I tried to envision calming scenery and peaceful surroundings. Didn’t work. I now take a pill to bring down the higher-than-ever reading, and I get to stand “calmly” in line to pick up the prescription.

It seems like no matter how hard we try to slow down our racing, worrisome thoughts the worse they get. Mine go from meeting work deadlines, to what’s for supper (and do I need to go to the grocery story first?), to should I throw in a load of laundry while the dishes soak. But then I remember that the dryer still has its quirks and sometimes needs to be opened up by my better half who manually gets the drum spinning.

That, of course, brings the thought: Do we need a new dryer or can we use this one until it falls apart?

Naturally that leads to financial concerns. When is the worse time for an appliance to go toes up? I know the answer to that one – it’s during the winter months, the worst of the winter months when the power bill heads toward outer space. Hey, once your watt and therm usage pull free from the gravitational pull of the earth it’s anyone’s guess as to how high it’ll go. That’s when I remind myself, as I try to calm down and turn off the worry faucet that I can’t even dry clothes outside for a few months. Don’t even get me started on how I loathe going to the Laundromat. I’m thankful we have them but I don’t want to go there. Ever.

As I try to stomp down the above thoughts my mind begins to ramble toward concerns about family and friends and their various illnesses and other problems. Many of us take on the burdens our loved ones are going through, and while it’s a sure sign of compassion it also means adding on to our own problems. For most of us it’s downright impossible to turn off thoughts of concern for parents, grandparents, children, grandchildren and everyone else we care deeply about. It can mean we add more on the to-do list which wears us out physically, then we stay up late worrying about not meeting our obligations. We wonder: if we really love that person how can we let them down?

As I write this and try to come up with answers, I have to admit I have none. I pray throughout the day, every day, and still I take on more than I can handle. It’s a daily struggle, a nightly one too, as I and so many of those I know can’t sleep because of the racing thoughts they can’t turn off.

How I wish there was a pill for that problem. That would be worth standing in line for.

Living with pain and thankful for caregivers

Peaceful thoughts help on a painful day

I tend to react to physical pain like a little girl. There have been the nearly debilitating headaches, achy knees, backaches and more. Most times I handle them in this order: Griping, whining (and in rare cases, crying) but eventually I get to the phase where I learn to live with it. After all, isn’t there someone out there hurting more?

As the years melt from one into another, I’m still not close enough in age to qualify for Medicare and I’m a bit light (as in having none) in the health insurance department. Hence my “so-what?” approach to my own health.

Back in 2001 and for the next three years I watched my father-in-law deal with shingles and their painful aftermath. There were too many times I prayed his pain away and prayed no one I loved would ever go through that.

In late November I began waking up with a stabbing, burning pain just below my neck. My right arm felt like someone gave it a violent twist—it felt sprung. Then the three red spots appeared on my right arm; down a bit on the back of my hand was a bright red rash. Instead of going to a doctor or telling anyone, I headed for WebMD. Hey, it’s available 24/7 and there’s no waiting.

I saw it right away, and I knew there was no “living with it” like I do with headaches and such. It didn’t take me long to mention the problem to hubby and he told me to get to a doctor right away.

Ever notice when you’re in pain how hard it is to focus on anything else? This wouldn’t do, so off I went.

There are probably rules of some kind about mentioning which particular medical personnel and facilities one uses, so I’ll follow along. That said, I couldn’t have picked a better place to go.

From the first person I met who handed me the inevitable paperwork to fill out, to the one who asked me to step on the scale (next to getting blood drawn, this is my least favorite thing) to the doctor, my experiences there have been more than positive. And that includes the two who have drawn blood; it didn’t hurt that they told me they love their job.

The doctor and I were hoping we’d caught the shingles in time, because for some folks these can turn into a never-ending pain known as post-herpetic neuralgia. The medicines worked, but they caused a sleepiness I’d never experienced. In the end, it was worth it.

As most of us know, once we make that trip into the medical world other things will come up. We’re going to try a regimen of diet and exercise to lower cholesterol and blood pressure levels, so once the chocolate stash is gone from the house, it’s gone. Cutting back on salt will be hard, but not impossible. Walking will become a part of my lifestyle once I find something that works for the pain.

