The Max

I'm kind of sheltered here in River City, Alaska.

I know there are people in our community who deal with difficult physical and mental challenges.  I also know there are those who struggle with substance abuse, addiction and homelessness.

But I don't see them very often.  Honestly, here in my little town, I'm not really sure where to find them.

It doesn't feel good to admit that.  I should know.

That changes whenever I visit The Big City.  It's a really big city, especially for a country girl.

I like the public transportation there, it's a tram called The Max.  It's affordable, user friendly and convenient.  It's great.  And it opens my eyes.

One night I was on The Max with a man whose body twitched uncontrollably.  He spent the entire ride talking to a passenger who wasn't there.

A lot of twitchy people ride The Max.

I once saw a little woman board with an impressive collection of plastic grocery bags tied to her walker.  She was wearing open shoes and had horribly deformed feet.

I've had strong, healthy men ask me if I can spare a dollar.  I've ridden near a group of ridiculous teenagers speaking an unintelligable gang language I could not understand. I saw one guy get arrested the minute he stepped off the tram.

Though some of these things have made me uncomfortable, the folks I find the scariest on The Max are those who never look around, never smile and never speak.  That's, like, everybody.  Even when scrunched together shoulder to shoulder, the overwhelming majority of riders never look up, never say anything...they never really acknowledge there's anybody else on the tram.

I always find myself wondering about these people.  Where have they come from, where are they going?  Do they have somebody waiting for them to get home?

Do they know Jesus?

Am I one of them?

Jesus was drawn to illness and instability.  He healed those with deformities, disease and demons.  He never turned them away.

And he had strong words for those who lacked compassion and understanding; who ignored the downtrodden.

Don't worry, I'm not going to start conversing with drug addicts and gang bangers the next time I ride The Max.  But what if I bury my head and choose not to interact with somebody who needs an encouraging word?  Is there anything wrong with making eye contact and sharing a smile?

Why am I asking these questions?

I should know.

Cussing

I remember the days when my kids were little.  The "b" word was butt, the "s" word was shut up and the "f" word was fart.

Man, I miss those days.

Cussing.  I really, really hate it.  Always have.  I think it's irreverent, degrading and cheap.  I think it makes a man look weak and a woman look trashy.

Aren't you glad you asked me how I really feel?

There was a group of kids that hung around the entrance to our Safeway store.  They dressed in black, smoked cigarettes and cussed.   They were scary and everybody I knew hated walking through them just to buy groceries.  Lots of folks would go to a different store to avoid them, including my 17 year old daughter.  I didn't blame them, but it sure was inconvenient. 

I had complained several times to the management, but they said the cops were tired of coming around and unless this group of kids did more than loiter, they wouldn't come back.  I guess I can understand that from the cops' perspective.  It just seemed like the store should do something since it was their property and their business.  Ever heard of private security, Safeway?

Lame. 

Anyway...I'm not sure what the catalyst was, but one night I had just had enough.

I was braver back then.

I stormed into the group of kids and told them I did not appreciate their language.  There were little kids and older people within earshot of their filth every day.  Besides, a lot of other people - including me - just didn't like it.  I told them I suspected their mothers probably taught them better and they should be ashamed of themselves.

So there. 

I went into the store and immediately started shaking.  Was I nuts??  A sane person would have told them off right before she got into her car and drove away, not before she intended to shop for 45 minutes.  That gave them all kinds of time to plan my demise.

I exited the store with trepidation.  I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I hoped if they planned to kill me it would be quick.  I didn't want to feel any pain.  And I was glad I had recently purchased life insurance.

Sure enough, three kids broke off from the pack and followed me to my car.  "Ma'am?"  the ringleader said. 

I hate it when people call me ma'am.  But considering the words I had heard out of the mouths of these kids, ma'am seemed like a step in the right direction.

I turned around and faced them.  "Yes?"

"We would like to apologize.  You're right; our mothers did teach us better than this...at least mine did.   I'm really sorry."

We stood there for 30 minutes and had a nice chat.  I was able to to admire their tatoos and piercings up close.  And I'm pretty sure my ice cream melted.

So, if that was your kid, thank you for teaching him better.

You may be surprised, but he really was listening.

In The Dark

Let’s face it; being from Alaska is a novelty.  I doubt whether people from Nevada or Kansas or even Maine get asked some of the ridiculous questions we Alaskans do when we travel. 

“Alaska, huh?  Do you live in an igloo?”

“You’re from Alaska?  Do you eat whale blubber?”

“Alaska?  Wow!  Do they have roads up there?”

I mean, seriously. 

As amusing (or insulting) as these questions can be, my least favorite is, “Isn’t it, like, dark 24 hours a day up there in the winter?”

