While yesterday was great - I spent the late afternoon and evening with some of my dearest, fun friends - I spent an hour or so falling apart before that. I bawled, I carried on as only I can, I lamented my BIG health - the frustrations, the actuality of it all, having to get off the only medicine that has ever helped me - the energy issues - and my little health - catching cold - being so bitterly behind in my house and yard - and my lack of sleep.
Psalms 127:2b says "God grants sleep to those He loves." I commented that maybe God hates me. Jamie looked at me aghast and said, "Do NOT say things like that. You CAN'T mean that." Well, of COURSE I don't mean it. Isn't he used to the bizarre things that pour out of my mouth after 22 years?! It was a Robynn comment because who could actually believe that every wakeful night is a curse from God? The verse is often quoted but taken out of its overall meaning.
So, then I spent another hour carrying on about how he should know that's what I meant and how I was just having a moment of despair and where could I go if not to him and how I was weary with pain and so on and so forth in diatribe manner and more tears and laments of how I'm just T-I-R-E-D! I was pretty sure he regretted saying ANYthing but he hung in there, which is no small feat.
When we got home from the party I was done-in and starting to feel worse. The kids had headed out to sleep-overs and I longed for my bed. And it's in those moments, when you think you're almost there and nothing else better happen, that clocks fall off the wall and smash you in the head and knock you to the floor. Irony, really. It was our huge wall clock that has "The Reilly Family - established 1986" emblazoned on it.
What kind of weird message from the Lord was this?! Remember what you have to be thankful for? Don't stack stuff on the "crappy" chic cabinet (Jamie likes to call it that instead of "shabby" chic 'cause that's just the way he is, being Mr. Irreverent and all) because you might bump it and cause the clock to fall off? Here's a concussion and that should help you sleep if you don't think I love you?
I was still sorting out the meaning an hour later with a cartoon-sized bump on my head, an ice-pack, and visual disturbances. And that's how I fell asleep. But, hey, I slept!
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Friday, January 2, 2009
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Toothaches and Technology
I have a major toothache. My Bluetooth is killing me. In fact, it may be listed as the cause of my demise on the coroner’s report: “Death by safety device.” Ever since the new California law was passed last January I have become the equivalent of a six-year-old with car keys. I weave, I slow down, I park in the fast lane of the Freeway, I accelerate while making tight, left turns on overpass exits and go Dukes-of-Hazzard over the side walls, launching into the air. The landings are taking a toll on my car’s suspension and my spinal column. I’m doing all this in the name of safety while I attempt to use my “hands-free” equipment.
I had none of these problems before. One hand drove and one hand held my phone. I used voice commands and could actually utilize my eyes to watch the road. Now, I drive with my foot while simultaneously looking through my purse and pulling everything out searching for my Bluetooth. Once I’ve located it, the dangerous part begins.
As I left San Francisco recently, I headed out on the Bay Bridge. My girlfriend called me to firm up directions to her house in nearby Benicia. Just as she was telling me which lane to get into, the earpiece went dead. This meant I had to get the charger out of my purse while trying to navigate three lanes of speeding, maniacal drivers perched hundreds of feet over shark-infested waters. Once plugged into the cigarette lighter I now had to insert the other, miniscule end into my Bluetooth. This is best achieved with a skilled surgeon, floodlights, and magnifying glasses equal to the Hubble Telescope. Somehow, while nearly sitting on the steering wheel, I made the connection. I took my seat, hooked the thing over my ear, and, just as I was about to give it a command, the coil of the charger sprang back into place and launched the device off my head and into the next dimension.
There are severe issues with voice recognition as well. This is an example of a recent conversation:
Bluetooth: “Please say a command.”
Me: “Call.”
BT: “Command not recognized. Please say a command.”
Me: “Dial.”
BT: “Command not recognized. Please say a command.”
Me: “Call.”
BT: “Well why didn’t you say that in the first place, you idiot? Please state the name or number you wish to dial.”
Now, at this point, Artificial Intelligence basically takes over the planet and we are all at its mercy.
BT: “Did you say ‘Humpty Dumpty?’ ”
Me: “No.”
BT: “Did you say ‘Howdy Dooty?’ ”
Me: “No.”
