Getting Used to the New Buggy

Who woulda thunk that I'd ever own an SUV?  Not me, for sure...but here I am with a silver Saturn VUE in my driveway.  Having a new vehicle requires some adjustments.  I haven't spent much time figuring it out yet.  I need to do that before the snow flies.  One thing is for sure: the SUV actually does NOT have more room than the Impala did.  The trunk in the Impala held far more than the storage behind the hatch of the SUV, but there is that folding seat function that helps a bit.  No matter.  The SUV is 130,000 miles newer, and that works for me!

Problem #1 with the new buggy: no place to mount a ham radio.  Even if there were a place, I'd first have to order a power cable for the mobile radio that I have because the last one was sacrificed when I got rid of the car.  My sister and I simply couldn't find a way to remove it, especially since it had been spliced with the mobile HF radio's power cable, and both were hard-wired to the battery.  There must be a way.  I'm just not ready to compromise the integrity of the car, yet!

Problem #2 that vexes me is that if the radio or CD player are in use, the clock doesn't display the time.  Surely there is a way to fix that?  I'll have to take out the manual and look it up.  Wait...a radio operator that reads instructions?  No way!

Problem #3 is that the rear view mirror is narrow in scope, and the back window has enough window posts, etc., that there are more blind spots.  I am learning to be more cautious when pulling out of my driveway or changing lanes on the highway, just to make sure that there aren't any vehicles there that I didn't see.  (This happened a time or two with the Impala, but the potential is greater with the Saturn.)

Problem #4, which really isn't much of a problem, is that getting into the Saturn requires a small hip-hike up, whereas my old Impala required only that I get my leg in and plop down.  Thus, getting into the Saturn is harder than getting into the Impala, but getting out is easier.  (My sister has a 2015 luxury Tahoe that is a major production to get into.)

My sister told me a few weeks ago that she spotted my old buggy in a Walgreen's parking lot in Springfield, IL (where I bought my new car), complete with crumpled fender and old bumper antenna mount, but that the broken rear door handle had been replaced.  (I still have the broken piece of door handle here.  Plastic.  Door handle made of plastic?  How does that get fixed??)  I'm glad the Impala found a good home.  It was a reliable car when I had it, but it was getting old.  I feared that it was going to break down on me on my trips to Illinois.

I'm still trying to get used to seeing a silver buggy in my driveway.  I try to be careful with it, not letting it get full of the trash that the old one did.  But now, I need to find the ice scraper and the IPASS transponder and the garage door opener for my daughter's house, all needed before my next trip to Illinois...maybe in mid-November.

Life goes on.  The character of my vehicles has never been part of my profile because I've never been able to choose a type or a color to suit me.  I have always just been lucky to have what I have.  I am hoping that the Saturn will fill the bill as my very last car.  If that happens, I can get used to it!

News You Can't Use

*I really ran myself out of money early this month.  Not to worry.  I'm not going hungry or anything quite as tragic as that, but I am paralyzed to do anything about the leaky kitchen faucet or a replacement lamp for the living room.  And since November begins the holiday season, plus my car insurance due and my grandson's birthday, it isn't going to get better!

*Got a phone call from one of my radio friends two days ago.  He is struggling with old-age health problems--his and his wife's-- the same as I, but now he is hit with the death of his little furry buddy...his dog.  I ache for him.  Mike is a man with huge soft spots in his heart for the likes of the rest of the world.  I hope he can get over this in favor of another pooch that will fill the shoes of those pets who have gone before.  :(

*My sister sent me a present!  Got it yesterday...a box of Harry and David pears..."just because".  I probably should explain that I'm not really a pear person because they are grainy and stringy...but not these!  I have fresh fruit in my house.  Thank you, Shari!

*I drove to Monrovia today to pick up some fundraiser cheesecakes that I ordered through the Band Boosters.  Hadn't been there in years, and it looked different.  Chit-chatted with the gals in the office, all of whom I knew, and saw another familiar teacher in the parking lot.  It felt good!

