Making political phone bank cold calls was never something I envisioned doing. As an introvert, the thought of talking to some unknown person on the other end of the line was a rather daunting prospect. However, recently, I became part of something I normally avoid: political action. In part because of the extreme polarization of the political system in the United States and also due to my experience living overseas for a number of years, I normally avoid discussions about politics and do not really engage with the process except for getting out to cast my vote and proudly wearing my “I Voted” sticker. However, a couple of the races in the recent elections in California had the potential to impact my life in rather significant ways. Consequently, when volunteers were requested for precinct walking and phone banking, I realized I needed to be involved and participate in a phone bank for a local election.
Contrary to my expectation, phone bank calling was virtually painless. I found it was relatively non-threatening. Most people let the unrecognized phone number I was calling from go straight to voicemail, but a few kind souls took a couple of minutes to listen and a few agreed to consider voting for the candidate I supported. Others said they had already voted. Still others said they have moved and not eligible to vote in the school board election or simply were not the person I thought I was calling. Gratefully, not one of these wary voters was rude or slammed down the phone in my ear.
After a while, I found the calls to be more of a challenge and less of a threat. In fact, I was proud of becoming more natural with the script and making it through my entire list of telephone numbers in the two hours I spent calling.
Unfortunately, my effort turned out to be in vain. The candidate I supported lost the election. But, I think I may be hooked on making political phone bank cold calls. And who knows, maybe I will even take a summer job as a telemarketer!
Having technology on tap can make life very much convenient. They say when it rains it pours and in recent months I have found it to be true, especially in the case of various kinds of technology that have become quotidian necessities. But my non-relationship with technology needs a little bit of background. Over the summer, I moved from a quiet cottage to an apartment in a remodeled Victorian on a well-traveled street in the third largest city in California in the heart of Silicon Valley.
Soon after moving, the screen on my trusty laptop went a pixelly green and then black. Absolutely nothing. Although I am not a hardware savvy, I could tell the screen was at the end of its life of useful function. So, I put it away and just pretended it did not exist for a couple of days. After letting it rest, I again tried to boot it up and got the same blank response from the display. When I had done this a couple of times, I slowly awoke to the reality that this computer needed some serious attention. However, as I was still in the throes of moving, I did not have the time or energy for it at that moment.
Busily settling into my new-old home, I was intent on finding just the right spot for each thing, and in many cases the right spot was the Salvation Army donation center just a couple of blocks away. However, in the process of moving furniture around late one evening, I ended up with my well-used and fairly elderly tablet falling about four feet and landing with a resounding boom from the impact of its metal cover against the historic hardwood floor. At first, it went all red and white stripes and black screen that were sometimes scrolling and sometimes static. In one moment of thoughtlessness, I was not just down one laptop, but one laptop and one tablet!
The good news is that I was busy unpacking, cleaning, and settling in. As a matter of fact, I was so occupied with pressing household tasks that I practically quit eating. While it was a pleasant surprise to accidentally lose weight, that is a subject for another day.
For a few days or maybe a couple of weeks, I didn’t miss my ailing technology much at all. But, as I settled into my new-old home, I found that not only were my laptop and tablet kaput, but my cell phone received an inconsistent and weak signal and my little television did not receive even one local station!
By now, I felt like things were getting out of hand! With life readying to move into high gear, I decided to take my laptop into a nearby repair center to ask what it would involve to repair or replace. After a big move, my budget for replacement was non-existent, so I hoped for a simple, economical repair. The tech at the service center confirmed the display that was in fact faulty, not the hard drive or motherboard or anything related to information processing. However, it would still cost $500 to replace what I call the screen. I suppose the screen is pretty important since the display of data on the computer is indispensable. Well, I already knew I could buy a new tablet for $500, so I simply had to decide which option would work best for me.