BT: “Did you say ‘Jabba the Hut?’ ”
Me: “Yes.” I have discovered this will actually activate the command known as “Jamie at Work,” thereby connecting me with my husband.
He is experiencing a dysfunctional relationship with his safety-accessory as well. He said he couldn’t hear anything in the Bluetooth over the roar of his truck so he went with the type that mounts on the visor. This, too, was supposedly designed to be simple to use while driving. All you do is push a button to activate and start talking. But he still can’t hear anything so he just yanks it off the visor and shoves the whole thing up to his ear. It is approximately the size of a clipboard. This comes in handy when he has to attach it to his hair and hang it off the side of his head. He says when he is pulled over by the police he will protest saying he is, in fact, using a “hands-free” device.
After I left Nancy’s house from Benicia the next day, I made a final attempt to connect with the outside world from the confines of my car. I had checked messages and knew another friend, Teresa, was trying to reach me.
Southbound I-5 stretched out before me like a comfy couch, my headset was charged; all systems seemed to be a “go.” I managed to navigate my way through voice commands and actually connect with the right person. The only problem seemed to be the volume. I mean the volume in the way a jet engine might sound two feet from the fired-up burners, only much louder. It was the demon now flanking my head. I pushed every button to no avail. I was apologizing, while attacking my ear, when the thing flew off again, this time landing under the seat. “Keep talking!” I yelled, zooming down the freeway using the sound of her voice for homing assistance. With my legs hanging out the driver’s side window, I hung upside down to peer under my seat and found it hiding behind an In-and-Out Burger napkin. I had only changed lanes seven times and driven under a big-rig once. No harm done. I resigned myself to the roaring volume and, with my right hand, held the thing three feet from my head, still managing to suffer hearing loss.
With my nerves jangled and a ringing in my head, I pulled into Starbucks in Los Banos. I figured I needed a hot cup of coffee to complete my driving maneuvers. While safely stopped in the parking lot I managed to fix the problem du jour and attempted to phone my children. “Command not recognized while flip is open,” my nemesis taunted. “Flip is open?” I yelled. “Which flip? Phone? Bluetooth? WHAT?!” “Command not recognized. Did you say, ‘Beans and weenies?’ ”
I feel much safer now with my Bluetooth. I know everyone else does, too. We’re all keeping the law as we narrowly careen around one another in death-defying destruction derbies. Maybe next they can invent something to help you drink your coffee while you drive down the road. I don't know….maybe a spigot right above your head could automatically pour boiling java all over you. You could lick at the drips while your skin falls off.
Copyright 2008
I had none of these problems before. One hand drove and one hand held my phone. I used voice commands and could actually utilize my eyes to watch the road. Now, I drive with my foot while simultaneously looking through my purse and pulling everything out searching for my Bluetooth. Once I’ve located it, the dangerous part begins.
As I left San Francisco recently, I headed out on the Bay Bridge. My girlfriend called me to firm up directions to her house in nearby Benicia. Just as she was telling me which lane to get into, the earpiece went dead. This meant I had to get the charger out of my purse while trying to navigate three lanes of speeding, maniacal drivers perched hundreds of feet over shark-infested waters. Once plugged into the cigarette lighter I now had to insert the other, miniscule end into my Bluetooth. This is best achieved with a skilled surgeon, floodlights, and magnifying glasses equal to the Hubble Telescope. Somehow, while nearly sitting on the steering wheel, I made the connection. I took my seat, hooked the thing over my ear, and, just as I was about to give it a command, the coil of the charger sprang back into place and launched the device off my head and into the next dimension.
There are severe issues with voice recognition as well. This is an example of a recent conversation:
Bluetooth: “Please say a command.”
Me: “Call.”
BT: “Command not recognized. Please say a command.”
Me: “Dial.”
BT: “Command not recognized. Please say a command.”
Me: “Call.”
BT: “Well why didn’t you say that in the first place, you idiot? Please state the name or number you wish to dial.”
Now, at this point, Artificial Intelligence basically takes over the planet and we are all at its mercy.
BT: “Did you say ‘Humpty Dumpty?’ ”
Me: “No.”
BT: “Did you say ‘Howdy Dooty?’ ”
Me: “No.”