The last few weeks of 2011 ended in terrible pain and sleeplessness, but it could have been worse. And now I’ve found a place to go where dedicated, compassionate and knowledgeable people know how to make their patients feel good—in more ways than one.

Step. Away. From. The. Pie.

Flowers for my sweetheart

Our Christmas dinner hostess was competent and flustered at the same time. A family guest was plucking tender turkey from the roasting pan and placing it on a serving plate. Light brown gravy simmered on the stove; corn casserole and twice-baked potatoes were warming in the oven.

It was a surprisingly calm scene in spite of the fact the turkey was done an hour earlier than anticipated, and the rest of the clan was arriving in dribs and drabs.

The cousin I was looking for came bearing baked goodies, most importantly her crunchy-topped cherry pie. The two-crust version was made famous in the family by our Aunt Gladys, a woman we get misty-eyed over whenever we gather to reminisce.

After dumping the coats I rounded the corner and saw the prize sitting on the counter. “Ah,” I said, “that’s what I came for.”

And that’s when I heard The Voice. “Step. Back. From. The. Pie.” I swiveled and looked straight into the pretty blue eyes of one of the most loved of kindergarten teachers in town. Those same eyes bore through me, but with enough humor behind the warning to keep me from dashing out the door I came in just minutes before.

After the nearly endless placing of the turkey and all the trimmings on the tables, the prayer, and the passing of the food we all settled down to do some serious eating. The room grew quiet, even the kids as we enjoyed what has to be the best Christmas dinner ever.

Some of the women got up to stretch and clean the table, the guys headed for the living room and some serious sleeping, and the kids returned to their computers, games and music. Those of us left at the table hadn’t seen each other in a while so we caught up.

We talked about those no longer with us as families do during the holidays. We talked about jobs present and past, our health, recipes, computers, dogs and lots more. Most of all, we simply sat and soaked up the enjoyment of one another’s company.

After a good while the men stirred, the kids wandered back in and we realized there was room for dessert. As I mixed a bit of vanilla ice cream with the cherry pie, I realized that the best part of the dinner had nothing at all to do with food. The best part by far was making memories with those I love.

Oh, speaking about love, today is the 39^th anniversary of the day I married the man of my dreams in the chapel of the First United Methodist Church. Where have all the years gone? Happy anniversary to the best guy on Earth.

Remembering live nativity at Evangelical Covenant Church

Only two days until Christmas, and my mind wanders hither and yon to find at least one favorite memory.

It’s been a number of years but this recollection remains fresh. Hubby and I belonged to the Evangelical Covenant Church, and some of us came up with the idea for a living nativity.

Cousin Dave Washburn built and painted the manger and wise men (I think all three of them are up in our attic), someone provided sheep, and several women designed and sewed the costumes.

Pastor Marc Murchison and his family, along with most of the congregation were involved in this first-time celebration of the Christmas story. Some of the younger people made and served hot chocolate and coffee and manned the cookie table. Those in charge of dressing Joseph, Mary and the shepherds were busy snipping and pinning as adjustments were needed due to the bone-chilling winter night ahead of us forcing us to bundle up big time.

Warm lights glowed from our little church, and what looked like thousands of bright stars shone down on the earth from a pitch-black sky. Our breath seemed to freeze in the air in front of our faces, making a smile almost painful.

The manger came alive with Joseph, Mary and baby Jesus. An angel dressed in white spread her protective wings above the little family, and a golden light beamed over all. Nearby, the sheep bleated softly.

I stood to the side beneath a leafless tree and took in our congregation’s efforts to put on their first live nativity, and what I saw took my breath away. The tenderness in the eyes of Mary as she looked upon her newborn brought tears which promptly froze on my face. There was a thought trying to push its way into my brain, and it was too true.

I remember bowing my head, gloved hands shoved deep in the pockets of my coat and praying someone, anyone would drive by our out-of-the way nativity scene. (Bowing my head also kept the biting wind off of my chapped face.)

As the sweet sound of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” drifted through the church windows into the night I lifted my head and turned toward Vine Street. That’s when I saw them, pair after pair of headlights were headed south and one after the other they turned west on William Street to cruise slowly past our little church. I wasn’t a part of the nativity so I hunkered closer to the tree to get out of the line of sight so everyone could get a good look.

Youth group members approached the slow-moving line and offered warm drinks. Adults and kids took them up on their offer, and it wasn’t too much longer before it was time to close up and go inside.