In the meantime, with desperation for technology and the ready connection it brings to people far away starting to set in, I decided to look into tablet repairs. Since the aging tablet was no longer under warranty, I learned the cost of the repair would be as much as a new tablet. Armed with the knowledge that the tablet was not worth fixing, I conveniently started gently and strategically banging it around trying to get something inside it to reconnect and give me a decent display. Finally, one of my frustrated taps against a solid surface resulted in a grainy, green pixel display. I was over the moon. Finally, I could reconnect with the 21st Century world! My tablet green pixel display tablet went with me everywhere and before I knew it, I had knocked it off of a counter and it had landed glass face down on the stone tile floor. With apprehension, I picked up the tablet and held my breath as I turned it over to look at the display. Not only was the picture still discernible, but it was the clearest display I had seen in months!
The good news is that tablets provide much of the functionality of laptop computers, so there was a lot I was able to accomplish with my trusty old tablet. Life went on and I developed a new normal as I limped along with the combined efforts of my resurrected tablet, an old, fossilized laptop, and a hare-brained mini notebook. Each one provided a slightly nuanced function in my newly emerging technological world. Somehow, it worked. It was neither efficient nor enjoyable, but it worked and life moved along–tediously, but at least we were moving along.
After more than two months of making this tedious ensemble of technological wonders work, I found a shop, Friendly Computing, in Redding where I could have my laptop repaired for less than half of what it was going to cost in the third largest city in California. Although I had to leave it there and return to life as I know it in the city, over the weekend I was reunited with my laptop and its beautifully crystalline display.
Suddenly, life is quite a bit less tedious and infinitely more clear! Now that the majority of my productive technology is back in working order, perhaps I will find the desire and creativity to solve the issue with my lack of television stations or maybe I will just give the television a good tap!
Young children are refreshingly honest. In their innocence they ask all kinds of uncomfortable questions of the grow ups around them. Working with five and six year olds on a daily basis, I have come to find great amusement in their unvarnished honesty. As children are developing their language and interpersonal skills, they can ask inconvenient questions or make unflattering observations with hilarious results.
One honest young lady asked one day if I had been crying, which can be a disconcerting prospect for a six-year-old. The teacher is not supposed to cry at school. Well, sometimes that teacher can have a cry on a difficult day. And on this particular day, not only had a had a lunchtime weep fest, but I had also forgotten to put on mascara. In a somewhat mendacious ploy both to allay her fears and put her curiosity to rest, I did explain that I had forgotten to put on mascara that morning while gently avoiding further discussion of whether or not I had been crying.
At the end of one long, full day with these uncensored little ones, I found myself gazing absently into a mirrored window while making a call from my classroom telephone. As I gazed at my mirrored image wondering how long it had been since I combed my hair, I realized all of a sudden that I was wearing two completely mismatched earrings. They were not even close to the same design or color. Howling with laughter, I realized this dangly mismatch had escaped notice all day by old and young alike.
I certainly do hope that means I had provided everyone with much more engaging things to ponder, rather than how I made it out the door that morning in this mismatched state. While they may be unobservant at times, I can unequivocally affirm that children are refreshingly honest.
Sometimes I contemplate rewriting a Jane Austen Classic to make all the characters meet with the poetic justice their comportment demands. Many Jane Austen novels, both print and celluloid versions, are old friends. I find familiar comfort in the oft read characters and settings that transport me to simpler times. I applaud the tidy neatness of how Austen sets her vain, proud characters in their place, but elevates her humble egalitarians. A fan of happy endings, I enjoy Austen’s neat denouements with the inevitable banishment of sadness and grief, which may even have been brought into the lives of characters by their own poor or selfish choices. Love and goodness always triumph.
However, there is one detail in a much loved story that leaves my simplistic nature dissatisfied: in Sense and Sensibility, Miss Lucy Steele’s conniving nature pays off. She ditches Edward Ferrars, her diffident, disowned fiancé for his proud younger brother, gains the esteem (and fortune) of her new mother-in-law, and lives comfortably in spite of her self-serving machinations. I find that aspect of the novel difficult to accept, but all too parallel to life. I would like for such intrigues to utterly fail and yield absolutely no net result.
