1997.
Doesn't sound that long ago, really.
Only 13 years.
But over the last week I realized how much has really changed in that amount of time.
I came home from work last week, ate supper, and then went to my iPad to see how many Words with Friends games I need to make a move on.
Couldn't get in the game. It said my network was not working. OK, pretty standard stuff. There's lots of days I come home and it has disconnected. No biggie, I thought.
Wrong.
Instead of the normal DSL light glowing red and the rest green, this time the Power light was red and the rest were dark.
Now, in my mind IF a light is glowing at all I figured it must be getting power. In this old house, it isn't unusual, unfortunately, for a one plug in an outlet to go bad.
Seemed like a fairly simple fix. Just plug it in somewhere else.
After an hour of plugging and unplugging and switching plugs I finally called technical support. I'm sure most of you would have done it long before then, but I'm a "little" hard headed (no comments from the Peanut Gallery out there that is my family) and was convinced I could fix it myself.
Well, Missy with AT&T, was happy and chipper and went through all the questions. Did you plug it in? Yes. Did you switch plugs? Yes. Is there a light? Yes. It flashes red and green and acts like it wants to come on, but then stays red.
Oh. That was her response. I can hear typing on her end as I guess she's going through her flowchart to see what that means.
That means the DSL modem is defective.
Defective was not a word I wanted to hear.
Furthermore, we were not enrolled in the equipment maintenance plan so a new modem would be $100 and for an additional $20 they could overnight it. It would be at our house before Friday at 7.
Let me get this straight. YOUR equipment is defective and I have to pay for it?
Yes ma'am. You're not in the program and the modem is 3 years old. No longer under warranty.
I don't know if it was my hesitation, or if I cleared my throat, or just what, but suddenly we WERE enrolled in the program and they would be HAPPY to send out a replacement.
I'm no longer in panic mode and pretty sure I could survive a day or so with no Internet. Thursdays are very busy in my world anyway. And FedEx is usually here early in the day.
I could do this!
The next day I used my work computer to post on Facebook that I was down and would be out of commission for a while. I couldn't, however, tell all my Words with Friends players. Oh well, they'd figure it out.
Friday comes. I checked with Billy probably 3 times during the day. Is the modem here yet? No was always the response.
I wait. I'm like a kid waiting for Santa Claus. It's now 7. 7:30. Maybe he's just running late. Might have had a flat tire or something. 8. 8:30.
I go to bed dejected.
Saturday morning. Still nothing. I call AT&T. Kevin looks up the order. There is it. The UPS tracking number is this.
And it's still on the truck.
UPS doesn't deliver on Saturdays.
The website shows a delivery date of 10/25. What happened to the overnight I ask?
Apparently, they would overnight it when I was paying for it. When they were paying for it, that option came off the table.
So, I had a room full of "toys" that have limited use without the Internet. Billy and I had to drive around with a laptop all weekend looking for free WiFi if we needed to do something on the Internet. I did, almost, breakdown and see if I could still figure out how to do dial up.
Monday night I was back to "normal" and quite happy about it.
But I learned some lessons.
Last Thursday and Friday I got up and walked both mornings when I normally would have been sitting at my keyboard - emailing or Facebooking or reading the newspaper online. I studied over the weekend since I couldn't do any of those other things. We cleaned out a few things in the house since Billy had the pack rat's full attention.
But I also realized how truly dependent we are for some things. We had a list of stuff we needed to order that didn't get done until Monday. Natchez is a small town and we can't always find things we need here. Especially things that help Riley. Or ordering the supplies that Billy needs for his work. Those all come from California and I usually take care of that stuff by email because of the time difference. I was up late Monday trying to get that list taken care of so things could start shipping on Tuesday morning.
I know what you're all thinking - couldn't you just call them or email them from work? Well sure. Except I'm at work to work. And while I do check emails some during the day, I don't spend time ordering things and that kind of stuff. I'm paid to do a job and my time gets billed to my clients and they need to be billed honestly. My nonchargeable time is scrutinized to find out why I'm not billing. And I'm really very busy so often I look up and its time for lunch or past time to go home and I'm late again.