*I am sometimes asked if I miss teaching.  No.  Not even a little.  Teaching is horribly stressful.  The last 2-3 years were even more so because my daughter and grandchildren lived with me, and I took on more responsibilities.  (I did that to myself.  No one asked me to.)  There have been several times when I thought I should augment my meager income with a part-time job...but then I look at how I well I don't do with just getting by, and trash those ideas.  Whatever influence I had on students is in the past.  I'm still in touch with some of them...and one of them sent me a very touching message just yesterday on Facebook after I sent her an email of support.  It was time for me to retire when I did.  I look back and wonder how I managed!

*I notice that my daily mood is largely influenced by the sun.  When the days become short, I get less and less energetic.  Thank God we are returning to Standard Time this weekend.  I am up well before daylight each day, even though the clock says it is day time.  We'll gain an hour of daylight on Sunday which will then dwindle back down by Christmas.  Indiana really needs to be in the Central Time Zone, but they don't ask me...

*Because Facebook and other avenues of social media are fraught with political nonsense, I am backing down.  I find myself resenting even the most innocent of comments about politics, and I deserve better of myself.  If I don't like what I'm reading, I shouldn't read it, right?  That takes me out of the realm of many of the people I love and respect...but they exclude me with their politics.  Thus it is when living in a "red" state.  Ugh!

Adventures with AT&T

I have ATT U-Verse, which bundles my phone, cable TV, and Internet DSL services into one bill, which comes automatically out of my checking account every month...except this one, apparently.

Last month, my bank shut down my debit card for some reason and issued me a new one.  Since every automatic bill cleared last month, I (erroneously) assumed that they all came out via automatic check rather than my debit card....but apparently, ATT is one that used the card number.  Thus, my October ATT payment was denied by the bank...and my latest bill shows me a month in arrears, plus next month's bill....over $400, due on Nov. 10th...date changed due to internal problems of some sort.  Whaaaat?  All of my ATT bills used to come out after the 15th, which I budgeted for when my Social Security came through (second Wednesday of each month).  A little quick research showed that ATT had changed billing dates, starting in November, but that the date could be changed by the customer if inconvenient.  Thus, I decided that I needed to talk to ATT to resolve the probs: arrange to make the overdue payment, change the info for future automated payments, AND  change the new billing date back to what it used to be.

Next order of events was to find a phone number to call ATT.  The letter that I had about the payment not going through had no phone number on it, so I reverted to using the phone book (and a magnifying glass!) to find a number.  The one I picked was for "Residential Services."  I armed myself with all of the information I thought I needed and hunkered down on the patio expecting a lot of whoop-de-doo hoops to jump through just to get a real person to talk to.

I called the number.  I got a recording that said, "Just for calling today, you are entitled to a $100 gift.  Press 1 for more information, or you may just hang up."  I didn't particularly want to hang up because that would leave me without another number to call, figuring that whoever I DID talk to could at least put me in touch with another number....so I pressed 1.  After quite a few rings, a very heavily Indian-accented man named "Michael" (yeah, right!) answered.  He asked how he could help me, and when I told him, he told me to "rest assured" that he would put me in touch with someone who could do that, but first...about my $100 "gift"...  He obviously had access to something about my account because he knew my name and address, asking only for the zip code.  Then he asked what stores I shop at (for issuing the "gift card"), and I began to smell a rat.  I told him that I wasn't interested but to please transfer me to someone who could help with my account.  "Rest assured that I will do that.  But why don't you want a free gift?"  I told him because I felt he was going to ask me to do something I didn't want to do...so just transfer me.  "I haven't asked you to do anything." "No...but you will.  Please give me the number of someone who can help with my account."  He was hard to understand, so I didn't catch the  first part of what he said about the "free gift", but the last part had to do with a $4 activation fee for the gift card.  I'm sorry, but I wasn't about to give him my financial information for an activation fee--which, I'm sure is what would come next.   We did this verbal dance probably four times before he got the hint, so he gave me a number to call for my account:  1-800-555-1212.  I knew instantly that it was bogus.  Recognize it?  It's the number for Toll Free Directory Assistance.
 