But, life isn’t like that. So I guess Austen was right to let Miss Lucy Steele gain greater status and remuneration from her wealthy mother-in-law than the pious Miss Elinor Dashwood.
Actually, I do not think that Elinor would have minded the turn of events at all. In my reading of the story, Elinor’s principal enjoyment in life was entirely independent of her income or situation. She found practicality, duty, honor, and commitment to be far greater wealth than capricious favor bestowed or withheld based on one’s performance. While noble and admirable, Elinor’s attitude would not have put food on her table or a roof over her head, so I am profoundly grateful that Colonel Brandon gave Edward Ferrars the living at Delaford and that Mrs. Ferrars relented and gave Edward and Elinor a small annual income to help them along. It was just enough to be comfortable and independent without being ostentatious or proud.
So all things considered, I guess Elinor’s lot in life was far superior to Lucy’s.
But, if I were rewriting a Jane Austen classic or creating an “Austenesque” novel of my life, I wonder if I would write myself in as Lucy or as Elinor.
On a trip to the Central Coast region of California earlier this year, I found myself near Hearst’s famed Castle at San Simeon. Opting not to repeat the historical tour of Hearst Castle, I browsed through the visitor’s center, stopping to take full advantage of the observation areas. After a leisurely walkthrough, admiring the lovely grounds and galloping zebras, I drove down toward the Sebastian Store in San Simeon.
In my preparation for my brief getaway, I had read about the Sebastian Store that offers sandwiches made with Hearst Beef. I decided it was definitely a site worth savoring. So, after standing in line and getting my Classic Beef sandwich, I headed down to the Hearst State Beach to sit at a picnic table and admire the view of the crashing surf while enjoying the local fare. As I soaked up sun, was lulled by the waves, and savored my classic sandwich, I took care to spook off the numerous birds attracted by my tasty lunch.
Not long after I began enjoying my lunch, I noticed the vehicle that had parked in front of my car at Sebastian’s had also pulled into the beach parking area. The driver hopped out and placed his to go box from Sebastian’s on the table before returning to the vehicle to retrieve something.
Intrigued by the box, a couple of crows took control of the table top in the diner’s absence. Watching from a safe distance, I assumed the driver would return before the crows could figure out how to open the box. Little did I know that there was a cookie in a white paper bag right next to the box! Much to my surprise, before I could startle the crows away one of them had grabbed the bag with its beak and carried it several feet before dropping it over a fence that separated the picnic area from the dangerous cliff above the ocean. Safely over the fence, the crow and its fellows could eat the cookie in apparent safety.
Chuckling at the ingenuity of the crows I reported the cookie’s loss to my fellow diner, who had returned with a second box of takeout food. Although one cookie down, my fellow diner seemed unconcerned and still seemed to have plenty to eat.
Over the course of a lifetime various people pass into our lives and right back out, while others come in and go on to other place without leaving us. These become our best of friends forever; the people you can pick up the phone to talk to or meet face to face after years of not even being in the same time zone and they are still that same friend as though you spoke just minutes before. They may have a few more wrinkles or pounds, children or grandchildren, but they are the same precious, unwavering friend you remember.
Gratefully, I have numerous such people in my life. No two are exactly the same, which gives life flavor and richness. But, all are precious and add something different to my life.
Upon recently receiving potentially devastating news, I called a friend of mine who cried with me as I cried. After my tears dried, and I began to move forward, I paused and stood next to another friend simply to absorb strength and a sense of calm. Another friend texted me to check in, gave me a kind, listening ear and some straightforward, but encouraging advice. Each friend is unique and succeeds in mending a different place in my wounded heart.
So, although parts of my heart are crushed and feel like they may never be whole again, there are these other places where my precious family and friends dwell. By their very presence deep in my heart, they bring joy, laughter, and hope for better times ahead making me infinitely grateful for my best of friends forever.
