UnPlug

 UnPlug

I got my first cell phone in the late 90’s. 

For me it was more than a novelty.  I thought it was the most useful and necessary innovation since email. 

Particularly reassuring was having it on hand when I was alone traveling in my car. 

I remember an incident pre-cellphone days.

On a gloomy winter day, my nine-year-old son and I went to visit my sister. She lived about 45 minutes from my house.  

We left her house for home around 5 p.m. It was already dark and had begun to rain. 

The route home was along a poorly lit two-lane rural road. 

Halfway through the trip the rain was getting steadily worse and soon turned into a downpour. 

Between the swishing windshield wipers, and the glaring headlights of the oncoming traffic, I was becoming quite anxious. 

Still, I took my time, and calmy reassured my son that we would soon be home.

We were about two miles from our house when my car started acting up.  I coaxed it another mile and pulled into a little strip mall in our neighborhood.

It was a Sunday evening. Nothing was open. No phone booths around. 

So, in the pouring rain, on that dark and stormy night, my son and I walked the last mile to our house. 

We were cold and wet, but glad to be safely home.

Today, that amazing, useful device has become something entirely different.

It’s always on my person or very nearby.  I get panicky when I don’t know where it is. 

I try to stay busy during the day with other things.  I write or paint or knit and the day goes by. 

But doom scrolling has become my bedtime routine.  Sometimes, falling asleep while my finger is still resting on the screen.  

I’ve broken many promises to detach and unplug. 

Perhaps its usefulness is something different for me now, though.  

A connection of sorts to the woman who wants my opinion on which dress she should wear to the black-tie dinner she’ll be attending in one hour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time to Appreciate Time

The father of my children, my former husband, Ken recently passed away. 

We remained cordial after the divorce. He never remarried. and continued to live in the house we shared while we were married. 

My children inherited the house, and I’ve been helping with the clean out.   

The house was built in 1973 and much of it remains orinigal. I hadn't been there in quite a while.   When I walked in, I felt as though I was entering a time warp.  

At first glance, it appeared that Ken kept the house neat, clean and uncluttered. 

But, as we began opening closets, and cabinets, walking into the basement, and checking out the garage, we started to realize how much stuff there really was.

Before he passed away, whenever we spoke, he would tell me how he was trying to get things in order and organized.  And there was evidence that he was doing just that. 

But, honestly judging by what we found and how much of it there was, the task must have seemed overwhelming to him.

He saved everything. Some of the items were things that I had kept from when the kids were little.  My wedding gown and old photographs were tucked in the back of a closet. I imagine Ken believed he would eventually have time to sort through it all. 

My past bumping up against the present brought forth emotional memories, and the time-line became blurred for me. 

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been struggling with the concept of time.  

Two years ago, I lost my second husband Ross. We were together for twenty-seven years. Since he’s been gone, I’ve settled into biding time. I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing until Ken passed away.  

Both men, Ross and Ken, lived their lives as though their time was never-ending.  For them, there was always going to be a tomorrow. 

When I first began writing this piece, I intended to tell you that losing two men who had been so influential in my life has made me feel that I would most likely spend the rest of my life quietly waiting for, frankly, my turn.  

Today, after the first good night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time, I stepped onto my patio, lifted my face towards the warmth of the spring sun and breathed it in. 

I walked around my garden taking in the beauty of the blooming tulips. I paused to quietly watch a mama robin tending her nest while papa stood nearby keeping a protective watch.  

I thought about how I've spent the last two weeks taking apart a nest.  

Life. Time.  So precious. 

 

Service Please

S

Service Please

 

Or perhaps title of this piece should be “stress” because that’s what I am experiencing right now.

I recently received a letter in the mail from the

E-Z Pass Service center. 

E-Z Pass-you know, the toll thing on highways, bridges and tunnels.

Actually, the letter was addressed to my husband Ross.  Ross passed away two years ago.

The purpose of the letter was to let Ross know that he would be receiving new E-Z Pass Tags in the mail. 

The letter states:

“Included with your replacement tag(s) will be instructions and a postage paid envelope to return the old tag(s) to the E-Z Pass Customer Service Center. You must return your old tags within 15 days of receiving your new tag(s) or risk violation notices.”

The letter goes on to request that Ross verify his mailing address.  It states that if the mailing address is incorrect, he should log on to his account or call the 1-800 number. 

There are several issues with this letter.

1.         The letter was sent to my address.  Ross never lived here.

2.         I don’t have his old tags. 

3.        I don’t have his login or password.

4.        4. And I’m quite sure his phone number would also be needed…which is no longer in service.

Since I did not want to deal with having the tags come here and then have to send them back, I called the 1-800 number.

I explained the situation to the agent.  My husband passed away two years ago, blah, blah, blah. 

The agent replied that there was no way she could prevent those tags from being sent out. 

She assured me that the tags would be sent to my old address… not here.

HUH?

What?

So, the person who bought my house may have to deal with sending the tags back or have them forwarded to me?

She also said that if the tags were not returned Ross would be charged for them.

Ohh-kayy? And?

Can you feel my frustration with Service? Can you tell I’m stressed?

I was going to ask to speak to a supervisor, but I just thanked the agent and told her to have a nice day. Because in the grand scheme of things, dealing with a couple of tags pales in comparison to the losses I've experienced recently.