I think that ridiculous question bugs me because it’s kind of true.

There are locations in Alaska where it does stay dark in the winter pretty much all day.  Thankfully, I don’t live there.  In the dead of winter where I live, it gets light about 10 am and dark around 3:30 or 4:00 pm.  I don’t have a window in my office, so if I don’t leave the building for lunch, I don’t see any daylight. 

I always leave the building for lunch.

It’s an interesting thing, learning to deal with so much darkness. The biggest adjustment is realizing the sounds that go bump in the dark night are the same sounds that go bump in the light night.

I’m not afraid of the dark.  But I do like to see what is making scary noises.

I had a girlfriend once who would not come over to my house at night in the winter because I didn’t have blinds on all my windows.  It didn’t matter that my living room was on the second floor on a hill and faced a swamp where nobody would ever go.  She was scared.  And I thought she was silly.

I’m not sure I think that any more.

A couple of years ago somebody knocked on my door at 10:30 pm.  I was just about to head to bed and it really startled me.  I clicked on the front porch light and there stood a strange man.  He was disheveled, unkempt.  Because I’m brilliant, I opened the door.

I know, right?

He told me this story about his sister and how she sent him to borrow some items a man would never ask for.  I told him I couldn't help him, then closed the door and locked it.  He hollered at me for awhile, then left.

By the time I found my neighbor’s phone number he had already been to her door.  We decided to call the police because it was just too weird.  They drove around our neighborhood, but didn’t see him. 

I was surprised my neighbor opened her door to this creepy dude.  What was she thinking?  She had little kids..and besides, she's smarter than me. Then I found out she answered her door brandishing a gun. 

What a woman. 

Now when I hear bumps in the night, I just click a button on my phone.

I have her on speed dial.

Disconnected

I had a life altering experience last Friday night.

I lost my phone.

I mean, I really lost my phone.  Like, it was gone.  Nowhere to be found.  

You may wonder how I knew it was nowhere to be found.  Well, I have two cell phones; one is my personal phone and the other is my business phone.  When my brilliant son-in-law suggested getting another line, I ran to AT&T as fast as my Toyota could carry me.  It made sense to have a line dedicated only to business, but, more importantly, I knew I'd have a way to call myself when I couldn't find my phone.

I called myself Friday night and nobody answered.

I remember talking to a friend on my way to the store, so I knew it had to be there.  HAD TO BE.  I called the customer service desk.  They didn't have it, and they were getting ready to close.  No time to send a search party.

That's when I panicked.  

WHAT IF SOMEBODY NEEDED TO GET AHOLD OF ME????

I texted the bad news to both my kids from my business phone.

I immediately received a text back from my daughter.  It said, "Who is this??"  

My son didn't recognize the number either.  

See why my other phone is so important????

The next morning I called the store again.  Nothing.  NOTHING.  I was beginning to feel lost, disconnected, estranged.  The truth is, I know very few of my friend's phone numbers.  My phone, on the other hand, knows all of them.  

It's a sad state of things, but it's the truth.

About noon I decided to go search the store myself.  I had been trying on jackets and sweaters, so I checked every pocket of every jacket and sweater in my size.  No phone.  I called my number thinking maybe I would hear it, but it went directly to voice mail.  Nuts!  The battery was probably dead.

As a last ditch effort, I checked with the customer service desk.  I had little hope; I had already talked to them that morning.

The clerk opened her drawer and there was my phone.  

Somebody had turned if off, so I waited anxiously while it came to life.  Just as I feared, I had missed something important.  Lots of somethings important.  I had twelve missed calls.  TWELVE!!!

Every one of them was from me.

The Date

I went on a date a couple of weeks ago.

Oh, stop.  It's rude to look so shocked.

Nope, I'm not telling you who it was with.  That would be too personal, and I try not to share anything personal on this blog.

Right.

So...it's an interesting thing, going on a date with somebody you don't really know.  All day long I kept telling myself it was just dinner, and everybody has to eat. Then I would think about how embarrassed I would be if I got home and found spinach in my teeth, or enchilada sauce on my blouse.

That didn't happen, by the way.

I handled the day pretty well, but when I got off work I had two hours to kill.  I didn't want to sit around making myself nervous, so I started to clean the house.

I had it completely spotless in an hour and a half.

Then I attempted to get cute...but not too cute.  A girl never wants to look like she's trying too hard, but she doesn't want to look frumpy either.

It's kind of complicated.

I left my house...then decided I didn't want to be too early.  But I didn't want to be late either.

I took the back road to the restaurant.  It worked, I got there one minute early.

He was already there, and I was glad.  Being there first would have looked desperate.

Hey, I may be a lot of things, but desperate isn't one of them.