Up until recently my commute, although not nearly as stressful as others in the San Francisco Bay Area, could sometimes be frustrating after a long, stressful day at work. I find myself impatient and irritable by the various impediments or slowdowns, whether they come in the form of inopportune pedestrians or slowly driving cars. Occasionally, however, vignettes of life penetrate my perturbation and remind me of the joy in living.
Once after an irritating day with too many tasks to complete in too little time and too little appreciation received when completed exceptionally, I found my irritation rising when forced to stop mid-street for an elderly pedestrian accompanying a small child on a tiny bicycle with training wheels. Although initially piqued by this time-stopping delay, as I watched their measured progress across the wide street, I suddenly found myself thinking fondly of years before when I learned to ride a bicycle. In that moment, a lengthy delay morphed into a moment of wonder as I shared the history-making experience of a youngster learning the delight of self-propelled wheeled motion. Transformed by serendipity.
The next day, I left work a little earlier than customary and after stopping by my favorite eating place—a place where, Nick, the young man who makes my coffee and toasts my bread, knows my name, and the fare is organic and fresh—I found myself in the thick of commute traffic that was nearly stock still. To avoid the overwhelming stress of brake and accelerate traffic, I opted for a circuitous route that took me twice as long as the normal course would have, but with far fewer vehicles to compete.
As I found myself at an extremely long red light waiting to turn left on a major street, the melody of a popular song booming from the car next door penetrated my simmering irritability at the tedious length of the light. Turning to look at the vehicle, I was surprised and utterly amused to find a 40-, or perhaps early 50-, something singing and grooving along with the music. I struggled to maintain my deadpan gaze and to not gawk at the free entertainment, but could scarcely keep from rubbernecking all the same. To my chagrin, my fellow commuter’s green light came first. Though I lost my entertaining spectacle, I gained freedom to enjoy my ill-concealed mirth.
For that brief moment, it was almost as though I were looking into a mirror. Considering how many times I have boosted the sound on the radio, allowing a favorite or apropos tune to drown out clamoring thoughts from the day that were loath to be otherwise silenced, I realized that though I might be alone in my car, I was not alone in the effort to leave drudgery behind by choosing to revel in a spontaneous celebration of the miracle of being alive.
My hijacked life doesn’t look like I expected it would. As a little girl, all kinds of people conditioned me with ideas and dreams about what life would be like when I grew up; when I become a woman. Little did I know that I would never become a woman, at least not in the way idealized by many of my mother’s generation.
Although I went through the requisite pubescent transformation, I never became a mother. In fact, I have never become many of the things everyone told me or expected of me: a lover, a mother or a caregiver. In fact, in some ways I feel as though my life has been hijacked.
I always thought I was doing something worthwhile in teaching and becoming a missionary and I believed while I pursued those worthy vocations that perhaps I would meet a man with similar interests and life paths and we would continue on pursing those worthy vocations together. As the years went by, the dream of children in that equation faded as it inevitably does, but oddly enough the anticipated find a potential mate has yet to be realized.
The Continuation of My Hijacked Life
Finally in the summer of 2015, spurred to action by my desire to be a parent I decided to investigate local foster family agencies and to attend classes for future foster parents. I had explored foster to adopt at other times and in other places, but the timing had always been wrong. This particular summer, just as I had completed all but one of the required training courses through the Bill Wilson Center and was preparing to submit my application to become a foster parent, I was diagnosed with cancer. Those plans to finally become a parent were immediately derailed and once again, I felt the crushing weight of disappointment in my hijacked life.
It seems like there is always another surprise on the way. Unexpected disappointments can crush and break, but one can rise up in brokenness with anticipation and faith that life is still good, even when it seems like our hopes and dreams have been hijacked.
My Hijacked Life Is Most Calm When I Am Near the Pacific Ocean