I do remember having more "free" time before I got all plugged in. But I missed my contact with my friends, even if only electronically. One of my Words with Friends opponents is now a Facebook friend. She became concerned when I wasn't playing and reached out. So, some good came of it.
So, what did I learn?
Yesterday, I walked in the morning instead of sitting here. I'm trying to remember to schedule the time away from here and do the things that need to be done. Like studying or making cakes or cleaning up or whatever.
Because the world didn't end when I wasn't 100% connected to it. I'm pretty sure most all of you will still be there when I get back online.
Because in your house it is still 2010.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
My Purple Dress
To all who think I'm sharing too much information in this post, please accept my apologies up front.
Today is the Purple Dress Run. It is a "run" to raise awareness and funds for Domestic Violence. October is Domestic Violence Month - along with Breast Cancer Month. All about the girls.
I put the word run in quotes because after I signed up and paid my registration fee I discovered it was not a true run but really a pub crawl. Just like the Red Dress Run in New Orleans. Now, I enjoy a glass of wine and the occasional cocktail, but 7 bars in 2 hours is really not me. I'm not THAT big of a drinker.
But I will do what I can. I will participate.
And here is why.
I know I one of the lucky ones. I get to help. I'm not one of the ones needing the help.
Our battered women's shelter is at the end of my street. It sits on the cross street, facing my street. I see it every day as I pull away from the curb. I pass it on the way to some clients. It is ever present in my environment. But I rarely see the residents. They are sheltered - behind the brick walls and locked doors. From those that have, and would continue, do them harm.
Not long after Billy and I started dating we had one of those talks that couples have when things start to "get serious". Basically, I laid out my two ground rules - never hit me, don't cheat on me. Sounded simple enough. I felt like we could work through anything else. Billy agreed.
Months passed and we got married. Anyone who thinks the first year of marriage is a cake walk has never been married. It's tough. Constant adjustments and compromises. I can't tell you what led to a heated conversation one afternoon, but I can tell you how it ended.
I have a bit of a temper. A very long fuse, but once it goes, it's gone. I was so angry this time that I walked up and shoved Billy. Now, Billy is 15 inches taller and about 90 pounds heavier than I. I did no damage, nor was he ever in any danger from me. But he looked at me. Solemn as a church mouse. Not angry, just serious. His response "I told you I'd never hit a girl, but if you want to cross the line and act like a man, I will treat you like a man."
That stopped me in my tracks.
I had crossed the line.
We've never raised a hand in anger to each other again.
Now, some will say I chose well. I like to think that Billy was chosen for me, I just listened. The path we took to each other contained a lot of steps that were not usual along our everyday paths.
I know I'm blessed. I was raised in a household that let me know that I was loved, and worthy of being loved. I saw the example my daddy set on how to treat his wife and was told on more than one occasion that if a man didn't set me on a pedestal, he wasn't worth keeping. I knew that, as wonderful as Billy makes my life, I'd still have a good life without a man in it. A good man was a compliment to my life, not the completer.
I've never worn sunglasses or heavy makeup to work to hide a black eye. Never worn long sleeves in the summer to cover a bruise. Haven't had to lie to my friends, family and co-workers.
Nor have I lay in bed at night, praying my husband wouldn't come home. Worried that the house wasn't clean enough, or that supper would be late.
We all walk on eggshells sometimes because a loved one is in a bad mood, or sensitive, or whatever. But I've not feared that something I said or did might cost me my life.
A lot of folks in town weren't happy to discover the "run" was a pub crawl. They felt like alcohol is at the root of abuse and the organizers were being disrespectful to mix the two together. One young lady that helped put this whole thing together was, herself, a victim of abuse. Her response to the detractors - her ex was just as abusive sober as drunk.
You see, it was in his makeup, not a reaction to his circumstances or situation. Sometimes mean people are just mean. Doesn't matter.
So, while this event might not be what I initially thought it was, I will do what I can to help. Because I know how to count my blessings. They start with Billy and work their way down from there.
