The drama of a dropped phone, becoming a writing counselor, and a banned books club

 

And now he's thinking ahead to college?
I can't believe it.

This morning, after I fed Sophie her second breakfast—don’t ask!—I wasn’t ready to get up, so I crawled back in bed for a few minutes. But first I emailed Christian to say Sophie had her food and would be ready for a shot within an hour. When I got up for the third time, I dropped my phone, and it slid under the bed. No big deal! I could see it from my walker, so I got the broom. But each swipe with the broom only moved the thing farther from me. Put the broom up and got my grabber. That also just pushed it farther beyond my reach. I considered moving the bedside stand to see if I could sit at the very top if the mattress and reach it—decided that was not wise. To my credit, I never seriously considered getting down on the floor, crawling under the bedside stand, and grabbing it. Not only would I not be able to get up, I would earn the everlasting wrath of my daughter.

But there I was—no phone, no texting, no way to communicate except email, and I doubted anyone would read their email at 9:30 on Labor Day. Plus the window between Sophie’s breakfast and the time for her shot was running out. And I could not even make it to the house from my cottage alone—three steps up to the deck mean I need help. Although I felt isolated and alone, I told myself I was okay and I could simply give Sophie a snack whenever someone came out.

Fortunately, Christian came just before Sophie’s window closed, gave her a shot, and retrieved my phone. But it’s a lesson learned. The incident made me realize how important my phone is to my independence. Six years ago, post-surgery, a physical therapist warned me to always take my phone with me wherever I went in my cottage. I have pretty much taken those words to heart, especially on middle of the night bathroom trips, but now I am aware to be ever so much more careful of the phone itself.

I have a new calling of sorts—writing counselor. A friend, a highly educated, much published man, has asked me to help him consider what he should do with his rather large body of work, some published, some unpublished, So I’ve been playing pick and hunt, and I’ve come up with some ideas for him. I have no idea if they are workable or what he wants. To me, it’s a heavy responsibility to ask someone, “What do you want from these works,” and have them say, “I don’t know. I want you to tell me.” It’s also a heady feeling to think I have some knowledge that might be useful to someone whose intellect, I suspect, far outweighs mine.

And in that vein, maybe at the other end of the scale, I was talking with seventeen-year-old Jacob today about this personal essay for his college application. We discarded something about the two significant deaths in the family in the last six months—his other grandmother and a family dog—because it might look like an excuse. So we settled on something to do with his devotion to golf and achievements on the varsity team. It was fun to prod and poke and see him come to grips with the subject. When I asked how golf made him a better person, he hemmed, hawed, grinned, and said he didn’t really think it did. But when I pushed a bit, he said yes, golf had taught him focus and discipline. After we talked, I texted him with a couple of other things for him to think about, and I’m waiting to see what he comes up with. I will be happy if I can prod him into a bit of deeper thinking, not an easy thing for a seventeen-year-old. And a bonus: this is the child that spent almost half his young life with me. These days, with school, golf, a girlfriend, and a part-time job, he’s too busy and I almost never see him. I relished these few minutes when I had his full attention (I think).

Finally, a wild idea I had today. I was reading a friend’s post about book banning, and she mentioned that she belonged to a Controversial Book Club. Why, I thought, not organize a Banned Books Club. There are a lot of books on the various banned books lists that I have heard of but not read and others that I simply should read before I rush into battle. I have no idea of the mechanics of such a venture, but I envision something online and maybe just a book a month. But it occurs to me we are better prepared to battle the ignorance and narrow minds behind censored books if we have some knowledge of the books. A lot of us have read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer or To Kill a Mockingbird, but how many of us have read Gender Queer, one of the most frequently banned books and yet one that could help teens with gender uncertainty. Just a thought, but I’ll be interested in opinions.

And now, holiday weekend over, it’s back to work tomorrow. As someone said, Labor Day brings with it a sense of settling back into the year and getting to work. Happy days, all!

 

Sleepless Nights and Better Days

Although so many people rave about the pleasure of reading in bed, I never could do it, never could get comfortable. But then my kids encouraged me to get a Sleep Numbers mattress where I can raise and lower the head and/or the foot (it proved important after my hip surgery). Now I’m addicted to bedtime reading. It’s often when I indulge in mysteries, while I confine my daytime reading to meatier subjects (not always). Right now, night and day, I’m reading Sara Paretsky’s Fallout, a V. I. Warshawksi novel. No matter the quality, most books put me to sleep in five pages.

