Plain Paradise by Beth Wiseman
This blog is about a book I recently read. We probably all have heard of the unexplained recoveries that sometimes occur in the lives of people with severe illnesses. Sometimes the hoped for miracle does not occur and we must find our way to acceptance and 'keeping on.'
I read various types of books, such as romance, mystery, western, biographies and current topics of interest. With the vision problems I’m having, I read mostly large print books. Many of the new books that have just come out are available to me at the library, if I don’t want to spend the money for them. However, most of the ‘just out’ books are in finer fonts that have become more and more difficult for me to read. Likewise the older books that I would like to go back and reaquaint myself with another look. I read recently where book publishers were espousing more and more the use of the types of fonts that use less ink. So I don't get to read some of the books I might like to. Makes a difference in the profit line, don't you know!' Never mind that it is a strain on the eyes.
The book mentioned in the title is a family love story of an unwed 17 year old girl, forced to give up her baby [apparently at a time when attitudes were much different than they are at present] and the Amish family with whom she was placed. The Amish couple hadn’t been able to have children, but after adopting the baby girl, they later had two sons. The 17 year old went on to marry a good man and they were devoted to each other. However, she was never able to have another child.
Josie never got over the loss of her child and resented her parents for forcing her to give away her baby. She longed to establish a relationship with her lost child before her impending death, due to an inoperable brain tumor. A prayer chain for Josie was established all over the country, begun by her daughter, Linda’s, Amish family and their friends. Linda was approaching her 18th birthday, and Josie wanted very much to celebrate that one birthday with her, and watch her blow out the candles on her birthday cake for the first time. Time was running out and seizures were becoming more frequent. You will need to read the book for yourself if you want to know more..
In the notes at the end of the book, the author reveals that she was an adopted child also. And while the book is fictional, a miracle in her own life occurred after her son was diagnosed with a tumor, spent a lot of time in hospital and many prayers were said for him. The tumor disappeared and he made a full recovery. The author says, “Josie’s story is my son’s reality.”
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happy New Year – 2011
2010 went out with a bang in this area with its tornadic activity on the last day of the year. Fortunately, it was loss of property and not loss of lives here, but the last day of 2010 was definitely a bad-weather day.
I had a nice Christmas with my son and his family. My daughter and her husband came over on Sunday for a late Christmas, which was also nice. We all got together with my son and his family on Monday for a Christmas-continued-celebration. We came back to my place late afternoon, and only two of us went back to watch the football game that evening. By late day my energy level is pretty well spent, so a quiet evening at home worked for me.
New Year’s Day: For the most part spent doing ordinary things. I make it a point to call and talk to each of my children on New Year’s Day, but didn’t catch up with one of them when I called today.
I grew up in a household where superstitions abounded. I don’t know how seriously the family took these superstitions, but one of them was that whatever you did on New Year’s Day would set the pattern for the entire year.
We had to do the necessary chores of cooking, doing dishes, straightening up the house. In between came playing games, listening to favorite radio programs [no television just yet], telling stories: whatever we could think of that we thought was fun. We tried to pack as much fun stuff into the day as we possibly could.
For the most part as an adult, I still try to balance the day between the necessary and “just what I wanna do.” Today, I think I’ve leaned a little towards chores over “wanna do.”
I wish you a blessed New Year!
I had a nice Christmas with my son and his family. My daughter and her husband came over on Sunday for a late Christmas, which was also nice. We all got together with my son and his family on Monday for a Christmas-continued-celebration. We came back to my place late afternoon, and only two of us went back to watch the football game that evening. By late day my energy level is pretty well spent, so a quiet evening at home worked for me.
New Year’s Day: For the most part spent doing ordinary things. I make it a point to call and talk to each of my children on New Year’s Day, but didn’t catch up with one of them when I called today.
I grew up in a household where superstitions abounded. I don’t know how seriously the family took these superstitions, but one of them was that whatever you did on New Year’s Day would set the pattern for the entire year.
We had to do the necessary chores of cooking, doing dishes, straightening up the house. In between came playing games, listening to favorite radio programs [no television just yet], telling stories: whatever we could think of that we thought was fun. We tried to pack as much fun stuff into the day as we possibly could.