And I'm a believer in Karma. What goes around, comes around. I pray I never need the services of a battered women's shelter. I honestly believe I never will. That doesn't, however, mean I won't need some other type of help. And I hope the people and funding necessary are there when I do.
I don't have to see the women in the shelter or even know their names to want to help them.
That's what being a good neighbor is all about.
Isn't it?
Post Script: After arriving I determined that I was overdressed for the occasion and let the run go without me. I saw them off, cheering them all, and then came home. The registration fee was contribution enough. Next year, I'll volunteer to help but the "running" is best left to the professionals.
Today is the Purple Dress Run. It is a "run" to raise awareness and funds for Domestic Violence. October is Domestic Violence Month - along with Breast Cancer Month. All about the girls.
I put the word run in quotes because after I signed up and paid my registration fee I discovered it was not a true run but really a pub crawl. Just like the Red Dress Run in New Orleans. Now, I enjoy a glass of wine and the occasional cocktail, but 7 bars in 2 hours is really not me. I'm not THAT big of a drinker.
But I will do what I can. I will participate.
And here is why.
I know I one of the lucky ones. I get to help. I'm not one of the ones needing the help.
Our battered women's shelter is at the end of my street. It sits on the cross street, facing my street. I see it every day as I pull away from the curb. I pass it on the way to some clients. It is ever present in my environment. But I rarely see the residents. They are sheltered - behind the brick walls and locked doors. From those that have, and would continue, do them harm.
Not long after Billy and I started dating we had one of those talks that couples have when things start to "get serious". Basically, I laid out my two ground rules - never hit me, don't cheat on me. Sounded simple enough. I felt like we could work through anything else. Billy agreed.
Months passed and we got married. Anyone who thinks the first year of marriage is a cake walk has never been married. It's tough. Constant adjustments and compromises. I can't tell you what led to a heated conversation one afternoon, but I can tell you how it ended.
I have a bit of a temper. A very long fuse, but once it goes, it's gone. I was so angry this time that I walked up and shoved Billy. Now, Billy is 15 inches taller and about 90 pounds heavier than I. I did no damage, nor was he ever in any danger from me. But he looked at me. Solemn as a church mouse. Not angry, just serious. His response "I told you I'd never hit a girl, but if you want to cross the line and act like a man, I will treat you like a man."
That stopped me in my tracks.
I had crossed the line.
We've never raised a hand in anger to each other again.
Now, some will say I chose well. I like to think that Billy was chosen for me, I just listened. The path we took to each other contained a lot of steps that were not usual along our everyday paths.
I know I'm blessed. I was raised in a household that let me know that I was loved, and worthy of being loved. I saw the example my daddy set on how to treat his wife and was told on more than one occasion that if a man didn't set me on a pedestal, he wasn't worth keeping. I knew that, as wonderful as Billy makes my life, I'd still have a good life without a man in it. A good man was a compliment to my life, not the completer.
I've never worn sunglasses or heavy makeup to work to hide a black eye. Never worn long sleeves in the summer to cover a bruise. Haven't had to lie to my friends, family and co-workers.
Nor have I lay in bed at night, praying my husband wouldn't come home. Worried that the house wasn't clean enough, or that supper would be late.
We all walk on eggshells sometimes because a loved one is in a bad mood, or sensitive, or whatever. But I've not feared that something I said or did might cost me my life.
A lot of folks in town weren't happy to discover the "run" was a pub crawl. They felt like alcohol is at the root of abuse and the organizers were being disrespectful to mix the two together. One young lady that helped put this whole thing together was, herself, a victim of abuse. Her response to the detractors - her ex was just as abusive sober as drunk.
You see, it was in his makeup, not a reaction to his circumstances or situation. Sometimes mean people are just mean. Doesn't matter.
So, while this event might not be what I initially thought it was, I will do what I can to help. Because I know how to count my blessings. They start with Billy and work their way down from there.
And I'm a believer in Karma. What goes around, comes around. I pray I never need the services of a battered women's shelter. I honestly believe I never will. That doesn't, however, mean I won't need some other type of help. And I hope the people and funding necessary are there when I do.
