On The Road Again

     In years past I have managed to hit (with the car, silly!) the right side of the garage and the left side of the garage, so today, in the spirit of equal treatment and...with the back gate of my mini-van open...I hit the top of the garage. Or, more precisely, the bottom of the garage door that was raised up to the top of the garage. We will not speak of any basketball goals that we used to have. Our driveway is a hazardous place.
     And not just our driveway. You would think you'd be safe in a church parking lot, but they had to go and put those orange cones all over the place there because, apparently, someone was parking where they weren't supposed to park.  (If you positioned your car just right you can park right on top of that NO PARKING sign they had stencilled on the black top and then nobody even knows it's there. I mean, somebody could do that if they were so inclined. I don't know who would, though.) Anyway, they put out those orange cones and right away one jumped right under my car when we were leaving church one Sunday and got stuck under there, and there was no way it would come out even after I stopped several times and tried to pull on it. It took a couple of miles of driving with this horrible scraping noise before it dislodged itself!
     I don't know how these things happen. I don't even like to drive. When I was seventeen I still had not gotten my driver's license when all around me people were chomping at the bit to rush to the DMV on the day they turned sixteen. I wasn't interested. Dennis finally talked me into taking a stab at it, and although I got a hundred percent on the written test, when I drove with the instructor he said "Have you ever driven a car before?", which I thought was pretty rude, and, surprise! I failed the driving test.
     I finally did pass though, which is a good thing because now, due to Dennis's failing eyesight, I am the primary driver. I'm still not interested, though. It's just not that much fun having to deal with all those other people on the road.They act like such babies. Like, if somebody thinks you pulled in front of them and they had to slow down a little to let you in, they don't have to make that big screeching noise with their brakes. I'm sure they do that just to let me know they are back there. And, sheesh! Coming around and flipping the bird at a little old lady should certainly merit a pretty big Time Out, if not an actual trip to the wood shed. It's not like I do these things on purpose. That's why they call it the Blind Spot, isn't it?
     And just because when I get up to a stop light, and then the turn lane is there, and I think maybe if I turn instead of go straight I will get where I'm going and out of the car sooner, so I kind of get in the other lane but there is a car there, and I have to sit sort of kinky-wampus between the two lanes until the light changes, people get so impatient! Good grief, it's not as though I did that on purpose either. If there wasn't a car in that lane I'd move up. It's like they think they are going to get through the light sooner if I'm out of the way. Well, sometimes the light does change while I'm maneuvering and they have to wait again. Or they zoom right through the yellow light! Can you imagine? I, myself, always stop for yellow lights. Even if it is kind of sudden and people do all that brake-screeching again. I certainly don't want to be the one who goes on through and the light turns red just as I get to the other side.
     Well, "You just do what you have to do," as my friend, Kevin, said yesterday when we were talking about driving. Except if any of my kids are around, I just hand them the keys and get in the back seat. It's more relaxing back there. They don't seem to mind. I think they like it better when someone besides me is driving.

Seating Arrangements

     They have remodeled the sanctuary at our church and it looks very nice but the pews are gone!  There are chairs now. They are softer and they hook together so there is almost a pew-like bench if things get crowded, but the best thing about them is that they can be unhooked and act like regular chairs if they are needed elsewhere. It is very practical. Still, things have changed. (
    When you always sit in the same place and everyone around you sits in their same places, you get to kind of know everybody there.  A couple of weeks ago, when my friend, Valerie, looked back and saw we were two rows behind her family instead of right behind, she looked at me like "What is going on???" and all I could do was shrug. It made it strange when we stood up during the greeting time and we had to shake hands with people we didn't already know. So the next week when we got there before Valerie's family, I stood behind her row and kind of draped my arm across the backs of the chairs when anybody looked like they might want to sit there.
     But this week there was already someone sitting in Valerie's seat when I came in and I met her and her name is Phyllis and she has been married fifty-five years! It's remarkable the things you can learn. I thought she was new to the church because I had never seen her before and I think she thought the same thing was true about me, but apparently she has been going there a long time too. I don't know where she has been sitting.
     We visited a church once and inadvertently sat in some one's regular seat. The people behind us said "You're new here, right?" and we nodded, and they said, "Thought so. You're sitting in the Wilsons' seats." Apparently, the Wilsons were on vacation that week but it was still their pew and we were interlopers, even though they weren't there. And when we first moved to St. Louis we visited (once) a church that we nicknamed "First Church of the Frigidaire" because not a person spoke to us coming or going. Now that I think about it, it was probably because we had sat in a pew without thinking and displaced the usual occupants.
     And now our pastor is saying this week is "Bring a Friend" week. Boy, will that mess things up.  Nobody will get their usual spot if everybody has someone new sitting next to them. It will be like that "Fruit Basket Turnover" game we played as kids. Or when the organ starts playing it might be "Musical Chairs" with somebody left standing, looking for a place to sit.
     I don't know. If people start moving around in church and shaking hands with folks they've never met, and getting to know new people, things might get really weird. Like in the Bible when they met together all the time and all took care of each other and spent all their time listening to the teaching and praising God and "fellowshipping" with each other.
     I don't think they even HAD pews back then!

