As a postscript to the most recent post, I'm happy (I think) to say that my lost phone is now back in its owner's possession.
I had thought I'd looked everywhere and traced all my actions since the last time I had the phone in my hand, but I forgot something. We went out to dinner last Thursday evening and sat in a booth. My purse was sitting beside me, along with my coat and scarf. At some point I rooted through the pile next to me to get something from my purse. It wasn't the phone, but I'm guessing the phone thought this would be as good an opportunity as any to make its escape. And escape it did. I didn't notice it sitting there, despite its shocking pink color.
When I finally came to my senses and called the restaurant, I was happy to hear, "Yep. We've got it!" So all is well, except...I was going to use my lost phone as an excuse to go shopping for a newer and better one. Maybe I'll do that anyway. In the meantime, I'd better get all those stored phone numbers transferred to my computer before my errant Razr phone decides to get into trouble again.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Where's my #&!* phone???
I lost my cell phone. It's not in my purse, my car, my office, my bedroom, or the refrigerator. (I didn't actually look there for it, but you never know.) I'm not one of those people who hug a cell phone to their ears most waking hours. In fact, of the 500 minutes we have on our family plan, we use very few. But I've become so reliant on it, and now the cell phone is not alone in being lost.
I'm glad it's an old (very old by today's standards) model. A magenta Motorola Razr. It's not even a smart phone. In fact, I've always thought it was rather dumb. (Notice I didn't blame the user...) But it contains precious information: the cell numbers and sometimes home and office numbers of friends and relatives. I kept telling myself to record them in a document so that, if the phone died, I'd have them and be able to retype them into a new phone. Never happened. I add this to the long list of procrastinations that I've become infamous for.
I think I can hear some people saying "We got along fine for most of our lives without cell phones!" But think about it. We were able to cope while being away from home because we could always find a pay phone: in a booth on the street, in a supermarket, at municipal buildings, in the airport. Try finding one conveniently located now. And I know I had many moments when a cell would have made life so much easier. Two cases in point:
So where in the world is my phone? By the way, don't try calling it. I had T-Mobile suspend my service for now, lest some unscrupulous person rack up charges for calls to far-away places. Before I give up and buy a new phone, I'm going to keep looking.
I'm glad it's an old (very old by today's standards) model. A magenta Motorola Razr. It's not even a smart phone. In fact, I've always thought it was rather dumb. (Notice I didn't blame the user...) But it contains precious information: the cell numbers and sometimes home and office numbers of friends and relatives. I kept telling myself to record them in a document so that, if the phone died, I'd have them and be able to retype them into a new phone. Never happened. I add this to the long list of procrastinations that I've become infamous for.
I think I can hear some people saying "We got along fine for most of our lives without cell phones!" But think about it. We were able to cope while being away from home because we could always find a pay phone: in a booth on the street, in a supermarket, at municipal buildings, in the airport. Try finding one conveniently located now. And I know I had many moments when a cell would have made life so much easier. Two cases in point:
- We were invited to a dinner party that required a long car trip. Admittedly, we left home a few minutes later than we should have. And then we encountered an unexpected traffic jam. This was Chicago, so "unexpected" is ludicrous on a Saturday evening. I got nervous, as I tend to, concerned that our hosts would wonder why we're not there and would worry about us. At the time, there were phone stations scattered along Lake Shore Drive, but I wondered if stopping to make the call and then trying to weave back into traffic would make us even later. A cell phone would have eased the worry and the angst.
- We were picking up my daughter when she lived on a very busy street in a very busy and trendy north side neighborhood. Parking was not an option, so she was to wait downstairs in the lobby and watch for our car. Once again, traffic got the best of us, and we were much later arriving in front of the building than planned. Daughter was, to say the least, irritated. She had been waiting in the cramped lobby, peering out the window, and getting more and more annoyed. (Notice I didn't say "worried"...) Much later, when we had a mobile phone, we would call her when we were a few blocks away, and then she would come downstairs.