I miss our church, the pastors and their families, and the friends who made up our congregation. We were blessed to have an extended family for a number of years, and I’ll always be thankful for that.

Maybe tonight or tomorrow night I’ll pile on the coat, gloves, scarf and hat and go outside. I’ll close my eyes, quiet my mind and travel back in time to that Christmas Eve of years ago. Then, when the time is just right, I’ll unwrap that happiest of Christmas memories and
hold it close.

Have a merry Christmas, dear reader. And a blessed New Year.

Lessons learned from a real “dollar tree”

 

Mom and little sister at Christmas

Do you sometimes drive around town and remember a house, business or other building where something (or nothing) else now stands?

A few memories pop immediately into mind, like the Shell Station where Doc Terry used to live. I can still see him tending to his marigolds along the Main Street strip, smiling and waving to those who honked or yelled out their car windows.

The Kewanee Hospital left a big blank spot when they moved, and the former CVS store has been a number of different businesses.

There are dozens more examples, I know, yet it’s this time of year when our thoughts return to the Christmas tree and wreath market on the northeast corner of Tenney and Church streets.

No one’s memory is perfect, and that’s my defense in case I get the owners’ names wrong though I think it was Goodwin.

Mom, Sis and I lived less than a block north of the place where the scent of Christmas filled the air. The sights and smells of so many trees and wreaths in one spot made walking to school in the sometimes bitter cold a little easier to bear.

We celebrate Christmas on the 25^th, meaning Mom’s money ran out before we could buy a tree. And there was no room in the budget for a live tree that didn’t last all that long, especially during the most expensive winter months.

Thing is, the Goodwins must have had a different outlook on things. I don’t remember how often they did it, but about a week before the big day one of them would find a tree they felt was only worth a dollar, and as the sun set on another cold winter day Sis and I would each grab an end of the tree and off we’d go, that fresh evergreen aroma right under our very noses. Heavenly.

I have pictures of Mom, Sis and me seated near the Christmas trees of years past. It isn’t the lack of new gifts, or the scarcity of used ones that draws my eye. What reaches deep inside me and makes the photo shimmer for just a moment is the perfect Christmas tree decorated with handmade construction paper chains and lopsided paper snowflakes—no two alike here either. I wish the Goodwins could have seen it all dolled up like that.

Today, with the hustle and bustle of Tenney Street traffic you might not even notice that corner in your travels. Could be, though, you don’t need to actually look in that direction. Maybe, instead, you’ll feel a pull on your memory to a simpler time when people found a way to make those less fortunate feel like their happiness mattered. Oh my, I do remember.

Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin. These two sisters will never forget the gift you gave us. It was so much more than a Christmas tree, but then something tells me you knew that.

More spread love, prayers, compassion through the Internet

The beauty of the simple tree

I’m looking at a photo of a soldier gently kissing the top of yellow Labrador retriever’s head. The young man’s hands rest on either side of the big dog’s shoulders. They share a bond you can almost feel.

I’ll tell you more about that picture later.

Throughout the past few weeks, the following information and requests came my way on Facebook:

 

• Prayers were needed for the families and loved ones of those killed or injured in accidents.
• Transportation was needed for rescued dogs and cats to new forever homes.
• I received an invitation to a family birthday party, as did several dozen others—at the same time.
• I saw new photos of family reunions, school graduations, birthday and anniversary parties.
• Someone shared their experience with a video chat with a loved one in the military – thousands of miles away, yet close enough to almost touch.
• I heard of a child and his parents reunited after decades apart.

 

Here’s the thing. The other day I heard men and women complaining about “that Internet” and how evil it is. Why, it’s used for everything from kidnapping to murder to scams to whatever other horrible things you can think of.

Those comments reminded me of the gun argument. And not knowing which side of the fence you’re on regarding gun owner rights and such, I’m sure to offend someone. But I have to say, I never saw a gun get up on its own and shoot someone. Yes, a dog did shoot his owner in the butt the other day but that (they say) was an accident.

For goodness sake, it’s not the Internet that’s evil. Granted, some people with evil intentions use it as a tool to get their job done but if it wasn’t the Internet it would be something else.

Remember the backyard fence? Folks used to gather there and gossip about their friends, family and neighbors. How about the party line? We used to listen in on other people’s business, then repeat what we heard all over town.

