by jphilo | Dec 4, 2015 | Daily Life
This post was a favorite of mine when it first appeared here on the Gravel Road in 2010, and it’s still one of my favorites on this Fantastic Friday. When you read it, I hope that you agree.
It’s a Beautiful Hill, Isn’t It?
The other morning, I was nearing the end of my walk, trudging up a steep hill in the park . Not wimpy steep. This hill is truly steep. And long. Very long.
A tall jogger approached from behind, huffing and puffing and gaining rapidly – so I moved to the side of the path. His arms pumping, he barely lifted his feet off the ground as he wheezed past. Still, he flashed a broad grin and gasped, “It’s a beautiful hill, isn’t it?”
I nodded at his long, lean, retreating back and thought of the young adolescent boy I’d seen a while earlier in the morning on this very same hill. I was on my way down the hill, and he was wobbling along on his bike, heading to the middle school.
We go to the same church, and I’ve watched him with interest over the years. Diagnosed with high functioning autism some years back, life hasn’t been easy for him. Social cues often escape him. Impulsivity is his enemy. Subtlety, irony and tact are lost on him. But thanks to supportive parents who love him unconditionally and realistically, he’s learning to cope.
As his bike swerved up the sidewalk, I stepped into the grass to give him more room. Then, I greeted him, the same way I always do on the mornings when our paths cross.. “Good morning, Fred!”
Most days, Fred’s response is a brief nod with eyes averted, nothing more. But this time was different. Fred braked, put a foot on the ground to balance himself and looked my way. “What’s your name again?” he asked.
“Jolene,” I replied. “Jolene Philo.”
Fred looked me straight in the eye and smiled. “Good morning, Jolene.” Then he swung his other leg over the bike and pedaled up his truly steep, very long hill.
I watched him tackle the steep incline he faces every day of his life. It is a beautiful hill he’s climbing, I thought as he reached the crest. A beautiful hill indeed.
by jphilo | Nov 9, 2015 | Daily Life
This house almost always has 1 writer in the house. But for about 2 1/2 weeks, while our daughter and her family were here while the Man of Steel and Woman of Aluminum recovered, the writer population around here swelled to 3.
A Philo Phamily writers’ colony right here on the pharm.
As the days went by, the kitchen island sprouted notebooks and pens, the living room resounded with keyboard tapping, the voice of a young author reading her manuscript to the Man of Steel as he recuperated and the Man of Steel laughing at all the right places emanated from sick bay, the excited voices of mother and daughter discussing plot points for new novels tumbled over one another, and young parents sat together talking about how to better develop characters for an audio play.
Think of it as Little Women for the new millennium.
With fewer girls, more mature women, and a couple handsome men. Also a baby whose presence pulled the house’s inhabitants down from the rarefied air of art for art’s sake to fold diapers, change diapers, and play peek-a-boo. And the handsome man who’s a non-writer begging the authors to finish their next manuscripts because he can hardly wait to hear what happens next.
Heady stuff, as you can imagine.
Yesterday, the 2 young writers took their baby home to a neighboring state. Today, the Man of Steel is recovered and back to work. The 1 remaining writer was sad to see them go and good-bye. But as is the way of writers, she was not sad to say hello to an empty house. Because she knows the words inside her head require external silence and time to labor alone if they are ever to come alive on paper. If they are ever to be read by another author and revised. So their timing is perfect enough to make the Man of Steel’s laughter ring out–music to a writer’s ears–when he reads the next manuscript and begs for a new one.
Yes, there’s a writer in this lonely house. And she feels right at home.
by jphilo | Oct 26, 2015 | Daily Life
Scoff and toss.
For years, the Man of Steel and I did just that every time we found AARP envelopes in our mailbox. We smiled smugly at one another and said, “AARP? Us? We’re way too young for that. Not to mention that we take good care of ouselves!”
Then last week knocked the smug stuffing out of us.
The first blow landed when I got my new, lighter splint last Tuesday and was told I can’t drive for four more weeks. At least. And that I have to operate one-handed for that length of time, too. The second blow came the same day when the on-again, off-again pain under the Man of Steel’s right arm went full blown on-again and laid him out flat. As in flat-on-the-floor-on-his-back-flat-and-sort-of-comfortable, or in-excruciating-pain-in-any-other-position flat.