So where in the world is my phone? By the way, don't try calling it. I had T-Mobile suspend my service for now, lest some unscrupulous person rack up charges for calls to far-away places. Before I give up and buy a new phone, I'm going to keep looking.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Accepting my quirks...finally
I found something else about aging that’s a good thing: I’m confident enough to affirm my strengths and admit my weaknesses. As for those weaknesses, I don’t care what anyone thinks about them anymore! And, by the way, I prefer to call them lifelong quirks. Here are a few:
Yes, I get intimidated by math. So what? I can always hand the dinner check to someone else to figure out or whip out my trusty tip card.
Yes, I have trouble swallowing pills. You wanna’ make something of it?
No, I’m not fond of driving. You can ask me to meet you at the area mall, but don’t expect me to drive into the heart of the city…and like it. I’m especially averse to driving in snow. It terrifies me when there’s an inch or more of new-fallen snow on the ground and, despite ABS brakes, stability control, and an SUV’s handling of slippery roads, I still grip the wheel until my fingers turn white and I dread an impending stop sign or light.
No, I'm not a very good cook. I used to fret over it because I was brought up in an era in which women were supposed to cook and be good at it. My mother made wonderful meals. My grandmother (on the other side) satisfied us with a weekly Friday night Shabbas dinner. Delightfully delicious saturated fat. But now I have a husband who is a good cook and likes it. So why should I sweat over it? For company, we search through a folder of catering menus, although I like to add some home-cooked side dishes. I can handle casseroles and salads.
I've heard and believe that it's never too late to learn something new or change one's outlook. I also believe that the longer one is on this planet the harder it is to do either. So I'm not giving up on improving any of these quirks...even while accepting them. I'm just not getting my hopes up too high.
Anger management is for the birds
You're never too old to learn new tricks. Even if those tricks don't offer anything of value to society or to yourself. My newest trick is learning to be an ace with the slingshot in Angry Birds.
As I shoot a bird high in the air and topple one little monkey, the critter gets shaken up and teeters on the edge of a wall. I scare myself as I shout, "Die already!"
Will learning this new skill (skill?) help prevent dementia? It seems to be the question on my mind in almost everything I do these days. We'll have to wait and see. I have read no reports of 90- and 100-year-olds with all their faculties who are noted Angry Bird champs.
Update: I completed Rio and have now started on Angry Birds Seasons. I'm still on Level 1, which starts with a winter backdrop—snowflakes falling all around the nasty green pigs (yes, again with the pigs!). Snowflakes, as you may know, put me in a snarly mood anyway, which can't hurt when I'm trying to annihilate a passel of pigs.
My introduction to this addiction came from one of my twin 7-year-old grandsons. Being a word game aficionado (only crosswords and Boggle for me; I won't touch Sudoku), I never thought I'd get into this wordless app. Then I started playing it. With no strategy or forethought, I moved from Level 1 to Level 2, knocking out those nasty pigs like they were really my enemies. Soon I was hooked. Eventually, I completed all the levels of the first free Angry Birds app I downloaded and had to seek others. Now I'm working on Angry Birds Rio and, of all things, aiming at jeering monkeys!
As I shoot a bird high in the air and topple one little monkey, the critter gets shaken up and teeters on the edge of a wall. I scare myself as I shout, "Die already!"
Will learning this new skill (skill?) help prevent dementia? It seems to be the question on my mind in almost everything I do these days. We'll have to wait and see. I have read no reports of 90- and 100-year-olds with all their faculties who are noted Angry Bird champs.Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Regrets, I have a few...
As I reflect on my life, I can’t help but revisit the things I wish I hadn’t eaten, breathed in, practiced, and gave in to during those younger, formative years.
Unhealthful things I wish I’d known were bad for me:
• All those times I ate my grandmother’s concoction of eggs, onions, chicken fat, and chicken livers. Mmmmmm. Clogged arteries.
• All those years I breathed in my parents’ cigarette smoke. (But, realistically, where was I going to go at 8 or 9?)
• Every candy bar (full size—no “fun” size available then) I stuffed into my mouth between meals. I couldn’t hide this fact from my mother because, being a good little citizen, I refused to throw the wrappers on the ground and I stuffed them in my pockets.
