Please Hold

Thought for the day: If it weren't for electricity, we'd all be watching television by candlelight. [George Gobel]

[image courtesy of morguefile]

And if it weren't for telephones, I reckon we'd all be sending smoke signals.

To tell the truth, I had no idea what I was gonna write about for today's post. Oh, I had a few nebulous ideas, but nothing that stirred much enthusiasm in me.

Then Monday happened, and serendipity struck.

When I went to my ophthamologist last week, she prescribed another eyedrop to add to my daily regimen, and told me to come back in a month to have the pressure remeasured.The staff kindly made a return appointment for me, and I went on my merry way.
That afternoon, Smarticus' next surgery was scheduled, and you guessed it... it fell on the same day as that aforementioned appointment.

No problem, right? I simply went online and canceled the appointment, and figured I'd make a call to the (ugh!) appointment center on Monday to reschedule.

OY! Big problem! First, after dutifully entering all the required information into the automated system, the robo-voice told me all lines were busy, and there'd be a wait of anywhere between 56 minutes and an hour and 23 minutes... (Where do they come up with arbitrary numbers???) so did I want someone to call me back. To sweeten the offer, I was assured that I "wouldn't lose my place in line." A no-brainer, right? So I left the required information, and about two hours later, give or take, I got that promised call-back. Cool, huh?

Nope. Not cool. An automated voice once again informed me that all lines were busy, but the next available assistant would take my call. (Why, why, WHY did they call me back, if they were only going to put me on HOLD again?) Silly naive me thought it'd only be a short wait. After all, I was next in line, right?

I gave up after waiting for more than an hour, and I've gotta tell ya, it gave me enormous pleasure to slam my phone receiver back into its cradle. (One of the pleasures of owning a landline. Also... I have NEVER accidentally dropped my phone into the toilet or run it through the washing machine. Just saying...)

Then I took the phone off the hook. Phooey on 'em! I had stuff to do, dammit!

And I was MAD! SOOOOO mad, I wanted to punch the wall and scream. So natch, I did what any other perfectly normal weird irate writer would do... I wrote a silly poem that evening:

'Tis a sad and tragic story,
But one that must be told,
About a most unlucky fella
Whose call was put on hold.

A recorded voice informed him
There'd be a slight delay,
'But your call is quite important,
So please don't go away.'

Then began an endless loop 
Of an irritating tune,
Plus timely saccharine assurances
That someone would answer soon.

'I'm sure this won't take long,'
The foolish man did say.
'I'll simply sit and wait my turn...
Why not? I've got all day.'

Minutes passed, and then passed hours,
As life went on around him.
Yet still he sat, phone pressed to ear,
For his determination bound him. 

The longer he waited,
The more he had to stay.
His call'd be answered any sec,
So he mustn't go away.

With zero sleep and little food,
He clutched his phone for days.
He began to hum that damnable tune,
And his puffy eyes looked crazed.

Then finally, on day twenty-two or three,
The music stopped; he held his breath,
And he heard a woman say:

'Thank you for your patience.
I'm so glad that you could stay.
Now won't you kindly tell me
What I can do for you today?'

'Your mattress stinks; I'll not return
To your crummy store Sweet Slumber.
I demand my money back!'
'So sorry, sir. Wrong number!"

***********

On Tuesday, I played it smart. I called the dreaded appointment center first thing in the morning. So first thing, in fact, after dutifully entering all the required information into the automated system, I was informed that the place didn't open until 8 AM. (The slackers!) There was a happy ending, though. I called on the stroke of eight, and by golly, I was first in line, and the task was accomplished in a matter of minutes. From now on, I will ALWAYS make that call at 8 AM. Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me.

So are automated telephone systems and being put on hold the banes of your existence, too? Oh, and let's not forget those delightful robo-calls. (I guess there weren't enough people being duped via email, eh?) If none of those things make it to the top of your pet peeve list, what does? (Why not write a poem about it? HA) And, ya know,  if we can't beat the system, we might as well laugh at it...

                                     

Kinda makes ya nostalgic for the good old days of telephone, doesn't it? Well, except maybe for those pesky party lines. You know... when you knew your nosy neighbor was listening to your call, because you could hear her open-mouthed  breathing. Oh, but remember those really sweet helpful operators? Remember... Earnestine?

                                    Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Full Disclosure: I'm Not a Trend-Setter

Thought for the day: No man has ever been shot while doing the laundry.

I just came in from hanging a tablecloth on the clothesline. Perfect day for it, too. Wall-to-wall sunshine, and a nice breeze blowing, the kind of day that does a lickety-split job of drying, and leaves everything smelling like the great outdoors. As I hung it, I thought about the tons of clothes I've clipped onto clotheslines over the years...