BT: “Did you say ‘Jabba the Hut?’ ”
Me: “Yes.” I have discovered this will actually activate the command known as “Jamie at Work,” thereby connecting me with my husband.
He is experiencing a dysfunctional relationship with his safety-accessory as well. He said he couldn’t hear anything in the Bluetooth over the roar of his truck so he went with the type that mounts on the visor. This, too, was supposedly designed to be simple to use while driving. All you do is push a button to activate and start talking. But he still can’t hear anything so he just yanks it off the visor and shoves the whole thing up to his ear. It is approximately the size of a clipboard. This comes in handy when he has to attach it to his hair and hang it off the side of his head. He says when he is pulled over by the police he will protest saying he is, in fact, using a “hands-free” device.
After I left Nancy’s house from Benicia the next day, I made a final attempt to connect with the outside world from the confines of my car. I had checked messages and knew another friend, Teresa, was trying to reach me.
Southbound I-5 stretched out before me like a comfy couch, my headset was charged; all systems seemed to be a “go.” I managed to navigate my way through voice commands and actually connect with the right person. The only problem seemed to be the volume. I mean the volume in the way a jet engine might sound two feet from the fired-up burners, only much louder. It was the demon now flanking my head. I pushed every button to no avail. I was apologizing, while attacking my ear, when the thing flew off again, this time landing under the seat. “Keep talking!” I yelled, zooming down the freeway using the sound of her voice for homing assistance. With my legs hanging out the driver’s side window, I hung upside down to peer under my seat and found it hiding behind an In-and-Out Burger napkin. I had only changed lanes seven times and driven under a big-rig once. No harm done. I resigned myself to the roaring volume and, with my right hand, held the thing three feet from my head, still managing to suffer hearing loss.
With my nerves jangled and a ringing in my head, I pulled into Starbucks in Los Banos. I figured I needed a hot cup of coffee to complete my driving maneuvers. While safely stopped in the parking lot I managed to fix the problem du jour and attempted to phone my children. “Command not recognized while flip is open,” my nemesis taunted. “Flip is open?” I yelled. “Which flip? Phone? Bluetooth? WHAT?!” “Command not recognized. Did you say, ‘Beans and weenies?’ ”
I feel much safer now with my Bluetooth. I know everyone else does, too. We’re all keeping the law as we narrowly careen around one another in death-defying destruction derbies. Maybe next they can invent something to help you drink your coffee while you drive down the road. I don't know….maybe a spigot right above your head could automatically pour boiling java all over you. You could lick at the drips while your skin falls off.
Copyright 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
"Crabby Holidays to You....!"
"O Crabby night, the stars are brightly shining......."
Anyone else feeling a little less than “Jingle-Belly” about the whole Christmas, jam-packed schedule? I don't mean to be grumpy and grouchy. It's just that I'm so good at it I hate to let all that practice go to waste.
Just yesterday, Jamie and I were driving along on our way to his company Christmas party. It really was a worthwhile event this year. They decided to dispense with the over-the-top dressy affair and keep it very low key, using the money they would have spent and blessing six needy families instead. We all brought grocery items and had a great lunch. But that didn't stop us from grousing the whole way there about just another thing to do and how many other "just another thing-s" we had to complete. We were so ridiculous Jamie finally looked at me and said, "What else can we gripe about now?!" "Have yourself a crabby little Christmas........"
The time pressures can bring out the worst, I guess. It put me in mind of a Christmas season long past. Hannah was about four and wanting to be in the middle of every single thing I did in the kitchen. That was fun for the first 32 hours of the day. But now it was 10pm and I was down to piecrust I was trying out, for the first time, in the food processor. Martha Stewart (that self-righteous irritant) made it look so simple the day before on her show. My first crust stuck to the top and was fit for gluing wood flooring to the concrete. The next resembled birdseed and stuck together like Sahara sand. I blew that out and started over, again. In the meantime, Hannah stood beside me saying things like, "Can I do it? What's wrong with it? Can I do it? Why is it wet? Can I do it? Why is it dry? Can I do it? What's wrong, Mommy? Can I do it? Why are you making that face, Mommy? Can I do it?"