Things that turned out okay but might not have:
• Jumping off the rocks at one of the northside beaches and landing on a sandbar. The water was deep all around the sandbar. It wasn’t until that point that I realized I couldn’t jump back up on the shore. Not being a swimmer, I humbly let some friends pull me back. Why did I take such a foolish risk? All the other kids were doing it...
• Letting my friend talk me into getting into a car with two guys—strangers—we met on the miniature golf course. Nothing bad happened, but it sure could have.
• Allowing my mother to persuade me to switch my college major from pre-journalism to elementary education. The practical "wisdom" of the day was that teaching was the ideal profession for a woman: "You'll have the same hours and work days as your kids!" I ended up getting married, getting pregnant (we did it in that order in those days), and dropping out of teacher's college. But when I was ready to go back to finish my degree, I chose English—not quite journalism, but certainly closer. Where would I have taken it if I'd continued on my first path? Who knows? But at least I'm doing a lot of writing (mostly at work).
These are just the ones I can recall—or care to write about. But don't let this wistfulness fool you. Everything's worked out so far (knock on wood), and I'm going to make damn sure that continues, for as long as I can.
Unhealthful things I wish I’d known were bad for me:
• All those times I ate my grandmother’s concoction of eggs, onions, chicken fat, and chicken livers. Mmmmmm. Clogged arteries.
• All those years I breathed in my parents’ cigarette smoke. (But, realistically, where was I going to go at 8 or 9?)
• Every candy bar (full size—no “fun” size available then) I stuffed into my mouth between meals. I couldn’t hide this fact from my mother because, being a good little citizen, I refused to throw the wrappers on the ground and I stuffed them in my pockets.
Things that turned out okay but might not have:
• Jumping off the rocks at one of the northside beaches and landing on a sandbar. The water was deep all around the sandbar. It wasn’t until that point that I realized I couldn’t jump back up on the shore. Not being a swimmer, I humbly let some friends pull me back. Why did I take such a foolish risk? All the other kids were doing it...
• Letting my friend talk me into getting into a car with two guys—strangers—we met on the miniature golf course. Nothing bad happened, but it sure could have.
• Allowing my mother to persuade me to switch my college major from pre-journalism to elementary education. The practical "wisdom" of the day was that teaching was the ideal profession for a woman: "You'll have the same hours and work days as your kids!" I ended up getting married, getting pregnant (we did it in that order in those days), and dropping out of teacher's college. But when I was ready to go back to finish my degree, I chose English—not quite journalism, but certainly closer. Where would I have taken it if I'd continued on my first path? Who knows? But at least I'm doing a lot of writing (mostly at work).
These are just the ones I can recall—or care to write about. But don't let this wistfulness fool you. Everything's worked out so far (knock on wood), and I'm going to make damn sure that continues, for as long as I can.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Trivial kvetching
There are a bunch of petty annoyances that don’t matter much in the larger scheme of life but that I enjoy complaining about anyway:
• The Terms of Agreement that some websites and online groups make you click "I agree" to before giving you access. You click on the link to the terms, hoping to scan them quickly and agree so you can get on with whatever you want to do. The site comes up. You start scanning...but then you spot this line at the bottom: "Page 1 of 35 pages." Are they kidding? They know perfectly well that nobody, except a bored attorney, will read all 35 pages. So you just click "I agree" and hope that it doesn't come back to bite you. So far, so good. But it is annoying.
• Toilet paper in public bathrooms that can give you a paper cut…and in a very sensitive location. Come on, businesses. Be kinder to your customers. Spend a little bit more and get the softer stuff! And two-ply, please.
• That pesky mail from major banks that have at least four pieces of paper with my name and address on them. Checks to consolidate balances, offers for new credit cards, and more. Shredding them isn't hard, but what if I don't feel like going upstairs and plugging in the shredder? (I complained to Chase, where I bank, and they made a change in my profile but warned me that it may take 90 days to take effect. I'm still in 90-day limbo.)
• The fact that with hundreds of cable channels, and a hefty bill to prove it, there are still times when there's absolutely nothing to watch. (And I have pretty eclectic—and not always sophisticated—taste in TV shows.)