Fashion Statements

     My teenage granddaughter just got new jeans. They look like they were left in a lion's cage and used by the whole pride on their scratching post. She says they are "pre-shredded", which I think is retail-speak for really, really expensive. I'm glad I saw her wear them first before I found them on the floor in a pile, which I'm sorry to say is where dirty....make that tried on once for three minutes and decided against....clothes go, because I probably would have taken them straight to the rag bag. (Does anybody still have a rag bag anymore in this day of all things disposable?) No chance of that, though, because she loves them and will wear them all the time. And she looks darned cute in them.
     When her dad was little I bought his jeans with special, reinforced knees so he wouldn't get holes in them and sometimes ironed patches inside to keep them from wearing through for as long as possible. Little did I know that if I had let them go and saved them to sell later I might have been rich today.
     For awhile I felt sorry for boys wearing jeans with the crotch around their knees and the waist so big and low that their underwear showed and they had to hold them up just to walk. Heaven forbid they might have to run in them. I wanted to say to them, "Don't worry. Just keep eating your vegetables and maybe you will grow into your clothes some day." I guess the Big and Tall stores are doing a booming business these days, because how many six-foot nine-inch linebackers have garage sales? It's probably a good thing I didn't say anything because I understand now that they might not have taken kindly to that. And I suppose it's also a good thing I resisted the urge to go over and straighten their ball caps for them when they had the bill completely crooked and sticking out the side instead of in front, although you know I was only being a Grandma and worrying about them.
     I just know that when I was a kid, I would have died of embarrassment if I had been forced to appear in public wearing raggedy jeans or clothes too big. And how many little gold safety pins did I use up to keep my bra straps from showing? Or....my goodness!....wear a black bra under a white blouse so that it showed through? You couldn't have paid me to go out like that. And my dad would have locked me in my room anyway.
     But, it's gotten me thinking. What about my favorite "Mom Jeans"? (Okay, Grandma Jeans)  hey are beginning to get some very fashionable holes in them. You can see right through in some places and they are shredded exactly like Hayley's with more holes just on the verge of appearing. What do you think? Should I try to sell them on e-Bay and make a bunch of money, or keep on wearing them and be a really stylin' grandma?

How Smart Is Smart?

     It has happened. The cell phone I have had for a couple of years has always been smarter than me but we had reached an agreement where I only used about half of its features so as not to stress it (or me), and that was working, but yesterday I was coerced into getting an upgrade. The new one is not only smarter than me, it is a member of Mensa and is just sitting here sneering at me. It is so smart it doesn't even deign to communicate with us little people.
     So far, everything it has allowed to happen has been set up by my eleven-year-old granddaughter, Hayley. She's really smart so I guess the phone thinks she's an equal. But now I have to wait for her to come over before I can do anything else. What if somebody calls? I'm not sure if I will be able to figure out how to answer. Or how to call Hayley to tell her I need her to come rescue me.
     Besides that, following the example of the nerd stereotype, it isn't even pretty. I wanted purple; the choice was black or white. Plus it is heavy and won't fit in the back pocket on my pajamas. That may be a good thing. The two times that I dropped my old phone in the toilet it was because it fell out of my pajama pocket.
     This wasn't really in my plans, but Dennis's phone was about to die, our techie son offered to pay,  and I had to go along to keep peace in the family. And stay on the family plan.
     If I ever master this thing....and I'm not holding my breath....apparently I will be able to talk, text, listen to music, surf the web and watch videos all while secretly taking pictures of people who are dressed inappropriately at Wal-Mart, and then send the pictures to Facebook. Oh, and check the stock market for my non-existent stocks and locate myself on a map, which I'll need to do because I was looking at the phone and didn't pay attention to where I was going. The map is of the WHOLE world, you just have to slide your finger to find a country, so that is a little scary. Does this mean I may wind up in Uganda before I know it? And will there be cell service there?
     The good thing is that I will always know the weather in Cupertino.That is the city that permanently appears on the weather screen. (That map may come in handy after all.) Knowing the weather in Broken Arrow, not so much. I guess I can stick my head out the door to find that out anyway.
     Dennis didn't get the same phone I did. His has huge numbers on it so he can see them, and the other one was free so you know which one I chose. It would have been easier if we had the same one, then he could learn half the information and I could learn the other half.  We share one brain most of the time anyway.
     He has been studying his and even watched a video online about it, but when Hayley called him this afternoon he couldn't figure out how to answer before she hung up. While he was saying "Hello! Hello!" and poking at the screen, he got a nice picture of his palm, though. When he finally talked to her she said she would come over this evening and hold a class in iPhone 101. Maybe there's hope, but if you really need to get hold of me, you'd better drive on over, at least for the near future.