We lived in a row home when I was a kid, and had a fold-up umbrella type clothesline. In those days, every back yard in the whole congested neighborhood held a clothesline of some sort, and hanging clothes outside wasn't just a necessity; it was a time for bona fide over-the-fence socializing.

I reckon our love affair with computers have changed that scenario quite a bit, eh?




 But anyhow, back then, hanging clothes was a time for gossiping, political opining, recipe swapping, and talking about the latest guest on the Ed Sullivan show. I was a latchkey kid, so most of the time, I was the one out there hanging clothes behind our house, and for some unfathomable reason, the neighbor ladies accepted me as their pint-sized equal.

Now, not all the memories of those times are rosy. Trying to fold frozen clothes with equally frozen fingers wasn't a whole lot of fun.

Wasn't too great when one of our dogs completely shredded everything hanging on the line, or when a flock of mulberry-eating birds selected our humble sheets as a primary bombing target, either. But all-in-all, I remember those days fondly.











The first house Smarticus and I bought boasted a killer clothesline. Big sturdy metal tees with half a dozen long lines stretched between them. (As Tim Allen would say, "R-R-R-R!") The thing was, it was a pretty big yard, so there was never any socializing over the fence while hanging clothes. Then, most everybody got clothes dryers, so it became a rarity to even see anybody outside with a wet basket of laundry.

When we moved here to the sunny South, there were no clothesline to be seen in our neighborhood at all. Zip, zilch, nada. I reckon it was considered "common" or "old-fashioned" to hang clothes on the line in 1971. Anybody who was anybody had the latest, greatest clothes dryer by then. Even me. But I also had a clothesline in the back yard. Something big enough to hang sheets, because, really, is there anything that smells as wonderful as bedclothes filled with the smell of sunshine? Alas, in time, I, too, grew weary of hanging clothes. It's too bloody hot here in the summertime. And well, yeah, a dryer really is convenient.

But I still have ONE line strung out back, and always will. And when I was out there hanging that tablecloth this morning, lo and behold, the man who lives behind us was hanging something on a line in his yard, too! He's a new neighbor, and it's a brand new line. And get this: we exchanged greetings. It wasn't exactly heavy-duty socializing like days of yore, but it sure felt good. And I've noticed that some of the young families moving into our neighborhood are putting up clotheslines, too. Going green, they say. But I say, what's old is new again.

Like lots of other things. Our daughter used to tease me unmercifully because of some of the clothes I wore. Like clam diggers. In fact, she teased me so much, I finally got rid of them. And wouldn't ya know, they're all the rage now. They call 'em capri pants these days, but as far as I'm concerned, they're just good old clam diggers with a fancy name and attitude. So in years to come, if you should happen to see me sporting a suddenly popular pair of bell bottom pants, it won't be because I'm a trend-setter. It'll be because I never got rid of my old ones. And if red patent leather platform shoes ever come back into style, I'm all set. And (shhh) just between you and me, I'm never giving up my slouch socks.

Hmmmm, maybe I should teach my granddaughters how to play jacks. We could be starting a new trend ...

How about you? Are some of the "old things" from your past becoming new again? (Face lifts don't count!)

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. Think I'll go pull out my old bag of balls and jacks. My skills could use a little brushing up.







P.S. Hanukkah, an eight-day festival celebrating the triumph of light over darkness, of purity over adulteration, and spirituality over materialism, begins this weekend. To all who are Jewish, I wish you a very happy Hanukkah. For the rest of us, I believe we, too, should embrace the ideals of light over darkness.

If you're gonna be lighting a menorah, I bet you won't be doing it quite like THIS:

         

Ya Winn Some, Ya Lose Some

Thought for the day:  A computer lets you make more mistakes faster than any other invention in human history... with the possible exception of handguns and tequila. [Mitch Radcliffe]

Like J.H. Goldfuss said, There is only one satisfying way to boot a computer.

Right. Actually, I can't blame my computer. Or my camera. It's (gulp) ME. (Ohhhh, the shame of it all...)

See, I had easy peasy plans for today's post. Last weekend, we went someplace really cool, and I took a bunch of pictures. So far, so good, right? Just post the pictures, add a comment here and there, and BANG! Done!

Except... I, um... lost the pictures. (And shhhh! This isn't the first time I've done it.) Talk about an oopsie moment! Somewhere between trying to transfer them from my camera to my computer, they got... lost. And natch, they automatically deleted from my camera, too. I found a folder where they should be, but I can't open it. Found two pictures, but the rest? Who knows where they are? So much for all of those cool pictures. (sigh)

So I found a handful of pics on Wikipedia and on our county's Historical Society webpage. They'll have to do.

[Gwinnett Historical Society]

We spent a sunny Saturday morning at a fun fair at the Elishu Winn House. The house was built in 1812, and served many government functions in the early days of our county. The barn's third floor served as a courthouse, and our county's first elections were held in the parlor. The county's first jail... which was actually a small barn... was also located here... and the first executions by hanging were carried out here, as well. This picture is the before picture... what the house looked like prior to restoration.