• Drivers who think it's not cool to use their turn signals. I've been surprised many times when a car in front of me suddenly slows and turns right while I, foolishly, assumed it was going my way. I give my "you selfish moron!" look, but they're long gone, so it's of no use.
• Cashiers who engage in conversations with coworkers while they're checking out your purchases. I'm pleased to see that this is rarer today. Companies must be doing a better job at customer service training.
• Mothers out for a stroll with their babies or toddlers and on the phone, gabbing away. Wouldn't it be nice if they paid some attention to their little ones? I accept that sometimes it's necessary to take or make a call. But engaging in a long non-emergency conversation when you're supposed to be spending quality time with your children? I even saw one mother crossing the street, little one in hand, having an engrossing conversation. The one is beyond petty annoyance for me. It's dangerous and wrong! (Having said that, I'm glad that cell phones weren't invented when my children were small. I'm sure I wasn't fully engaged all the time. Motherhood is a challenge!)
I am now pettied out. For a day or two. If I think of more ways the world can get my goat, I'll write about them later. If, when you read this, you find my whining about the small stuff irritating, don’t tell me. I would find that very annoying.
• The Terms of Agreement that some websites and online groups make you click "I agree" to before giving you access. You click on the link to the terms, hoping to scan them quickly and agree so you can get on with whatever you want to do. The site comes up. You start scanning...but then you spot this line at the bottom: "Page 1 of 35 pages." Are they kidding? They know perfectly well that nobody, except a bored attorney, will read all 35 pages. So you just click "I agree" and hope that it doesn't come back to bite you. So far, so good. But it is annoying.
• Toilet paper in public bathrooms that can give you a paper cut…and in a very sensitive location. Come on, businesses. Be kinder to your customers. Spend a little bit more and get the softer stuff! And two-ply, please.
• That pesky mail from major banks that have at least four pieces of paper with my name and address on them. Checks to consolidate balances, offers for new credit cards, and more. Shredding them isn't hard, but what if I don't feel like going upstairs and plugging in the shredder? (I complained to Chase, where I bank, and they made a change in my profile but warned me that it may take 90 days to take effect. I'm still in 90-day limbo.)
• The fact that with hundreds of cable channels, and a hefty bill to prove it, there are still times when there's absolutely nothing to watch. (And I have pretty eclectic—and not always sophisticated—taste in TV shows.)
• Drivers who think it's not cool to use their turn signals. I've been surprised many times when a car in front of me suddenly slows and turns right while I, foolishly, assumed it was going my way. I give my "you selfish moron!" look, but they're long gone, so it's of no use.
• Cashiers who engage in conversations with coworkers while they're checking out your purchases. I'm pleased to see that this is rarer today. Companies must be doing a better job at customer service training.
• Mothers out for a stroll with their babies or toddlers and on the phone, gabbing away. Wouldn't it be nice if they paid some attention to their little ones? I accept that sometimes it's necessary to take or make a call. But engaging in a long non-emergency conversation when you're supposed to be spending quality time with your children? I even saw one mother crossing the street, little one in hand, having an engrossing conversation. The one is beyond petty annoyance for me. It's dangerous and wrong! (Having said that, I'm glad that cell phones weren't invented when my children were small. I'm sure I wasn't fully engaged all the time. Motherhood is a challenge!)
I am now pettied out. For a day or two. If I think of more ways the world can get my goat, I'll write about them later. If, when you read this, you find my whining about the small stuff irritating, don’t tell me. I would find that very annoying.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Four useless eyes and a phantom spider
You would think with two of us in the house—and one of us (not me) nearly 4 years younger than the other—one of us would have decent eyesight. It's not the case. Last night, just as I was about to turn out the lights and try to sleep, I looked over to see my spouse staring up at the ceiling.
"What?" I asked, a little fearfully.
"There's something up there..."
I looked up. And jumped up. It looked like a spider, on the ceiling, right over our pillows! But neither one of us was sure. Our aging eyes don't work the way they used to.