The Red-Eye

At three fifty-eight a.m. I was awakened by what sounded like my oldest son, Josh's voice saying "Hello."  That's all I heard.  But then I remembered that he and his family were on a "red-eye" flight right then, on their way back from Hawaii.  Was the plane okay?  Maybe it WAS him!  Instead of hello, maybe he was telling me good-by!  Maybe I needed to pray for that plane!

Should I get up and check online to see if a plane had crashed over the Pacific?  No, they wouldn't have information yet.  Would someone from the airline call us?  Would they know to call us?  All of Josh's family, Jerilyn, David and Emily, were on the plane.  Well, that was a comfort.  They would all go together.  I know they are all Christians, so they will be all right.

I know the code to get in their neighborhood gate, but do I know the alarm code for their house?  What will we do with their dog?  Where is she, anyway?  I think they boarded her, but how will we know?  We could take one of the cats but I don't think we could take both.  And where is their van?  It must be in long-term parking at the airport, but how would we get the keys?  And how would we know where to look for it, anyway?  And would the parking people let us take it without the ticket?  The ticket is floating in the Pacific!!!

I'm sure their pastor, Grif, would do the Memorial Service at their church.  Or would they recover bodies?  How long does that take?  Do you wait to have a funeral till then? Well, it would be closed casket anyway.  We could use the kids' school pictures.  And Josh and Jerilyn just had a really good picture taken recently when their church made directories.  Maybe the Bell Choir that Jerilyn directed could play at the service.  But, oh no!  Who would direct it??

I looked at the clock.  It was five twenty-two.  I needed to get praying.  And then the sun was coming in the window and I heard Dennis turning the shower on.  They haven't mentioned a plane crash on Good Morning America and it isn't on Yahoo.  I guess they would have it on the news by now if there had been one.  I think I'll text them in case they have landed.  But if they didn't crash, maybe they are sleeping because of jet lag so I shouldn't text.

You always hear on television and movies that a good mother would "Just know" if something happened to her child.  But does that work when the child is in his thirties?  And what about spouses?  Pre-cell phone days when Dennis was late getting home from work or a trip I could have his funeral planned, pick out the pall bearers and the music and invest his life insurance before he ever walked in the door.  Except the one time he really did have an accident on the way home I was busy doing something and didn't even notice he was late till he called to tell me.  So much for my ESP, I guess.

You don't think I'm over reacting, do you?  I guess it could have been my bladder that woke me up in the night. 

Arlarming Situation

     My alarm clock has it in for me. Granted, I don't use it every day since we are retired, but it still is making itself known. It sits there and sneers at me because it knows I don't really know how to control it. Like, I don't know how to change the time. I know now that you aren't supposed to have to, but once I tried to set it for Daylight Savings Time, not realizing that it is All Knowing and wanted to do that by itself. So, it moved six minutes and that was all and now it won't go back, so I always have to factor in the extra six minutes and since it involves math I get confused sometimes whether to add or subtract.
     Who knew it was able to do it's own thing even when the government keeps changing the day that the time changes each year? I just go to sleep now on Time Change Day with it one time, and when I wake up it has reset itself to an hour later or earlier, depending on the season.  It is kind of creepy.
     It is supposed to allow you to change the time you want the alarm to go off, of course, but I can't remember how to do that either. It sometimes just comes on randomly, like at three-forty-five IN THE MORNING!!! even though I think I've got it turned off. It's a clock-radio and trust me, some guy shouting about politics all of a sudden in your bedroom in the middle of the night is not conducive to restful slumber. Or it doesn't go off when I need to wake up at a certain time. In fact, now that Gus, the Wonder-Yorkie, who has been our real alarm clock for five years, has gotten older and started sleeping in some, I'm going to have to figure it out. There may be an instruction book around here somewhere. Or my daughter-in-law, Jerilyn, may show up some day. She can stare it down and make it mind. She got it started when I first got it, I think.  (Or that may have been the answering machine, but that's another blog.)
     There's an alarm feature on my cell phone that Jerilyn set up for when I have to take some medicine at the same time each day. I can't work that thing either. It's not for lack of trying. Or, at least I used to try before I got so frustrated I gave up. Okay, I tried once. Actually, a lot of times but all on one day. Or night. It was very critical and I have been so mad at it that I  never want to look at that feature again. Our son, Josh, was leaving on his deployment, so emotions were already running high, and we needed to be up at four a.m. to go to the airport with him. We had stayed at Josh and Jerilyn's house so we could do that. There was no alarm clock in the guest room, but I thought, "No problem.  I've got my cell phone." HA! I tried to set it about six-hundred and fifty times till I gave up and basically stayed awake all night checking the time about every fifteen minutes. Did I mention I'm somewhat technically-challenged?
     There was a day, probably before you were born, when clocks actually had faces and there were  hands that went around and pointed to numbers and told you what time it was. You used a second set of hands to set the alarm for the time you wanted to get up, and they had buttons that you pulled out and you just hit the buttons to turn them off. Even I could do it. Back then, I would set two clocks, one next to the bed, then one across the room for ten minutes later so I actually had to get up to turn it off. It was very efficient. You couldn't hit the snooze button eleven times and still be late for work like you can today.
     The alarm clock I have now has been intruding into my life lately by making strange noises, like static, every time my cell phone is on the night stand with it.  I'm not sure if the two of them are communicating in some strange, secret code, plotting against me, or if the noise is the sound of aliens trying to contact earth and the presence of the cell phone heightens the magnetic field for them. I stopped it for awhile by setting a heavy coaster on top of the clock, but the other night they were back, even with the weight there.
     If I don't show up for something some morning when you were expecting me, come check. It could be that the Evil Alarm Clock has won its battle. Then again, I could just still be snoozing away. The best revenge is a good night's sleep.