For the most part as an adult, I still try to balance the day between the necessary and “just what I wanna do.” Today, I think I’ve leaned a little towards chores over “wanna do.”
I wish you a blessed New Year!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Merry Christmas Everyone
I wish you a good Christmas with your family. If it is not possible to be with family, then I hope you will enjoy the spirit of the season in whatever circumstances you find yourself.
For those with good incomes, be glad for what you have and perhaps share a bit with someone less fortunate. If you find yourself unemployed or with a job where the salary just won’t stretch far enough to meet basic necessities, I pray that circumstances will change for the better for you.
When we were raising our children, our gift giving at Christmas was modest. I had three basic tenets on Christmas gift giving. Each child should have three things: something I knew they wanted, something they would not expect, and at least one book. There probably was something new to wear and there might have been some small items or family gift such as a game. We did not have a lot of money, but I believe our children enjoyed our family Christmases. Except that one Christmas was very hard financially. It broke my heart at the time, so I can understand a bit of the struggle that some are having.
Wherever you are, whatever your circumstances, I wish you good health, enjoyment with family and friends, sufficient funds to provide for your family, peace of spirit and joy in your heart. To quote: “I wish you enough” in all areas of your life.
Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year to all.
For those with good incomes, be glad for what you have and perhaps share a bit with someone less fortunate. If you find yourself unemployed or with a job where the salary just won’t stretch far enough to meet basic necessities, I pray that circumstances will change for the better for you.
When we were raising our children, our gift giving at Christmas was modest. I had three basic tenets on Christmas gift giving. Each child should have three things: something I knew they wanted, something they would not expect, and at least one book. There probably was something new to wear and there might have been some small items or family gift such as a game. We did not have a lot of money, but I believe our children enjoyed our family Christmases. Except that one Christmas was very hard financially. It broke my heart at the time, so I can understand a bit of the struggle that some are having.
Wherever you are, whatever your circumstances, I wish you good health, enjoyment with family and friends, sufficient funds to provide for your family, peace of spirit and joy in your heart. To quote: “I wish you enough” in all areas of your life.
Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year to all.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
How Did I Ever Grow Up
What is a puny kid doing, still hanging around in her mid-eighties? I weighed about five pounds when I was born and it took me thirty years just to get to 100 pounds. I had a bad round of flu and laryngitis every winter. I had several near misses as a kid, but the skinny little girl that Grandpa Stricker wanted to feed-up a bit when we visited them, is now well into senior adult status. I had a bout of pneumonia at age six months. Not a lot of medical help for pneumonia in those pre-antibiotic days, but I survived it. If there were other circumstance those first few yearss, they are beyond my memory, or as told to me by anyone else.
At age five, during my first year in grade school, I was well on my way to freezing to death. It was the winter of 1931/32, bitterly cold, but at five I had no idea how cold. We did have a radio, but there were no school weather reports. I heard no talk of should we, or shouldn’t we go on to school. My two older brothers and older sister and I were of school age. We didn’t all walk together, we just got ready for school and left at the appropriate time; perhaps joining up with a friend or two on the way. We lived about a mile across town from the school. I had no concept that a kid shouldn’t try to walk that far; I had no idea of how cold is too cold. What I found out later was that Dad had planned to drive us to school, but the car wouldn’t start. The older three kids seemed to know that and stayed home. Perhaps I was in the bedroom getting ready and didn’t hear the talk. Apparently no one saw me leave and thought to say, “Hey, you stupid kid! Don’t you know it’s too cold out to try to walk to school?”
I think I got about half-way, when I became awfully tired and sleepy and decided to sit down on the curb and rest a bit. As fortune would have it, not long after that a Mr. Scott, who lived a block or sobehind us, came along taking his granddaughter, Sammy Lee Mason, to school. His car was in a garage and didn’t succumb to the cold. Sammy Lee was a school friend, and she and her grandfather coming by when they did, quite possibly saved my life. When I got to school I must have exhibited some signs that were not good; I think I must have been in a semi-stupor. They decided I needed to be warmed up. They took me downstairs to the furnace room, parked me by the furnace, and left me with the janitor for several hours. Can’t you just see someone doing that in today’s world! How could this happen? I have no idea, but in a casual household of several family members, they did not immediately notice I wasn’t there. Perhaps Mr. Scott, or the school, notified them of what had happened. I can only hope so, because I can’t imagine Dad not making an effort for me once he knew I had gone on by myself. In defense of my mother, in addition to the four school-age children, there were three younger brothers, Bob, Pres and new-baby Tom in the household.