I felt my inner Grinch flexing his muscles as I told her, "Hannah! Mommy REALLY needs to do this alone. You need to leave the kitchen now and just let me do this myself!" She reluctantly left muttering, "Well, I don't know why I can't do it." The next thing I heard was a phone conversation from the stairs. There she sat in the middle of the staircase with her Fisher-Price phone plopped in her lap and the receiver pressed to her ear. "9-9-1? 9-9-1?" she asked the phantom operator who couldn't have cared less that she had misdialed. "You need to come and get my mommy cause she's not right!" Boy howdy.
The year before, when she was three, we had guests staying during Thanksgiving. Hannah was up early and yakking away. I told her more than once to be quiet since people were still sleeping. Finally I cornered her in the hallway, stared at her eyeball-to-eyeball and firmly told her she HAD to keep it down. She looked back at me just as determinedly, pointed her finger at me and replied, "You better keep YOUR crabby voice quiet, too!" Checkmate.
So, what the heck's the matter with me this year? Deferred preparations might be part of it. There hasn't been any time to break ground on Christmas around here. December 13th and no sign of the Christmas season at our house. I'm trying to knock everyone and everything out of the way so I can start celebrating joyfully. Reminds me of Sunday mornings when we're running late. The standing joke in our house is to yell at every pokey-joe motorist, "GET OUT OF THE WAY, DANG IT! WE'RE TRYING TO GET TO CHURCH AND WORSHIP THE LORD!!" Beware oxymorons driving down the road. We might run over you, too.
The weird thing is, I have actually loved every single event we've attended this Christmas season. That hasn't been the problem. It's those spaces between the events where I get into trouble. The ones where I actually have to be grateful for four hours of sleep and haul it up anyway; the health issues I can't control; the moments in the kitchen believing wholeheartedly that counters are only a theory (as I haven’t seen them in days) and something else must be holding up this assemblage of dishes and debris; the effort expended trying to decide if Sir Edmund Hillary could have scaled a mountain the size of my laundry pile.
But now, just one day later, there are days like today. I spend time with my love-em-to-pieces teens in my Sunday school class....my pastor/dear friend gently exhorts us from the pulpit.....my perspective shifts. I begin to count my blessings and realize I managed to buy a Christmas tree in three minutes flat last night. No lie. Hannah decorated the mantle and got the decorations out yesterday in my absence. Jamie put the lights on the house. Hunter played a shepherd in a Christmas production and, with the fake penciled-in beard and headdress that looked more like a 40's fedora, managed to emulate a mafia gangster shepherding his sheep and made me nearly drop the camera laughing.
I was also overcome with the blessings of incredible friends we're surrounded by so much of the time, but especially in the last 72 hours of event-laden days and evenings. We've all been running in the same circles but many of us are facing rough challenges: A very needed liver transplant and declining health, offering to donate part of a liver to meet the need and all that entails, sending a precious son to be deployed as a new Marine, waiting on God as a beloved husband and father battles ALS, overcoming cancer and life changes, financial shockers and job loss.....the list goes on. Sometimes I just need God's Holy 2x4 to the forehead to get some perspective.
It has arrived, I’m happy to report, and with it, joy. Joy in realizing how rich we (my family, my friends, and I) are in all the things money can’t buy, how blessed we are by God's gift to us and by those who love us, and how, if you climb to the very top of my laundry pile and lean left, you can see the snow covered Sierras out the top of the bathroom window.
Copyright 2008
Anyone else feeling a little less than “Jingle-Belly” about the whole Christmas, jam-packed schedule? I don't mean to be grumpy and grouchy. It's just that I'm so good at it I hate to let all that practice go to waste.
Just yesterday, Jamie and I were driving along on our way to his company Christmas party. It really was a worthwhile event this year. They decided to dispense with the over-the-top dressy affair and keep it very low key, using the money they would have spent and blessing six needy families instead. We all brought grocery items and had a great lunch. But that didn't stop us from grousing the whole way there about just another thing to do and how many other "just another thing-s" we had to complete. We were so ridiculous Jamie finally looked at me and said, "What else can we gripe about now?!" "Have yourself a crabby little Christmas........"