Human beings with bad intentions will use whatever tools are at their disposal. Please explain to me why we should deny everyone else the ability to use this marvelous invention simply because a few abuse it? Does that make sense, really?

The photo of the Lab and the soldier tells the story of dogs used in the current war. These four-legged heroes come home suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome, and this picture shows me a man trying to heal his best friend. It brings tears to my eyes, but it reminds me of the beautiful souls human beings have, how we all have the capacity for love, compassion and forgiveness.

Those items listed above, along with lost pet and lost children alerts are just a few of the reasons I am thankful for the Internet. I don’t blame the tool used for causing the pain in our lives; I blame the person wielding the tool. And that goes for our mouths, weapons or the Internet.

It’s my room now – again and for good

The county's courthouse plays a role in my novel

After a year of giving up my home office to our youngest, I got it back in late August. As previously reported, lots of musical equipment and other miscellaneous stuff that could not possibly fit into a college dorm room was left behind and ended up in a portion of the upstairs foyer.

Two other items remained in my cozy space—a giant bed and an enormous television. Sure, I like being able to see the 36-inch screen but this TV is the old-fashioned kind (if you can call a six-year-old TV “old”.) I paid two guys to haul that thing up the stairs last year and it was worth every penny.

With the Thanksgiving break coming I knew I could stand working around these two leftovers until our son came home. He would have a chance to stretch out in comfort in familiar surroundings and before he left, he could take care of the foyer, the bed and TV.

I was getting a little nervous as the hours ticked by and nothing moved. Well, our son did—from coffeepot to fridge to my office. I was more than welcome to continue working in there, and at first I did. But he was studying for finals and I felt like I was distracting him so I let the work pile up, the novel go unwritten and I waited. Sarah Jane, however, took the open door as an invitation to stop in often to see one of her favorite people. Next thing we knew, the door was shut and the dog was back on her favorite sofa.

Plans were made for father and son to head back to school Sunday morning at around 8. That hour came and went, yet I remained optimistic that the bed would come down and be stored in the now empty foyer, and the TV would go into hubby’s man cave. Instead, there was a flurry of last-minute activity, and a blur as the two left the house on one of the busiest travel days of the year.

I had five hours.

I’ve become a nearly 60-year-old woman with arthritic knees who takes stairs one at a time but I was determined to have my office back. That persistent attitude drives my better half around the bend and back, but I knew he wouldn’t feel much like helping out when he got back so I started on my own.

Ever seen the Seinfeld episode where Elaine gets flattened by a wayward mattress? I’m convinced the only reason that didn’t happen to me is because I prayed before I took the bed apart. I got out my girlie tool kit to pound the frame apart and about two hours later I had most of my room back. Still, the TV mocks me from across the room and it can stay there for all I care.

Which reminds me—it’s a darn good thing we had that TV when our flat screen went toes up that Sunday morning of October 13. I could tell you all about our gut-busting experience with the repair techs and all that, but here’s the short version: on Black Friday afternoon we tooled on over to the Sears store in Galesburg and picked up a shiny new Samsung 40-inch flat screen to replace our old set, courtesy of an extended warranty. No money was exchanged, just friendly smiles and a very happy couple who can now see their favorite shows without squinting.

All in all, we had a lot to be thankful for last week. Now, on to Christmas.

Black Friday? No, thanks – been there, done that

Coffee with cream, no shopping today for me!

Unless you’ve been living in a cave somewhere you probably realized, as soon as you opened your peepers this morning that today is Black Friday. Shoot, maybe some of you or people you know have been camped outside a ginormous store waiting for the opportunity to plunk down your hard-earned cash for a coveted techie toy for yourself or someone else.

The rest of us kept our sanity and stayed inside under the blankies and woke up to the tantalizing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and the intro music of the Today Show. That way we can sit at the kitchen table in front of a mouth-watering pastry, hands wrapped around a piping hot mug of coffee while we watch the rest of the world crash through the front doors of stores across this great country of ours and grab toys, clothes, TVs, computers and other “stuff”.

No thanks. Been there, done that and I don’t want to go back. Kind of how I feel about Arizona, but I digress.

Today we’ll probably putter around the house, sneaking leftover turkey sandwiches and thinking (somewhat seriously) about trudging up to the attic and poking around to find Christmas decorations to bring downstairs.