Between the two of us we had less than one good body.
Suddenly, we were prisoners in our own home. Reduced to begging asking people for rides to the store and doctor’s office. Wondering when to call our kids to beg ask them to drop everything to help us. Not wanting to shift from being the ones who serve others to being served by others.
That was the final blow. The blow to our pride.
Admitting that now–for at least a while–we have to surrender our independence and be dependent on others. Knowing for the first time in my adult life where Blanche DuBoius was coming from when she said, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Because going from independent to dependent is a whole new reality.
A reality we hope to shed soon. Very soon.
Once we do, once we’re back on our feet, we will respond differently when to those AARP mailings. The smugness, the pride in our race to outrun aging will fade. We will no longer scoff at those reminders that will one day lose the race. We promise.
No more scoff. Just toss.
by jphilo | Oct 2, 2015 | Daily Life
In the past 2 months, we’ve been without internet service twice. For a week each time. So when I ran across this post from September of 2010, it was an obvious choice for this Fantastic Friday. The Man of Steel, who dealt with tech support this time, discovered that tech support hasn’t improved much in the past 5 years. If anything, it’s gotten worse.
Gotta Love That Tech Support
For about twenty-four hours, ever since our modem died yesterday afternoon, the technological forces of the universe did their best to unwire our household. Thankfully, despite their best efforts and my lack of technological skill, they failed miserably.
I won’t bore you with the entire saga. (Careful now, your sigh of relief could be audible.) Instead, here’s a quick run down of the three – count ‘em – three calls to our internet provider’s tech support headquarters it took to before all systems were once again go.
PROLOGUE: All three calls began with one of those obnoxious, prerecorded helpers designed frustrate clients so they’ll hang up before reaching a live technician. My favorite part of the pre-recorded advice was given right after I indicated the problem was a lack of internet connection. The mechanical voice announced, “You’ll find ways to fix many internet-related problems by yourself using the free tutorials and instruction manuals at our website.”
Grrrr.
CALL #1: When the live tech support woman finally came on the line, she scolded me for not checking for power cord issues before calling. When she heard the cord was plugged into a power strip, she suspected it was the culprit. After I performed a series of contortions to unplug the modem and several tests per her instruction, the modem came back to life. “See,” she admonished, “You could have determined it was a power cord issue without my help.”
Before our call ended, I had to promise this woman that if the modem again failed, I would complete the power cord test before calling for tech support. Two hours later, the internet connection again failed, so I performed the required tests. But this time, I couldn’t resuscitate the modem on my own, which led to…
CALL #2: When a live tech person finally came on the line, I described the tests completed before calling. “Okay,” she said, “let’s start by checking for a power cord issue,” and began describing the tests I had just completed. When she finally realized I’d been a big girl and done those tests all by myself, she said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you have a bad modem and need a new one.”
I really, really wanted to ask her to get the previous tech person on the line and repeat what she’d just said, but restrained myself in the interest of time. She also said another tech call would be required to configure the modem, once it was purchased, which led to…
CALL #3: After purchasing the new modem, I once again called our internet provider. A friendly, helpful and very young-sounding man walked me through the configuration process. While we waited for stuff to download and reconfigure, he made comments like, “That’s a good-looking modem you’ve got there,” and “You’ve got yourself a real good modem,” and “Everything looks good from this end.” All of which made me wish I’d spent more time on my hair and make up this morning, ‘cause who knows what else was showing up on his computer screen?
We checked and double-checked the internet connection and then the wireless router, and all systems were go. So my complimentary helper ended the call by saying. “Now, won’t your husband be surprised when he comes home to find you set the new modem up all by yourself?”
If I were a brave woman, I would call tech services to ask one last question: Do you have an online tutorial that teaches tech guys how to quit while they’re ahead?
by jphilo | Sep 28, 2015 | Daily Life
For the first time since who knows when, I spent several days at home.
Alone.
All by myself.
No Man of Steel, who went to Minnesota for a long weekend motorcycling with his brother-in-law and doing Papoo stuff with the grandkids. No speaking engagements, because the one scheduled for Saturday was cancelled. No kids, because they were here over Labor Day weekend. No pets, because we gave up pet ownership several years ago after gaining a reputation in the neighborhood as the black hole of pets.
Just me.
The Woman of Aluminum.
Alone at home.