I don't have to see the women in the shelter or even know their names to want to help them.
That's what being a good neighbor is all about.
Isn't it?
Post Script: After arriving I determined that I was overdressed for the occasion and let the run go without me. I saw them off, cheering them all, and then came home. The registration fee was contribution enough. Next year, I'll volunteer to help but the "running" is best left to the professionals.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
And the Circle Continues
I have very vivid memories of growing up with my Uncle Billy. We spent a lot of time on the farm during the summers or holidays and he never acted like he minded hanging out with us.
There are lots of good times that I could share - watching Star Trek and such - but there is one thing in particular that has always stood out to me.
When I was a child, I was an indoor child. Reading, board games, reading, needlework, reading. You get the picture. Someone gave me Scrabble for Juniors for some occasion. Most likely my birthday.
Uncle Billy agreed to play a game with me. I don't believe he had married yet so I was under the age of 10. It shouldn't come as any surprise to anyone that I read all the rules first before playing.
One of the rules stated that brand names were unacceptable words. So, when Uncle Billy played "arid" I protested! My limited vocabulary only knew "arid" as "Arrid", as in the antiperspirant. He patiently explained to me the definition of the word he played - dry, like a desert. Knowing me, I probably verified that with the dictionary.
But I've never forgotten that word. Nor how I learned it.
I love being an aunt. It is my favorite role, after being a wife.
I posted on my Facebook page that I was addicted to "Words with Friends" - an electronic Scrabble game. (I'm playing people from all over the United States, and the world. I have opponents in Australia and the United Kingdom.)
Clay, my 15 year old nephew, "liked" it.
And then he added his screen name and told me to send him a game invitation.
Maybe that's not all that cool to anyone else, but my heart soared! I love that the guys (17 and 15) will even acknowledge their old aunt, much less want to do things with me.
So, tonight, Clay and I are playing Scrabble. No, it isn't the same as sitting across the table from one another. And I may not teach him any new words. I may be more afraid of him teaching me some. But it is still nice.
Nice that technology has afforded me a means to play without making a 9 hour drive.
Nice that I may be able to make some memories with him. If not tonight, then on a future game.
And there will be future games.
Win or lose, I hit the rematch button.
Look out spankyD567!
There are lots of good times that I could share - watching Star Trek and such - but there is one thing in particular that has always stood out to me.
When I was a child, I was an indoor child. Reading, board games, reading, needlework, reading. You get the picture. Someone gave me Scrabble for Juniors for some occasion. Most likely my birthday.
Uncle Billy agreed to play a game with me. I don't believe he had married yet so I was under the age of 10. It shouldn't come as any surprise to anyone that I read all the rules first before playing.
One of the rules stated that brand names were unacceptable words. So, when Uncle Billy played "arid" I protested! My limited vocabulary only knew "arid" as "Arrid", as in the antiperspirant. He patiently explained to me the definition of the word he played - dry, like a desert. Knowing me, I probably verified that with the dictionary.
But I've never forgotten that word. Nor how I learned it.
I love being an aunt. It is my favorite role, after being a wife.
I posted on my Facebook page that I was addicted to "Words with Friends" - an electronic Scrabble game. (I'm playing people from all over the United States, and the world. I have opponents in Australia and the United Kingdom.)
Clay, my 15 year old nephew, "liked" it.
And then he added his screen name and told me to send him a game invitation.
Maybe that's not all that cool to anyone else, but my heart soared! I love that the guys (17 and 15) will even acknowledge their old aunt, much less want to do things with me.
So, tonight, Clay and I are playing Scrabble. No, it isn't the same as sitting across the table from one another. And I may not teach him any new words. I may be more afraid of him teaching me some. But it is still nice.
Nice that technology has afforded me a means to play without making a 9 hour drive.
Nice that I may be able to make some memories with him. If not tonight, then on a future game.
And there will be future games.
Win or lose, I hit the rematch button.
Look out spankyD567!
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