At some point during the day we’ll kick ourselves for not braving the wee morning hours and the massive crowds to grab a bargain, but if we eat enough turkey and pie (again) we’ll get sleepy, nap and forget all about it.

I do love this time of year. There’s the variety of weather with fog, wind, mist, snow flurries, sunshine and fluctuating temps, sometimes all in the same day. The stores are festive, there are bazaars all around, and the Salvation Army ringers greet us coming and going, reminding us that someone out there needs a little help.

I don’t know the exact reason I don’t camp outside of stores on Black Friday or rise before the crack of dawn, but I suspect part of it could be that no one I know, and that includes me, really needs what is being offered at a once-in-a-lifetime price. But there are real people out there—boys, girls, moms and dads who need food to eat, money to pay their power bill, warm clothing and more.

Before you get uncomfortable and a bit cranky about that, I’m only talking about those who truly fell on hard times and are not milking the system for all they can get. I just sometimes feel a bit ashamed of all I have (though I am beyond thankful for everything), and my heart aches for those who wake up every morning afraid of what the day will (or won’t) bring.

Maybe, instead of rushing out into the dark of the morning to splurge on things no one has to have, we should take a bit of time to think of those who have too little. Sure, they might have made it to a free Thanksgiving meal this week but they aren’t the ones with leftovers in the fridge.

By this time tomorrow morning, Black Friday will be history. Some tired shoppers might suffer buyer’s remorse, others will be glad they got some nifty bargains. Let’s all think about how great it would feel to share what we have with those who have so little. That’s a much better way to kick off the Christmas season than what I’m seeing on the Today Show at the moment.

TV, church, and no church (or anything else) on TV

Confused at first, but OK now!

Sunday was weird, and here’s why.

All went fine at first. I brought in the papers, read them slowly while enjoying fresh-brewed coffee and even had no interruptions from Sarah Jane. The dog snoozed contentedly on her sofa and the neighbors were given a break from her normal early-morning routine of barking at the wind.

Then, like any good church-going person I clicked on the small kitchen TV to catch the service at the First United Methodist Church. By watching from home I avoid the parking problems and I always get the same seat—ringside, in front, and again with fresh coffee and sometimes toast or a doughnut.

I was worried about one thing. The police scanner was abuzz with a reported attempted break-in at the church and it sounded serious. The broadcast from the church was less than stellar with the picture and sound disappearing more and more often until I decided to wait things out in the living room with the big-screen TV. And that’s when things got weird.

There was no picture on the three-year-old flat screen, our favorite of all the TVs we’ve ever owned. I made my way to the man cave to report this unfortunate turn of events. After trying everything under the sun to breathe life into the picture-less set, we gave up and called Sears. The set is still under full warranty but the news was not good.

It was nice to reach a live person I could fully understand on a Sunday, but after going through the usual “Did you do this? Did you try that?”, the diagnosis was we needed a main board, the second such repair in this short span of time. It would arrive by UPS within four to five days, and since repair folks don’t work on Saturdays or Sundays, we could be scheduled for Monday, the 28^th between 8 a.m. and noon. Isn’t that peachy?

I nearly choked on my cold coffee. No TV in the living room for a week? Seriously? Where would we go? We both squint at the set in the kitchen. I’m not watching my favorite shows in the man cave, so that left us wondering and grumbling throughout the day.

I posted my woes on Facebook and got an offer of a TV. I love Facebook, and I thanked the kind person. By that time we had decided to watch our favorite Sunday night shows in my office which is more than a tad crowded with our youngest son’s leftover furniture. Sarah was a little confused by the change in routine but she adapted well and I found her once again snoozing on her sofa in the too-quiet living room.

That night I thought about the TV situation and came to the conclusion that I was being a big baby about the whole thing. Yes, this particular set has had too many repairs but for the most part it’s been a blessing to have a screen big enough we can both see the shows we like. And it’s not like TV is a necessity; it’s a luxury, really, and we appreciate ours even more now.

Maybe Sunday wasn’t all that weird. Maybe I just needed some time to reflect on the blessings around us—like getting a chance to work on how patient I can be. Of course it could be a sign that we should just go to church in person, where the picture and sound are perfectly clear. Sounds about right.