[wikipedia]

THIS is what the house looks like now. Touring the house was like taking a step back into history. The furniture! The quilts! The toys!

(ahem) Guess you'll have to take my word for it.

A one-room schoolhouse.

The jail.

The privy. Nope, I didn't go inside.

A couple re-enactors. Really nice guys.

One of the guns in action. The pics I took showed both guys shooting at the same time, and lots of smoke. (sigh) You'll have to take my word for it.

Well, dang. Now I can't find the two pics that I'd located before. (I'm beginning to suspect I'm too stupid to own a computer...) They were shots of the blacksmith at work. In addition to two fellas doing that hot work, there were other demonstrators, as well, showing things like weaving, quilting, and lace-making. Lots of interesting stuff to see. Lots of booths set up under white tents. Vendors selling food, artwork, crafts, etc. It was a fun outing, and I'm totally bummed I lost all those pictures. After spending waaaay too long trying to find them, I then spent waaaaay too long trying to find a funny essay about a grandfather grumbling about technology. No luck there, either.

But I did find this, a poem that I bet will resonate with a bunch of you. Unfortunately, I don't know who wrote it. I didn't, but I sure do relate to a lot of it...

A POEM -- THAT WAS US

A little house with three bedrooms,
One bathroom and one car on the street
A mower that you had to push
To make the grass look neat.

In the kitchen on the wall
We only had one phone,
And no need for recording things,
Someone was always home.

We only had a living room
Where we would congregate,
Unless it was at mealtime
In the kitchen where we ate..

We had no need for family rooms
Or extra rooms to dine.
When meeting as a family
Those two rooms would work out fine.

We only had one TV set
And channels maybe two,
But always there was one of them
With something worth the view

For snacks we had potato chips
That tasted like a chip.
And if you wanted flavor
There was Lipton's onion dip.

Store-bought snacks were rare because
My mother liked to cook
And nothing can compare to snacks
In Betty Crocker's book

Weekends were for family trips
Or staying home to play
We all did things together -
Even go to church to pray.

When we did our weekend trips
Depending on the weather,
No one stayed at home because
We liked to be together

Sometimes we would separate
To do things on our own,
But we knew where the others were
Without our own cell phone

Then there were the movies
With your favorite movie star,
And nothing can compare
To watching movies in your car

Then there were the picnics
at the peak of summer season,
Pack a lunch and find some trees
And never need a reason.

Get a baseball game together
With all the friends you know,
Have real action playing ball -
And no game video.

Remember when the doctor
Used to be the family friend,
And didn't need insurance
Or a lawyer to defend

The way that he took care of you
Or what he had to do,
Because he took an oath and strived
To do the best for you

Remember going to the store
And shopping casually,
And when you went to pay for it
You used your own money?

Nothing that you had to swipe
Or punch in some amount,
And remember when the cashier person
Had to really count?

The milkman used to go
From door to door,
And it was just a few cents more
Than going to the store.

There was a time when mailed letters
Came right to your door,
Without a lot of junk mail ads
Sent out by every store .

The mailman knew each house by name
And knew where it was sent;
There were not loads of mail addressed
To "present occupant"

There was a time when just one glance
Was all that it would take,
And you would know the kind of car,
The model and the make

They didn't look like turtles
Trying to squeeze out every mile;
They were streamlined, white walls, fins
And really had some style

One time the music that you played
Whenever you would jive,
Was from a vinyl, big-holed record
Called a forty-five

The record player had a post
To keep them all in line
And then the records would drop down
And play one at a time.

Oh sure, we had our problems then,
Just like we do today
And always we were striving,
Trying for a better way.

Oh, the simple life we lived
Still seems like so much fun,
How can you explain a game,
Just kick the can and run?

And why would boys put baseball cards
Between bicycle spokes
And for a nickel, red machines
Had little bottled Cokes?

This life seemed so much easier
Slower in some ways
I love the new technology
But I sure do miss those days.

So time moves on and so do we
And nothing stays the same,
But I sure love to reminisce
And walk down memory lane.

With all today's technology
We grant that it's a plus!
But it's fun to look way back and say,
HEY LOOK, GUYS, THAT WAS US!
************

Some of us, anyway. Can you relate to any of the stuff in the poem? Did you ever fetch bottles of milk from your front porch in the early morning, and find the cold weather had popped the top off above a big pile of yukky cream? (NOT a pleasant memory...) Have YOU ever managed to lose photos when you were trying to move them from your camera to your computer? Please tell me I'm not the only one.  (I sure never had this kinda trouble with my trusty ol' Brownie or Instamatic...)

                         Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.