The time pressures can bring out the worst, I guess. It put me in mind of a Christmas season long past. Hannah was about four and wanting to be in the middle of every single thing I did in the kitchen. That was fun for the first 32 hours of the day. But now it was 10pm and I was down to piecrust I was trying out, for the first time, in the food processor. Martha Stewart (that self-righteous irritant) made it look so simple the day before on her show. My first crust stuck to the top and was fit for gluing wood flooring to the concrete. The next resembled birdseed and stuck together like Sahara sand. I blew that out and started over, again. In the meantime, Hannah stood beside me saying things like, "Can I do it? What's wrong with it? Can I do it? Why is it wet? Can I do it? Why is it dry? Can I do it? What's wrong, Mommy? Can I do it? Why are you making that face, Mommy? Can I do it?"
I felt my inner Grinch flexing his muscles as I told her, "Hannah! Mommy REALLY needs to do this alone. You need to leave the kitchen now and just let me do this myself!" She reluctantly left muttering, "Well, I don't know why I can't do it." The next thing I heard was a phone conversation from the stairs. There she sat in the middle of the staircase with her Fisher-Price phone plopped in her lap and the receiver pressed to her ear. "9-9-1? 9-9-1?" she asked the phantom operator who couldn't have cared less that she had misdialed. "You need to come and get my mommy cause she's not right!" Boy howdy.
The year before, when she was three, we had guests staying during Thanksgiving. Hannah was up early and yakking away. I told her more than once to be quiet since people were still sleeping. Finally I cornered her in the hallway, stared at her eyeball-to-eyeball and firmly told her she HAD to keep it down. She looked back at me just as determinedly, pointed her finger at me and replied, "You better keep YOUR crabby voice quiet, too!" Checkmate.
So, what the heck's the matter with me this year? Deferred preparations might be part of it. There hasn't been any time to break ground on Christmas around here. December 13th and no sign of the Christmas season at our house. I'm trying to knock everyone and everything out of the way so I can start celebrating joyfully. Reminds me of Sunday mornings when we're running late. The standing joke in our house is to yell at every pokey-joe motorist, "GET OUT OF THE WAY, DANG IT! WE'RE TRYING TO GET TO CHURCH AND WORSHIP THE LORD!!" Beware oxymorons driving down the road. We might run over you, too.
The weird thing is, I have actually loved every single event we've attended this Christmas season. That hasn't been the problem. It's those spaces between the events where I get into trouble. The ones where I actually have to be grateful for four hours of sleep and haul it up anyway; the health issues I can't control; the moments in the kitchen believing wholeheartedly that counters are only a theory (as I haven’t seen them in days) and something else must be holding up this assemblage of dishes and debris; the effort expended trying to decide if Sir Edmund Hillary could have scaled a mountain the size of my laundry pile.
But now, just one day later, there are days like today. I spend time with my love-em-to-pieces teens in my Sunday school class....my pastor/dear friend gently exhorts us from the pulpit.....my perspective shifts. I begin to count my blessings and realize I managed to buy a Christmas tree in three minutes flat last night. No lie. Hannah decorated the mantle and got the decorations out yesterday in my absence. Jamie put the lights on the house. Hunter played a shepherd in a Christmas production and, with the fake penciled-in beard and headdress that looked more like a 40's fedora, managed to emulate a mafia gangster shepherding his sheep and made me nearly drop the camera laughing.
I was also overcome with the blessings of incredible friends we're surrounded by so much of the time, but especially in the last 72 hours of event-laden days and evenings. We've all been running in the same circles but many of us are facing rough challenges: A very needed liver transplant and declining health, offering to donate part of a liver to meet the need and all that entails, sending a precious son to be deployed as a new Marine, waiting on God as a beloved husband and father battles ALS, overcoming cancer and life changes, financial shockers and job loss.....the list goes on. Sometimes I just need God's Holy 2x4 to the forehead to get some perspective.
It has arrived, I’m happy to report, and with it, joy. Joy in realizing how rich we (my family, my friends, and I) are in all the things money can’t buy, how blessed we are by God's gift to us and by those who love us, and how, if you climb to the very top of my laundry pile and lean left, you can see the snow covered Sierras out the top of the bathroom window.
Copyright 2008
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