I sat down and we started to chat.  I was the picture of poise, I was a natural.  I could do this thing.

Then out of the blue he asked me the most random question.

"Were you nervous about tonight?" he asked.

"Hmmm...."  I responded.  I was thinking fast. "Not really.  It's just dinner and everybody has to eat, right?  Why do you ask?"

"I had a friend whose neck used to get really red when she was nervous.  And yours is really red right now."

Dang, I forgot about my traitorous neck!

"Yeah, well, okay, I may have been a tad nervous,"  I stammered.  "But just because I've lived here for 30 years and I know somebody will see me and give me a hard time tomorrow."

We had a nice time, we did.  And I may decide to try this date thing again sometime.

And if you see me, be sure to say hello.

I'll be the girl in the scarf.

Four Eyes

When I was a kid, Friday nights were TV nights.  The Brady Bunch came first, followed by the Partridge Family.  My siblings and I had our own designated seating assignments.  I used to lay on the floor about four feet away from the television.

I didn't get glasses until I was 12.  But I suspect I may have needed them before that.

I've always hated wearing glasses.

Within months, I lost my first pair.  I remember trying to convince my mom they had to have fallen out of my pocket and down into the storm drain below our street. That was the only explanation because I had looked EVERYWHERE.  I never did get those glasses back;  she never allowed me to climb down there and look for them. They're probably still there.

High school brought on contact lense angst.

Remember those hard contacts people had back in the day?  I could never wear those.  My best friend could pop hers out, stick it in her mouth to rinse it off, then pop it back in without needing a mirror.

I was so jealous.

When soft contacts became popular, I was first in line.  I had several years of success wearing them.  But for some reason after my son was born, I could no longer wear them.  I have no idea why, but I totally blame him.  Every couple of years I try them again, and every time I end up miserable and am reminded what tremendous sacrifices I've made as a mother.

I guess it was worth it.

You'd think after so many years of wearing glasses, I wouldn't have any problems.  But I do.  The older I get, the harder it is for me to get used to a new pair.  It's torture.

My insurance pays for new glasses every two years, but about a year ago I was having a hard time seeing my computer.  I needed new glasses, and I had to pay for them 100%.  I wear transition lenses, and let me tell you, they ain't cheap.

I liked the ones I bought, but I couldn't get used to them.  No matter how many times I had them adjusted, it felt like they were squeezing my head.  They came with a warranty, so I exchanged them for the lightest pair available.  The lady at the eye doctor said I would have absolutely no problem with these...and I payed an additional $200.  Ouch.

She's right, they are light.

And, after a year of suffering, I'm finally used to them.

But my computer is looking kind of fuzzy...

Stress

This has been quite a day.  Actually, the last couple of weeks have pretty much eaten my lunch.

Unfortunately that's not quite true.  I tend to eat more lunch when I'm stressed.  And more breakfast and dinner.  Know what I mean?

This chain of misfortune started with my car.  It had two leaky seals.  I saw the boxes my new seals came in; they were about the size of canning jar lids.  Too bad I couldn't pop my car into a pressure cooker and seal the leaks, it would have been much cheaper.

You know, I always wonder if the guys who work on my car really work on my car.  I had my transmission flushed once; my car looked exactly the same when I picked it up as it did when I dropped it off.  It ran the same too.  How do you men know?  Maybe it's a testosterone thing that this estrogen laden woman will never understand.

And I am okay with that.

Then my hot water heater died.  It was a slow, painful death...I'd known it was coming.  Water kept raining down on the pilot light; I was getting used to lighting it in the morning and waiting for 30 minutes before I took a shower.  Finally, it gave up.  Kaput.

I mourned.

A few days later, The Beast (my quilt machine) refused to go sideways.  Funny thing...I found this random part under the table a few weeks ago; for the life of me I couldn't figure out where it came from.  It seemed to work fine without it...until it didn't.

That part made it go sideways.  Who knew?  Well, the repair man knew, but that's beside the point.

Things come in threes, right?  Wrongo.

Saturday morning I booted up the computer on The Beast and the screen went black.

I've never had a computer crash before.  It's not very fun.

My brilliant (and patient) son-in-law spent two hours on the other side of a webcam trying to get me up and running again.  We thought we had it, but when I heard him say, "Uh oh.  That's not good," I knew it was over.

I ordered a new computer yesterday.

As fun as it would be to feel sorry for myself, I simply can't.  God won't let me.  In retrospect, I can see the places he's stretched my faith, and then provided...stretched my faith, and then provided, sometimes in truly humbling and miraculous ways.

I think I'm getting it.

I suspect he's getting ready to move on, to deal with something else in my character.

I bet it will have something to do with eating my lunch.