Not long after that, pneumonia struck again; apparently, much more serious this time. I was out of school for more than two months. When I got my year-end report card, the grades were okay, but on the Promoted To line, there was a qualifier. Since I had missed so much of my first grade year, I was Promoted – On Condition. The condition was that if I could do the second grade work, I could stay in the class; but, if after 30 days, it was determined I couldn’t do the work, I would have to go back to first grade.
In the second grade, there were two reading classes: Class A and Class B. Since I had been promoted on condition, I was put in the B group, and would be reevaluated in 30 days. At the end of the 30 days, I was promoted to the A class and no one said anything more about kicking me back downstairs; figuratively speaking. I was glad because I liked school and I liked learning to read.
The next incident I remember occurred when I was about six. This time it was a near drowning. We lived not far from Big River, and our family and some of the neighbors were having a swim-fish-picnic outing. One of the neighbor boys was hassling me, trying to do something he shouldn’t and I was struggling to get away from him. No one seemed to see that either, although my sister and several other children were playing on the gravel bar and in the water. When I managed to jerk free from this kiddie-masher, I ran. And I ran to what was in front of me – the river. I ran right into water over my head, and I couldn’t swim. I struggled up out of the water, but immediately went down again, and then again. My sister, who was four years older than I, saw the commotion and managed to get to me and hauled me out of the water. Scolded soundly, I was!
Near drowning incident number two: same river, different place - about five miles west when we lived at Stony Point.I was now age nine. I still couldn’t swim, although I tried. I just couldn’t get it. We were allowed to go swimming in the Big River without adult supervision, but with the older kids in charge of the younger ones. Most of whom could swim. This time I wasn’t running from anyone. We were just having fun, playing in the water, when all at once I stepped in a chug-hole or chuck-hole, putting me in water deeper than I was tall. Chug-holes are treacherous things and this river had a lot of them. You’re standing ther one minute, then you take another step, and trouble rears its ugly head. You’ve probably heard the old “going down for the third-time” thing in relation to water and drowning. I was down under for the third time, when this same sister, now age 13, managed to grab hold of me and dragged me out of the water again. She did a lot of things I didn’t like in her role of older child helping look after a younger one, but she did literally save my life - twice.
There were other minor happenings, but no more major incidents that I recall. The next hazard happened after I married. I had spent some months in Texas, while my husband was stationed in Camp Howze during WWII. When the unit broke camp to head for Europe, the wives headed for home. The bus I was riding on developed a problem that let exhaust fumes into the bus. Several people complained of headaches and nausea. Some with nausea did more than complain, but the drivers stopped somewhere to make a call, then the bus kept on going. I wasn’t nauseated, but when we finally stopped and I walked off the bus, my head wasn’t quite with me. Someone seeing I was woozy, jerked me around and sat me down on an overturned soda case. I heard an odd sound, which I later realized was the bottles rattling as I fell, and then I was kissing the concrete. I didn't know that yet because I was out cold. I was later told that if I hadn’t got fresh air when I did, I would have been in big trouble. We were at this place for quite a while. They wanted to wait until I could see a doctor, so they said. When he arrived, the only concern they seemed to have was that I sign a paper releasing the company from any liability. The doctor behaved like a lawyer, not a doctor.
If I hadn’t got off the bus when I did and the fumes had overcome me for good, it would have taken out my daughter, Barbara too, since I was a few weeks pregnant. There would have been no Barbara, no Carolyn and no Russ. I believe my children appreciate me as their mother. I hope so, because it certainly seems I had a number of chances not to become anyone’s mother.