But last night, as I took the cell phone out of its pocket on my walker, I must have done something wrong. It went to huge letters and wouldn’t let me move around nor would it let me turn it off. I gave up and got up for the iPad, which was out of charge. Had to rely on my imagination to put me to sleep.

In a half doze, I remembered words I read to the effect that the president is enraged that a Russian cloud still hangs over his presidency and is further enraged that Donald Jr has revealed the emails. Wouldn’t you love to have been a fly on the wall when senior confronted junior? Anyway, the thought of an enraged president, who I already think is unhinged, roaming the White House alone at 3 a.m., red telephone in hand, came to me, and I was suddenly terrified—really truly terrified. I must have fallen asleep—I dreamt of being alone at night and so terrified I couldn’t sleep so I was up changing the bed linen (don’t ask why—I have no clue), checking that lights worked, turning on TVs, and wishing it was morning. I was relieved to awaken about an hour later and realize I was safely in my bed, the cottage was intact, and the world pretty much was going around on its own. I slept fitfully all night.

This morning, Jordan declared that what was wrong with my phone was that I had gone “clackety-clack.” I protested innocence, and we had a testy moment. Then Jacob tried and announced, “Your phone is broke. Take it to the Apple store,” as though I could just jump up and go. I called the Apple store, was connected to a distance tech who said my email didn’t pull up/ She couldn’t wrap her mind around the server name—tcu. First clue she wasn’t in Fort Worth. Finally, she gave up, asked what the problem was, and quickly told me how to fix it. If you need to know: simultaneously hold down the volume and power buttons for at least 30 seconds. Magic!

After that the day went better; I took care of some detail work, including banking, answered a bunch of emails, roughed out a newsletter, and wrote my daily thousand words on the novel in progress. This evening, I’m free to prowl through a cache of recipes I found in my closet. To me, that’s bliss.

A friend brought barbecue tonight—turkey, sausage, pulled pork, potato salad, and good slaw made with red cabbage. Jordan and Christian joined us for conversation. A thoroughly pleasant evening.

Is There A Gadget Guru in the House?

I’ve been plagued by electronic failures lately—computer, cell phone, bed controls, in-house camera. Clearly, I need a gadget guru. And here, I think, the difference comes in between sons and daughters—or at least mine.

I mentioned over the weekend that my computer developed a mind of its own and would not pay any attention to what I wanted it to do. I spent the morning hard booting, unplugging and plugging, all the fixes I’ve ever heard about. Nada. Colin came in about eleven, sat there for a few minutes, hit a few keys, and voila! (like the way I mix Spanish and French?). It worked, although I have not turned it off since, only put it in sleep mode.

The camera is one of two that my kids installed so they could check on me. It’s rather lie having Big Brother watching you—it reports to their cell phone, video and audio. They put one right by my desk and one in the bedroom. Fortunately I am past the age and place in life where bedroom privacy matters. The bedroom one quit working, and Jamie has taken it home to re-program.

I have a sleep numbers bed, which means I can use a remote to raise and lower both the head and the foot. The other night the remote quit in the middle of the night—with the foot in a raised position, (That has been a godsend—my “bad” foot was really swollen after surgery, and it’s still good to sleep with my feet higher than my heart.) Scrambling out of the bed with the foot elevated was not easy with my weak leg, but I figured I’d make it okay the rest of the night. After a few minutes the remote magically turned itself on, but today it gave me a low battery message. I changed the batteries, and it told me there was a connection failure

Jordan got on the floor, checked connections; I took the batteries out and put them in again, making sure they were all the way in and the right way. Nothing. The last time this happened, after she’d crawled around on the floor, Jamie fixed it by touching one button. He’s due here Thursday, so I’ll probably greet him remote in hand. At least, this time, the foot is flat and the head barely elevated.

The same night that remote quit, my cell phone got wonky. When I woke in the night, I checked to see who’d sent me mail—but it wouldn’t let me open the mail. Everything else worked fine. In the clear light of day, I rebooted the phone and felt proud of myself that it worked.

But that’s three—computer, bed control, and phone plus the camera which I put in a different category. Does that mean my jinx is over? I surely hope so, because clearly Jordan and I are not equipped to deal with such catastrophes. And when you’re as dependent as I am on electronics, such failures are truly catastrophic.

I spend all day every day at my computer. If it doesn’t work, I’m not sure what I’d do. I can only read for so long, and I’m not a TV watcher. Got to think this through.