I called my daughter.  In short order, she gave me another number to call.  (How does she do that????  Not even the stupid letter that I got from ATT had a number on it!) 

Called the number, and that started me on the automated phone call loop.  It was voice activated.  I was asked to say what I wanted...so I started out by wanting to change the automatic payment information.  That seemed to work...but when it asked what else I wanted, I said "Change billing date", but that took me back to changing the automatic payment information, which I did AGAIN...and so it went.  I knew I needed to talk to a real person.  You know about real people??  Like, the folks who can take care of things with understanding in short order????  Did you also know that you can just press 0 in these automated calls in order to be transferred to a real person?  I didn't either, but it worked before, so I tried it again.  Worked!  I got a gal named "Arlie".  When I told her that was my grandfather's name, we got a chuckle...and then, she quickly got things taken care of for me as my phone beeped "low battery".  Of course, in the process, she also tried to sell me faster Internet....but also thought that she could lower my cable bill.  She is the first person I've talked to at ATT for awhile that actually listened to me and took NO for an answer.  I liked that and will write an email commendation for her.  (Sometimes that works better than a big tip!) 

So...another crisis averted after an hour's frustrations with technology at its finest.  When I was on the phone with Arlie, I also told her about my conversations with "Michael".  It seems that she also works on that part of the ATT experience and so has registered my complaint and even started researching it while I was on the phone with her.  Nice job!

     

Gofundme?

There is a feature on Facebook that can be launched to raise funds for various causes.  The feature is called GOFUNDME.com.  I know nothing about how it works, only that accounts are set up to raise funds for various individual situations.

In recent days, I've seen several posted.  Two are to raise funds for funerals for unexpected deaths.
One is a plea for funds to send a child to Mayo Clinic in Minnesota.  Another is a bid for money to replace a vehicle that was destroyed in some kind of civil riot somewhere.  All worthy causes, I'm sure.

I think most families carry life insurance to cover funerals and car insurance to cover vehicle damage (unless policies don't cover civil unrest).  But if they don't, how are the rest of us responsible?  I am a Christian and a charitable person.  My church espouses "Live simply so that others may simply live". In the vernacular: I'm down with that.  The truth is that I DO live simply.  There are no frills in my life!  I live in a tiny house with a "new" 7-year-old vehicle.  I have no real social life that costs money.  My income is such that I have to decide, month-to-month, what things I can have and what things I can't.  I give to my church and favorite charities as I can, but now I'm wondering if I shouldn't just set up a gofundme account for myself and say, "My house needs a new roof" or "My house needs new carpet".  But those aren't sob stories.  I guess I need to say, "I can't live well because I am retired and on a fixed income."  Not sad enough?  Probably not.  I came from a different generation of folks that took care of their own.  Taking charity was for the uneducated and downtrodden.  I am neither uneducated nor downtrodden.

I see the whole gofundme thing as nothing short of begging.  It's one thing for a friend or family member to set up a charity account for a person or family, and quite another for the family itself to ask for money.  I guess I'm too old-fashioned for today's world.

Come to think of it, I've run myself so short on money this month that I'm not sure I'll have enough cash to buy Halloween candy for the trick-or-treaters on the 31st.  If you wish to contribute to my plight, just mail your hard-earned funds to:  Peggy's Little House-on-a-Slab, Plainfield, IN.  And God bless you!      

My Music "Education"

I'm not always sure what my grandchildren think of me.  Generally, I think they believe I'm an old fogey who doesn't know nuthin' about nuthin' when it comes to music and modern life.  Sometimes, they try to trick me by playing a song and asking me who sings it, or what song it is.  Most of the time, I fail because I just don't listen to contemporary music, but every once in awhile, I shock them because they play a Beatles song (something they think their generation invented) and I can not only ID it but sing it by heart!