At age five, during my first year in grade school, I was well on my way to freezing to death. It was the winter of 1931/32, bitterly cold, but at five I had no idea how cold. We did have a radio, but there were no school weather reports. I heard no talk of should we, or shouldn’t we go on to school. My two older brothers and older sister and I were of school age. We didn’t all walk together, we just got ready for school and left at the appropriate time; perhaps joining up with a friend or two on the way. We lived about a mile across town from the school. I had no concept that a kid shouldn’t try to walk that far; I had no idea of how cold is too cold. What I found out later was that Dad had planned to drive us to school, but the car wouldn’t start. The older three kids seemed to know that and stayed home. Perhaps I was in the bedroom getting ready and didn’t hear the talk. Apparently no one saw me leave and thought to say, “Hey, you stupid kid! Don’t you know it’s too cold out to try to walk to school?”
I think I got about half-way, when I became awfully tired and sleepy and decided to sit down on the curb and rest a bit. As fortune would have it, not long after that a Mr. Scott, who lived a block or sobehind us, came along taking his granddaughter, Sammy Lee Mason, to school. His car was in a garage and didn’t succumb to the cold. Sammy Lee was a school friend, and she and her grandfather coming by when they did, quite possibly saved my life. When I got to school I must have exhibited some signs that were not good; I think I must have been in a semi-stupor. They decided I needed to be warmed up. They took me downstairs to the furnace room, parked me by the furnace, and left me with the janitor for several hours. Can’t you just see someone doing that in today’s world! How could this happen? I have no idea, but in a casual household of several family members, they did not immediately notice I wasn’t there. Perhaps Mr. Scott, or the school, notified them of what had happened. I can only hope so, because I can’t imagine Dad not making an effort for me once he knew I had gone on by myself. In defense of my mother, in addition to the four school-age children, there were three younger brothers, Bob, Pres and new-baby Tom in the household.
Not long after that, pneumonia struck again; apparently, much more serious this time. I was out of school for more than two months. When I got my year-end report card, the grades were okay, but on the Promoted To line, there was a qualifier. Since I had missed so much of my first grade year, I was Promoted – On Condition. The condition was that if I could do the second grade work, I could stay in the class; but, if after 30 days, it was determined I couldn’t do the work, I would have to go back to first grade.
In the second grade, there were two reading classes: Class A and Class B. Since I had been promoted on condition, I was put in the B group, and would be reevaluated in 30 days. At the end of the 30 days, I was promoted to the A class and no one said anything more about kicking me back downstairs; figuratively speaking. I was glad because I liked school and I liked learning to read.
The next incident I remember occurred when I was about six. This time it was a near drowning. We lived not far from Big River, and our family and some of the neighbors were having a swim-fish-picnic outing. One of the neighbor boys was hassling me, trying to do something he shouldn’t and I was struggling to get away from him. No one seemed to see that either, although my sister and several other children were playing on the gravel bar and in the water. When I managed to jerk free from this kiddie-masher, I ran. And I ran to what was in front of me – the river. I ran right into water over my head, and I couldn’t swim. I struggled up out of the water, but immediately went down again, and then again. My sister, who was four years older than I, saw the commotion and managed to get to me and hauled me out of the water. Scolded soundly, I was!
Near drowning incident number two: same river, different place - about five miles west when we lived at Stony Point.I was now age nine. I still couldn’t swim, although I tried. I just couldn’t get it. We were allowed to go swimming in the Big River without adult supervision, but with the older kids in charge of the younger ones. Most of whom could swim. This time I wasn’t running from anyone. We were just having fun, playing in the water, when all at once I stepped in a chug-hole or chuck-hole, putting me in water deeper than I was tall. Chug-holes are treacherous things and this river had a lot of them. You’re standing ther one minute, then you take another step, and trouble rears its ugly head. You’ve probably heard the old “going down for the third-time” thing in relation to water and drowning. I was down under for the third time, when this same sister, now age 13, managed to grab hold of me and dragged me out of the water again. She did a lot of things I didn’t like in her role of older child helping look after a younger one, but she did literally save my life - twice.