Quite a switch at our house, since I’m the one who’s usually out and about while the Man of Steel sticks around to keep the home fires burning. This is a situation that can be extrapolated to reveal much about the true differences between men and women. Here are 4 examples that come to mind.
- When home alone for a weekend, the Man of Steel eats meals that require no cooking beyond the microwave and no dishes. Only paper towels. He purchases bagged salad or potato chips to take to the church potluck on Sunday. When the wife gets home, the dishwasher holds exactly the same number of dirty dishes as when she left.
- When home alone for a weekend, the Woman of Aluminum eats BLTs for supper every night because it would be a shame to let the last, gorgeous tomatoes of the summer go to waste. She makes chocolate chip oatmeal cookies to take to the church potluck on Sunday and since the oven is hot, finally bakes that apple pie she’s been meaning to deliver to the new neighbors who moved in a year ago. She loses track of how many times she runs the dishwasher.
- The Man of Steel mows and trims the lawn and deposits his dusty clothes in the laundry room.
- The Woman of Aluminum bites the bullet and cleans the refrigerator for the first time in more than a year. It is gross.
- The Man of Steel goes running as often as possible on bachelor weekends and remembers to leave his sweaty running clothes in the laundry room hamper so the bedroom won’t smell like a locker room when his wife returns.
- The Woman of Aluminum walks every morning of her solitary weekend, but her clothes don’t get sweaty because she refuses to run. Because running is against her religion. She sorts the week’s laundry before the Man of Steel returns from his trip and is struck by the dearth of sweaty, dirty man clothes and the abundance of kitchen towels and dish rags in the wash.
- The Man of Steel cranks up the volume on his speakers and listens to loud music every spare moment alone. All weekend long. Over and over.
- The Woman of Aluminum binges on Glimore Girls DVDS and The Hunger Games movies. Without popcorn. But with a few of the chocolate chip cookies that won’t be missed at the church potluck.
I could go on and on. But won’t because I’m writing this blog during my weekend alone and I really, really want to complete every item on my Woman-of-Aluminum-Gone-Wild weekend agenda.
Next up?
Balancing Mom’s checkbook and paying her bills for October.
After that?
Don’t ask. Just don’t ask.
by jphilo | Aug 14, 2015 | Daily Life
This Fantastic Friday post looks back at the day my first book, A Different Dream for My Child, landed on our doorstep. Seeing the boxes resulted in a happy Monday jig on a beautiful August morning in 2009. Reading about that day makes me feel like dancing all over again, and I hope it makes you smile, too.
The weather was glorious this morning, and so was my mood. During my walk along the gravel road, I ticked off the blessed unclutteredness of this new week:
- Daughter and a truckload of her belongings and some of Grandma’s old furniture safely deposited at college.
- Daughter’s boyfriend and some of Grandma’s old furniture safely deposited at his apartment.
- Son and some of Grandma’s old furniture safely deposited in his apartment.
- Some of Grandma’s old furniture safely deposited at cousin’s house.
- The rest of Grandma’s old furniture put to good use in our house.
- The walls of the guest room are now visible with extra furniture gone.
- The garage stall, full of this and that since Mom’s house sold in March, finally empty again.
- Anne’s bedroom, minus the truckload of stuff she took to college, is now available for house guests.
- Mystery novel compete, edited, and on its way to the publishing house considering it.
- Different Dream website ready to be launched.
- I have uninterrupted work time now that daughter is safely deposited at college, along with a pickup load of her belongings.
- Mother safely tucked away at brother’s house, her finances organized and under control, the last of her keepsakes being distributed to appreciative owners.
Finally, after months of boxes and extra furniture, after weeks of overwhelming projects, I was ready to move on. Feeling light as a feather, I did a little woo-hoo whoop and jigged up the driveway, arranging and rearranging my week’s vast, uncluttered expanses of time and space. When I came around the garage, my happy dance ended. Stacked in front of the kitchen door were three boxes. The books I’d ordered from the publisher had arrived, much sooner than expected. As my vast, uncluttered expanses of space and time evaporated, and I hauled the cartons into the kitchen, I checked off one last blessing:
- We got the shelving unit from Mom’s basement painted and moved into our bedroom on Saturday. Just in the nick of time, I have a place to stack the books.
My feet and heart are dancing again.