Robin (age 12) has reached an interesting place in life.  She enjoys reading and music and insists that the rest of us need to share the books and songs she likes.  She could secret herself in her room to listen to her music (and does), but when she can, she makes me listen to her favorite songs, too. What I have discovered is that the stuff she loves is stuff that impresses me, too!  This past visit, she was having me listen to (and read the lyrics of) songs from a musical called Wicked, which is an offshoot of The Wizard of Oz.  She could sing every word in a clear and pretty voice, and was gratified to have a captive audience in me.  (I understand this!  How many times have I forced others to listen to or watch things that I enjoy, just because having company in the moment feels so good!)

I was tickled this summer when Robin was in band camp.  The leaders posted a video of the kids watching the movie Frozen.  When it came time for the song Let It Go, every stinkin' kid in the assembly sang it loud and proud along with the movie!  What a moment that was!

Last week, when Robin played the song Wicked for me on her iPod, I mentioned that the singer sounded like the woman who sang Let It Go.  Both Robin and my grandson Ryan quickly informed me that it IS the same woman.  Do I win????

I notice that a lot of choral music directors these days have the children singing songs they like.  That didn't happen to me.  We were "educated" in the classics.  The first music teacher I remember was the one I had for three years in Oak Park as a 6th-8th grader...Mrs. Boehm (rhymes with "game").  We sang songs out of a songbook that was filled with American classic songs--Negro spirituals, songs of the frontier, patriotic stuff of course, but Mrs. B also made us listen to (and tested us on) orchestral pieces:  Beethoven, Handel, Prokofiev, Mussorgski, Tchaikovsky, etc.,--all themes that I recognize to this day.

When I hit high school, I was in the high school choir at my church, First Methodist, led by a very serious choir director.  I was introduced to more than just the normal hymns.  We did Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring and many other classic church songs:  Ave Maria, and too many others to list.

When I graduated to high school, there was a hierarchy of vocal music statuses.  The whole vocal music department was directed by Miss Edna Ruth Wood who was a no-nonsense woman.  I'm not sure if others were afraid of her, but I was!  Freshmen went directly into "chorus".  If you were good enough and wanted it, the following year was "choir"--usually separated by men's choir and women's choir.  Then, if you wanted to try out for the creme-de-la creme, you could audition for A Capella Choir--only available to Juniors and Seniors.

Since only A Capella Choir could participate in the musical each year, I definitely wanted to be in that choir.  It was comprised of the best singers of the entire (huge) school...but auditioning was terrifying.  The worst part of the audition was sight reading, done while the rest of the contenders sat and listened.  Each student was given probably four bars of music to read, given the starting cord, and asked to pick out the beginning note and go from there.  Ack!  I managed, praying all along that I wouldn't embarrass myself.  In any case, I made A Capella and was a very happy young lady!

A Capella participated in a Christmas Concert (with massed choirs), and then a Vespers Service near Christmas with only us, alone.  Then there was the yearly musical, and later, a spring concert.  As offshoots, there were solos and solo bits in larger concerts and and a group called Mixed Ensemble, which would be today's answer to show choir.  I was in it all!  I had a tiny solo in the musical my Junior year (Brigadoon) landed the lead in the musical my Senior year (Plain and Fancy), and a concert solo as a Sophomore, plus a solo bit in Vespers my Senior year.  The ending song of the Christmas concert each year was the Hallelujah Chorus.  To this very day, I get goosebumps when I hear the first measure of that song!  There are many other songs/arias that I can sing because I was part of them way back when...and ya know?  I don't regret a minute of what I was forced to learn then.

I had lead parts in two musicals as an adult (Damn Yankees, and Razzmatazz), and two solo parts in Easter cantatas, also as an adult.  I have sung solos at funerals and weddings, in churches and schools.  I came, I saw, I sang!  My singing voice is totally gone now, but I still "feel the music in me".