There were other minor happenings, but no more major incidents that I recall. The next hazard happened after I married. I had spent some months in Texas, while my husband was stationed in Camp Howze during WWII. When the unit broke camp to head for Europe, the wives headed for home. The bus I was riding on developed a problem that let exhaust fumes into the bus. Several people complained of headaches and nausea. Some with nausea did more than complain, but the drivers stopped somewhere to make a call, then the bus kept on going. I wasn’t nauseated, but when we finally stopped and I walked off the bus, my head wasn’t quite with me. Someone seeing I was woozy, jerked me around and sat me down on an overturned soda case. I heard an odd sound, which I later realized was the bottles rattling as I fell, and then I was kissing the concrete. I didn't know that yet because I was out cold. I was later told that if I hadn’t got fresh air when I did, I would have been in big trouble. We were at this place for quite a while. They wanted to wait until I could see a doctor, so they said. When he arrived, the only concern they seemed to have was that I sign a paper releasing the company from any liability. The doctor behaved like a lawyer, not a doctor.
If I hadn’t got off the bus when I did and the fumes had overcome me for good, it would have taken out my daughter, Barbara too, since I was a few weeks pregnant. There would have been no Barbara, no Carolyn and no Russ. I believe my children appreciate me as their mother. I hope so, because it certainly seems I had a number of chances not to become anyone’s mother.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Milestones
Today is my daughter’s 65th birthday; a very important milestone, indeed. I believe she wanted to grit her teeth and yell, “Noooo!” on some earlier birthday milestones in her life; although she looked forward eagerly to each new experience of life’s milestones and was in a hurry to make them happen. I also believe she is embracing this milestone with grace, wit and the enjoyment of a life well lived, and the blessings of having a wonderful family.
I found a book in our small ‘residents library’ that was titled, “1,003 Great Things About Getting Older,” by Lisa Birnbach, Ann Hodgman, Patricia Marks and David Owen. I am not at all sure that I agree, or accept the full 1,000 plus statements, but being curious I checked them out.
One quote was by Bernard Baruch, a statesman, financier, etc., well known for his sagacity during an earlier part of my adult life. He said, “Old age is always fifteen years older than I am.” I’ve heard this statement many times, with variations; most frequently using a ten year age gap, perhaps because we become more fully aware of the years as we begin each new decade.
The other quote here is by Groucho Marx, a well known comedian of the day, “Growing old is something you do if you’re lucky.” A variation on that is “Growing old is not so bad when you consider the alternative.”
Getting older is something that begins from the day we are born. There is nothing we can do about that except enjoy each day, month, year as much as we can. There are some things we can control in our lives by the decisions we make. But there is much that is beyond our control and we must find a way to accept it, live with it, or change it if we can.
I have said that “Life is like being on a runaway train that you can’t stop, so you might as well enjoy the ride.” I was never too much concerned with advancing milestones and enjoyed whatever age I was. So, if you ask me if I am still enjoying the age that I am in the ninth decade of my life, the answer is, “As much as I can, but not as much I would like to.” The chief obstruction in that path being the after shingles pain that I’ve had to deal with, which is now rapidly marching down the last half of its second year. It does keep me from doing some things I would like to do, and succeeds in making me more miserable, when I do some of them anyway for short periods.
Medications have not helped, but created other problems, while making me feel rotten at the same time. I try to ignore the pain, using mind over matter, keeping my mind busy, etc. No, I have not neglected prayer, but for whatever reason, God is leaving it in my life.
Another quote which I believe was a part of a song said, “Into each life some rain must fall, but too much is falling in mine.” The rain in my life is nothing compared to what many others have endured. I, too, am richly blessed in having a wonderful family, which includes not only today’s milestone daughter, but a second daughter and a son as well. Of course along with that are the spouses of said children, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The Lord has indeed smiled on me.
I know you are enjoying this milestone birthday today. I applaud you for embracing it with your usual verve, and wish you many more such happy occasions.
I found a book in our small ‘residents library’ that was titled, “1,003 Great Things About Getting Older,” by Lisa Birnbach, Ann Hodgman, Patricia Marks and David Owen. I am not at all sure that I agree, or accept the full 1,000 plus statements, but being curious I checked them out.