Night Noises

     It's too noisy to sleep in our bedroom. Since I've had this cold I'm really tired, so you'd think it would be easy to fall asleep, but I keep hearing this squeaking sound. And kind of a whistling. You know those paper New Year's Eve horns that roll up and down? Like that. Or there is a mouse right under my pillow. But, wait. It's  even closer than that!  It's my nose! Or, more accurately, my sinuses. Holding my breath doesn't work out too well. Neither does holding my nose. How the heck are you supposed to get away from a noise when it is you??
     And then I lay there worrying that I'm keeping Dennis awake with the Sinus's Seventh Symphony. He is asleep pretty soon, though. I can tell by his breathing. You would think that he would be a snorer, but he's really not. Oh, sometimes a little bit, but not like some people that you can hear two houses away. He claims that I am the one who snores, but we know that couldn't be possible from a dainty little (stop smirking!) old lady like me. Okay, I have woken myself up with a snort or two a couple of times, but I would never admit it to Dennis, and you don't need to blab, either.
     Gus, the Wonder Yorkie, is the one who snores the most. He sleeps on the foot of our bed.This is the dog who sits on my lap while I'm watching television at night and I will almost wet my pants to keep from getting up and disturbing him when he's comfortable. He doesn't snore then. Sometimes I kick his pillows to rouse him just a tiny bit so he will turn over. But it takes me a long time to decide to do it. So I just lay there. Listening to my nose. It's probably Gus who Dennis is hearing when he thinks I'm snoring.
     What Dennis does in his sleep that cracks me up is, he chuckles. I wish I knew what was so funny. Sometimes he talks a little bit but not enough to really understand him, even though I try. I guess he's telling himself jokes. It's pretty likely I've heard them all more than few times before, anyway. You probably have too. Come to think of it, maybe some of his really weird jokes are ones he just "dreamed up."  Years ago.
     When we first got married he talked in his sleep and it was loud and clear.  He wasn't used to having anyone else in the bed and he must have felt crowded because we had not been married a week when he said in a very stern voice, "You are going to have to learn to stay out of my armpit!" I looked to see if we were going to have our first fight, but he was sound asleep. Or at least he pretended to be.
     If noise is coming from somewhere else in the house it is at least possible to deal with. When the boys were teen-agers and we went to bed before they did, after the third, "Quiet down out there!", we often turned on the fan even when it wasn't hot so the "white noise" would drown out a lot of the commotion in the living room. 
     And here is my hint if you have a drippy faucet: put a sponge underneath the drip and you won't hear it. I don't know what to tell you about the neighbor's dog who whines all night. When we had that happen I asked my neighbor if she had heard a baby crying in the neighborhood. Turns out it was her dog and they did move it to another place or something. Really. I thought it was a baby. It was a total mystery to me how she assumed it was her dog.
     Until this cold is over I'll just have to keep trying new things. Tonight I'm going to try to breathe in a rhythm. I'm hoping it will at least be kind of a lullaby. Eventually I'm sure I'll fall asleep.  It will be just an hour before it is time to get up.