My grandchildren are in band now.  They are being exposed to good instrumental music, but there is a part of me that really wants them to be a part of vocal music, too.  Both children have nice voices and both children seem to have the same eclectic taste in and appreciation of music that my daughter and I have, largely (I think) because of exposure in our younger years by parents, grandparents, and excellent music teachers.  There are very few Christian hymns that I don't know.  I can recognize (if not name) classic symphonies and well-known opera arias.  I'm up on classic Italian art songs (thanks to my voice teacher).  I know much of classic sacred music and came of age during the 60s which was rich with folk music, protest songs, rock music, and bands that are still playing today.  Marching bands get my blood going.  I think part of the reason that I love my church has to do with the fact that we have a Director of Music/organist who brings his enormous talent and taste to our sanctuary every week--music that makes me cry and music that gives me hope.  

Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast.  I have been blessed by good teaching and exposures. I'm actually quite proud of that.  I sure hope my grandbabies get the same!

Household Archaeology, Part Four

Days after my family's departure, I have (so far) only found one thing that was left behind:  my son-in-law's hooded San Francisco sweatshirt.  It was hanging on the hook behind the front door, so we all missed it.  Of course, I haven't gone through all of the rooms yet, so there could be more.  We'll see!

The Edge of the Door

In my grandparents' farmhouse, there was a door that opened from the kitchen to a bedroom that was always called "Popo's room".  (My grandfather.)  It wasn't a normal internal door.  It had divided panes of glass with a shade on the back side to promote privacy.  And on the opening edge of that door were the height marks of generations of Covill children and grandchildren.  When we gathered for holidays, the children were measured and marked on the edge of that door.

Last week or so, I woke up thinking about that door.  When we sold the farm, there was no way to retrieve the door...and nothing to be done with it even if we could.  I realized in that moment that it was gone forever...a whole bunch of family history was beyond my grasp, and I had never grieved its passing.

In fact, I never really grieved the passing of the farm, in our family for well over 150 years.  I was raised by a military wife/mother who taught us never to look back....and so I haven't.  But sometimes, things hit that should have been resolved years ago.

I hope that door is still there, and I hope someone in the family can find something to do with it before the entire house is torn down.  I'm not sure anyone cares but me.  I was just shocked by my reaction when I woke up thinking about it.

Household Archaeology, Part Three

You ain't a-gonna believe this, but it happened again!  My helper arrived today to do the floors.  After he left, there was a sock...a black sock.  More specifically one of my daughter's black socks.  Where was it?  I have no clue...but the last time my daughter was here was, I think, back in March.  Make your own conclusions!

Household Archaeology, Part Two

My house must suck.  By that, I mean that it surely has some vacuum or magnetic characteristic by which inanimate objects are just drawn in to be left behind, like a huge black hole in the universe. The objects either fade into the background, not to be seen at the time folks depart, or they are lost in plain sight.  It messes with my mind.

When I wrote the first edition of this post, Household Archaeology, I thought that I had surely found all of the hidden treasures left behind by my grandchildren (who were here, by the way, back in early August).  But I was wrong.  Just last week, I opened a drawer in the computer desk in the living room--a drawer that never gets used--and stuffed inside was a ball cap that the children got as a freebie from the State Fair.  Okay....NOW I have found everything that got left behind, right? WRONG AGAIN!  Just this morning, my friend Adam, who had stayed here post-surgery last week, sent me an Instant Message inquiring if he had left some pill bottles behind.  He'd had his things in Robin's room, and I hadn't been in the room since he left....but there were his pill bottles (three of them) on the dresser.

Surely that was the end of the dig?  Nope!  While I was in Robin's room getting Adam's pill bottles, I discovered, in plain view, a tube of deodorant.  Not mine, and probably not Adam's.  My guess is that Robin left it behind.  How could I not have seen it before????

I am tentatively declaring this particular dig for artifacts closed because....guess what?  The family will be here this weekend, and I can start the whole process all over again when they depart!!