One quote was by Bernard Baruch, a statesman, financier, etc., well known for his sagacity during an earlier part of my adult life. He said, “Old age is always fifteen years older than I am.” I’ve heard this statement many times, with variations; most frequently using a ten year age gap, perhaps because we become more fully aware of the years as we begin each new decade.
The other quote here is by Groucho Marx, a well known comedian of the day, “Growing old is something you do if you’re lucky.” A variation on that is “Growing old is not so bad when you consider the alternative.”
Getting older is something that begins from the day we are born. There is nothing we can do about that except enjoy each day, month, year as much as we can. There are some things we can control in our lives by the decisions we make. But there is much that is beyond our control and we must find a way to accept it, live with it, or change it if we can.
I have said that “Life is like being on a runaway train that you can’t stop, so you might as well enjoy the ride.” I was never too much concerned with advancing milestones and enjoyed whatever age I was. So, if you ask me if I am still enjoying the age that I am in the ninth decade of my life, the answer is, “As much as I can, but not as much I would like to.” The chief obstruction in that path being the after shingles pain that I’ve had to deal with, which is now rapidly marching down the last half of its second year. It does keep me from doing some things I would like to do, and succeeds in making me more miserable, when I do some of them anyway for short periods.
Medications have not helped, but created other problems, while making me feel rotten at the same time. I try to ignore the pain, using mind over matter, keeping my mind busy, etc. No, I have not neglected prayer, but for whatever reason, God is leaving it in my life.
Another quote which I believe was a part of a song said, “Into each life some rain must fall, but too much is falling in mine.” The rain in my life is nothing compared to what many others have endured. I, too, am richly blessed in having a wonderful family, which includes not only today’s milestone daughter, but a second daughter and a son as well. Of course along with that are the spouses of said children, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The Lord has indeed smiled on me.
I know you are enjoying this milestone birthday today. I applaud you for embracing it with your usual verve, and wish you many more such happy occasions.
Monday, May 3, 2010
No Adrenaline Zone - Wrong Number
Dialing the wrong number is something we’ve probably all done at one time or another, but I’ve received an inordinate amount of wrong number calls since I moved into this place, especially the first two years. There are not as many of these calls now, but they are at times interesting.
Some callers immediately realize they have erred in dialing when they hear my croaking attempts [vocal cord problem] to say hello, apologize and hang up. There is probably a similarity in numbers, when I get calls for the local fire department, demolition bowl, and a few other local businesses. Others have dialed the number correctly; I’m just not the person they expected at the other end of the line.
Yet, why so many people dial correctly and ask for so many and varied persons, I can’t quite figure out. One woman called, asking for a male by name. Caller I.D. showed the call to be from a local labor union office. At first I gave her the standard, “You have the wrong number” line. She related my number and asked if she had that number. I told her that she did, but I had had the number for more than two years at that time, and assured her there was no one living here, but me. She replied, “That’s interesting.” Now why would anyone, hoping for work, give a phone number at which they can’t be reached!
For quite some time I got frequent calls from what seemed like attempts to collect debts. They wouldn’t settle for being told they had the wrong number, but persisted, giving the impression they thought I was deliberately misleading them in their attempts to reap financial justice. More recently someone called and asked for “Mr. Someone.” When I did the wrong number spiel, he came back with “It is Mr. Specific Someone I want to talk to.” Again with the implied tone and attitude that they knew the person was here, if they could just get me to admit it.
This number belonged to a mobile home sales office before I got it. I believe that it is possible there are people who think it is a mobile home park where people live, but how it will help anyone to give a phone number for which they have no access, frankly baffles me!
On the lighter side of wrong numbers there was the woman who, when I said, “Hello,” immediately demanded “ Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for an hour and I’ve been trying to call you! {I’ll bet she had} In this case, she believed my wrong number speech, sputtered a bit, instantly apologetic and promptly hung up the phone. I would be willing to bet, that whether spouse or child, someone was in a bunch of trouble, when they finally showed up!
Then there was this morning, which is responsible for this blog. A woman called and asked, “Is this the Adrenaline Zone?” Hey, I couldn’t help it, it was as automatic as jerking back your finger when you unexpectedly touch something that is too hot. I burst into laughter. I think she had a sense of humor because she didn’t sound annoyed as she said, “No, I guess it isn’t. I have the wrong number,” and then hung up the phone.