I've mentioned before that I don't like creepy crawly things (or hopping and slithering things for that matter). I'm especially queasy about spiders. To illustrate just how much I can't tolerate the creatures, I'm not able to download the Spider Solitaire app to my iPad. I did for a day, but every time I opened my iPad, its logo, a big, black spider, stared back at me. I didn't bother learning how to play the game and just deleted it.
But now we had a dilemma. This thing was hovering over our sleeping space, and there was no way I was going to lie down in that bed again until I knew it was gone...from the ceiling, from the room, maybe from this life. One problem? Our ceiling in the master bedroom is very high.
"Get rid of it," I pleaded.
"How should I do that? Even if I stand on the bed, I'm not going to be able to smack it." He thought for a second and then went downstairs to get whatever he needed for his bright idea. Waiting for him, I kept staring up at the thing, making sure that if it went somewhere else, I'd know where to find it. It didn't seem to be moving, but maybe the sound of humans carrying on like idiots immobilized it.
It didn't budge, and I was beginning to think that it might be a dust bunny (a creature I don't mind...). And, you know how when you stare at something immobile for a while it looks like it might be moving slightly? Especially if you're nearsighted? I began to be less and less sure it was a spider, but I wanted to be absolutely sure it was not.
My hero returned to the bedroom with his weapon of choice. A Swiffer mop! He marched over to the bed, slammed the flat bottom of the mop hard on the ceiling and...nothing happened. No insect scurried away to get out from under the mop. And when he finally took the mop down from the ceiling, nothing was on it. If it had been a spider, it would be somewhere—on the mop, on the bed, scurrying across the ceiling to get away from two lunatic murderers...
I have no idea where the dust bunny went, and I don't much care. As long as both of us were convinced there was no spider, we could get some sleep.
Rather than complain about the fact that neither of us can see all that well, I am grateful I have a compadre who's going through the same challenges of senior(ugh)hood. If nothing else, it makes for an amusing story.
"What?" I asked, a little fearfully.
"There's something up there..."
I looked up. And jumped up. It looked like a spider, on the ceiling, right over our pillows! But neither one of us was sure. Our aging eyes don't work the way they used to.
I've mentioned before that I don't like creepy crawly things (or hopping and slithering things for that matter). I'm especially queasy about spiders. To illustrate just how much I can't tolerate the creatures, I'm not able to download the Spider Solitaire app to my iPad. I did for a day, but every time I opened my iPad, its logo, a big, black spider, stared back at me. I didn't bother learning how to play the game and just deleted it.
But now we had a dilemma. This thing was hovering over our sleeping space, and there was no way I was going to lie down in that bed again until I knew it was gone...from the ceiling, from the room, maybe from this life. One problem? Our ceiling in the master bedroom is very high.
"Get rid of it," I pleaded.
"How should I do that? Even if I stand on the bed, I'm not going to be able to smack it." He thought for a second and then went downstairs to get whatever he needed for his bright idea. Waiting for him, I kept staring up at the thing, making sure that if it went somewhere else, I'd know where to find it. It didn't seem to be moving, but maybe the sound of humans carrying on like idiots immobilized it.
It didn't budge, and I was beginning to think that it might be a dust bunny (a creature I don't mind...). And, you know how when you stare at something immobile for a while it looks like it might be moving slightly? Especially if you're nearsighted? I began to be less and less sure it was a spider, but I wanted to be absolutely sure it was not.
My hero returned to the bedroom with his weapon of choice. A Swiffer mop! He marched over to the bed, slammed the flat bottom of the mop hard on the ceiling and...nothing happened. No insect scurried away to get out from under the mop. And when he finally took the mop down from the ceiling, nothing was on it. If it had been a spider, it would be somewhere—on the mop, on the bed, scurrying across the ceiling to get away from two lunatic murderers...
I have no idea where the dust bunny went, and I don't much care. As long as both of us were convinced there was no spider, we could get some sleep.
Rather than complain about the fact that neither of us can see all that well, I am grateful I have a compadre who's going through the same challenges of senior(ugh)hood. If nothing else, it makes for an amusing story.
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