Flying By the Seat of One's Pants

I'm a lucky duck in that I have, mostly, a whole bunch of radio friends who have supported me in my trials and tribulations in life as a single woman.  Most of them are men, and most are married, but amateur radio is a "brotherhood" of sorts.  If someone needs something that someone else has or can help with, we are there for each other.  I simply cannot begin to list the number of times when my radio "buds" saved my rear (or my daughter's rear) through the years.  I have rarely been called to return the favors...but it did happen this past week.

A week ago yesterday, I got an Instant Message online from one of these friends.  It seemed that he was scheduled for inguinal hernia repair at the VA Hospital in Indy the very next morning, but had not been able to procure a ride.  In my years of knowing him, he has always done things on the spur of the moment....

Adam has been a widower for probably 20 years.  He is an Illinois transplant, like me, with children living in northern Illinois, but he hadn't called them because he just knew that all they would want to do was transport him up there after surgery, and he didn't think it was a good idea.  Long story short, the VA will not carry out surgery unless the patient has a driver that will stay on the premises for the procedure and promise to stay with the patient at least overnight thereafter.   Could I be his driver??

We moved our conversation to the telephone.  Adam needed to be at the VA at 6:00 AM for 8:00 AM surgery.  He lives waaaaay down in Greenwood.  I wasn't pleased with the idea of driving way down there and way back in the wee hours of Monday morning.  To be perfectly honest, I was a little irritated that he had known about this surgery for weeks, maybe even months, but hadn't worked out the details yet.  I seriously considered telling him that I wasn't up to it....but then I remembered the time that he gave up a day to babysit me after my aneurysm deal when I wasn't allowed to be home by myself...and remembered, even more, the day when he almost single-handedly moved Megan out of the house in Muncie just prior to divorce, moved her stuff into a storage unit, helped us get the rental truck back where it belonged, then talked a closing Bob Evans Restaurant into staying open for the five of us working on the move who were dirty, tired, and hungry, paid for the meal for everyone, and left the waitress enough of a tip that she kept saying, "Are you sure?  Are you sure?"  How could I tell him that I couldn't help him out when he had done so much for us??

In short order, we determined that he would come here after he did some things at his workplace on Sunday and would spend Sunday night here so we could launch to the VA at 5:30 AM.  Since I didn't have much warning, the house was mostly a mess.  I didn't even have a bed prepared for him to stay in, although I have plenty of beds.  He stayed on the couch.

Adam came through surgery okay.  The surgical team talked to me as a "significant other".  Later in the day, they released him after they were certain that he could urinate okay.  We stopped for food, then came back to my house where he was ensconced on the couch with his good drugs and whatever amenities he needed.  It had been a looooong day!

Adam's original plan was to stay at my house Monday night then somehow find his way home....but his home has stairs...and he was on narcotic drugs that made it not wise for him to drive, even if he could stand the pain.  I had no intention of turning him out!  His being here wasn't a problem for me, except for the fact that I was keeping different hours than usual.  (By Tuesday evening, I was sufficiently tired and crabby that I just went to bed!)  Since I hadn't had much warning that I would have a house guest, the place wasn't really presentable, and I was somewhat embarrassed by the fact that all he had was a not-very-comfortable futon couch on which to sleep.  But he didn't complain.

I didn't do a thing to accommodate Adam.  In fact, I feel guilty about that.  I made sure he was taking his meds.  I fed him, sort of.  I asked if he had been checking his wound to make sure it wasn't doing anything stupid.  That's it.  As happens, however, with narcotic meds, he became constipated.  He weaned himself off of those and was taking all of the stool softeners, etc., that had been recommended, but was experiencing some pain with the "rock" in his gut.  Straining was out of the question.  I got concerned, envisioning an emergency trip to the VA to relieve him....but....praise God, the dam broke and he got relief!!  The very next day--Friday--he decided that he was well enough to go home.  I checked on him Saturday and he sounded okay.  I am praying that all's well that ends well.

As annoyed as I was in the beginning that he hadn't taken care of business earlier, I came out of this experience happy that I was able to help.  We are all called to help one another.
So be it!