The situation with this so very senior citizen is about as much of a no-adrenaline-zone as you could find. My sojourn in a going on two years after-shingles-pain episode is beginning to wear me down, so the words truck me as funny. At this point I’ll take any laugh I can get, so thank God for this morning’s wrong number. That’s something I never thought I’d say!
Some callers immediately realize they have erred in dialing when they hear my croaking attempts [vocal cord problem] to say hello, apologize and hang up. There is probably a similarity in numbers, when I get calls for the local fire department, demolition bowl, and a few other local businesses. Others have dialed the number correctly; I’m just not the person they expected at the other end of the line.
Yet, why so many people dial correctly and ask for so many and varied persons, I can’t quite figure out. One woman called, asking for a male by name. Caller I.D. showed the call to be from a local labor union office. At first I gave her the standard, “You have the wrong number” line. She related my number and asked if she had that number. I told her that she did, but I had had the number for more than two years at that time, and assured her there was no one living here, but me. She replied, “That’s interesting.” Now why would anyone, hoping for work, give a phone number at which they can’t be reached!
For quite some time I got frequent calls from what seemed like attempts to collect debts. They wouldn’t settle for being told they had the wrong number, but persisted, giving the impression they thought I was deliberately misleading them in their attempts to reap financial justice. More recently someone called and asked for “Mr. Someone.” When I did the wrong number spiel, he came back with “It is Mr. Specific Someone I want to talk to.” Again with the implied tone and attitude that they knew the person was here, if they could just get me to admit it.
This number belonged to a mobile home sales office before I got it. I believe that it is possible there are people who think it is a mobile home park where people live, but how it will help anyone to give a phone number for which they have no access, frankly baffles me!
On the lighter side of wrong numbers there was the woman who, when I said, “Hello,” immediately demanded “ Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for an hour and I’ve been trying to call you! {I’ll bet she had} In this case, she believed my wrong number speech, sputtered a bit, instantly apologetic and promptly hung up the phone. I would be willing to bet, that whether spouse or child, someone was in a bunch of trouble, when they finally showed up!
Then there was this morning, which is responsible for this blog. A woman called and asked, “Is this the Adrenaline Zone?” Hey, I couldn’t help it, it was as automatic as jerking back your finger when you unexpectedly touch something that is too hot. I burst into laughter. I think she had a sense of humor because she didn’t sound annoyed as she said, “No, I guess it isn’t. I have the wrong number,” and then hung up the phone.
The situation with this so very senior citizen is about as much of a no-adrenaline-zone as you could find. My sojourn in a going on two years after-shingles-pain episode is beginning to wear me down, so the words truck me as funny. At this point I’ll take any laugh I can get, so thank God for this morning’s wrong number. That’s something I never thought I’d say!
Monday, March 29, 2010
A Story of the Heart
The Swan House by Elizabeth Musser
Paper Back 442 pages – For those with good sight that's okay. My eyes would like a little larger font. I need lots of light to read paper backs. For me, some are almost impossible.
I’ve just finished reading this book and I’m not sure how to tell you about it. So, I’ll just list some of the things you will encounter. Atlanta, Georgia – time period early 1960s: a devastating plane crash; the privileged and unprivileged; wealth and poverty; prejudice and understanding;reaching out in hatefulness and in helpfullness; Christianity, an involved, personal relationship vs going through the motions; artistic talent, depression, yearning and learning youth. It is a beautiful story, haunting in its sadness and uplifting in its hope.
Paper Back 442 pages – For those with good sight that's okay. My eyes would like a little larger font. I need lots of light to read paper backs. For me, some are almost impossible.
I’ve just finished reading this book and I’m not sure how to tell you about it. So, I’ll just list some of the things you will encounter. Atlanta, Georgia – time period early 1960s: a devastating plane crash; the privileged and unprivileged; wealth and poverty; prejudice and understanding;reaching out in hatefulness and in helpfullness; Christianity, an involved, personal relationship vs going through the motions; artistic talent, depression, yearning and learning youth. It is a beautiful story, haunting in its sadness and uplifting in its hope.
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