Monday, December 21, 2015

Good grief...

Apparently, I don't know how to use a regular phone anymore. Roughly twenty years ago, my home state of Maryland started running out of area codes and instituted new ones. From then on, Marylanders had to dial the full ten digits even for local calls. (http://articles.baltimoresun.com/1995-11-23/news/1995327031_1_area-codes-codes-in-maryland-two-new-area)

It has been common, for who knows how long, to dial "9" to get an external line when placing a call on site at a business, you used to have to also dial a 1, then the area, code, then the number. Except, once we started using ten digit numbers, the need for the 1 went away because you were always going to use the area code no matter what. 

Then, introduce my last place of business, which implemented a phone system that didn't require the "9." You just dialed ten digits and boom, you could reach anybody.

With cell phones, it has been the same thing, especially once unlimited nationwide calling became a thing and essentially did away with anything you might consider "long distance" calling.

Enter my new job. This position requires me to make a fair number of phone calls. I've been there more than a month and I'm still struggling to use a dang phone. More than once I have struggled to get an external line, because my business uses "8" to make an outside call, not "9."! Then today, again, I couldn't place a call! Well, I could, except it was to the wrong person even though I was certain I had the right number.

Get this: I had to ask for help *to make a phone call.* 

It turns out I still wasn't dialing the 1! Argh. 

I can't believe I have had to relearn how to use a phone.





Sunday, December 20, 2015

I'm not in Kansas anymore...

Yesterday is the last Saturday before Christmas, and I had a few gifts that I was hoping to get into the mail to arrive in time for the holiday. This was an especially fun challenge because my printer is nowhere near ready to be set up, so I couldn't print postage at home, and needed to find a post office. The good news was that there was a post office in my town that was open until 1pm. Plenty of time!

I got my gifts wrapped and packed and ready to go with half an hour to spare. As the post office was only twenty minutes away, that meant I could make it. I used the GPS on my phone and off I went. The drive was uneventful, until I was told I had reached my destination and saw this:

I was pretty sure that wasn't a post office, only I saw no signs of a post office anywhere in that little shopping area, or nearby areas. Confused and pressed for time, I tried looking across the street. I saw a white building up on a hill, with a full size American flag on a flag pole out front, and lots of cars in the parking lot. That's it, I thought! I head that way, and successfully maneuvered my car into a makeshift parking lot. I saw other people hurriedly heading inside.

I admit to being a little confused, because as I got closer to the front of the building, I didn't see any signage at all indicating this was a post office, or business of any kind. I still walked up to the front door, and before I could open it, a man and woman opened it from within and asked if they could help me. Suddenly, it was very clear that this was not a post office at all. I was about to walk into someone's home and private party.


I apologized for disturbing them and explained my confusion. Here's the kicker: rather than acting like I was some sort of crazy person, they couldn't have been nicer! They said that the post office is actually inside the Harvest Market store across the street, and jokingly invited me in for lunch. I again apologized, jumped in my car, and headed back to the market. 

When I walked inside, I was still confused, because I was clearly in a grocery store and not a post office. I asked the wine tasting lady if there might be a post office nearby. She pointed me to the customer service desk. 

That's the post office. I'm not kidding.

While waiting in the surprisingly short line, the lady in line in front of me struck up a conversation. We stood there having a nice chat about her love of sending new year's cards instead of Christmas cards and how she has family in Virginia down near where I'm from (except they're from western Virginia, which is nowhere near where I'm from, but I digress). She was as friendly as can be, and then it was my turn, and the customer service rep/post office guy was polite, efficient, and had me out of there in minutes. 

I'm still so confused. At home, I would be standing in line for probably half an hour at least just to get to the counter (and had brought my kindle with me in anticipation of this), and no one in line would have talked to me!

After my very pleasant pre-Christmas post office experience, I then went back to the wine tasting lady and enjoyed some samples of free wine. In the grocery store. Which, where I'm from, isn't a thing.

Thursday, December 17, 2015

Enjoy Every Day

People always say they would like to do this more, or that more, but then complain about their boring lives and how nothing ever changes. Folks, the universal truth is this: you have to make things happen for yourself. Decide what is important to you, and do it. 

Years ago, my dad got word that his cancer was terminal. I didn't know what to say. I asked if there was anything I could do. "Well," he said, "enjoy every day." I have heard those words in my head and in my heart every day since. A lifelong smoker, my dad had finally quit smoking several years before getting sick. He used the money he saved from buying cigarettes to buy a a really nice road bike, and he started taking bike rides on evenings after work, and on the weekends. He began preparing his own meals, healthy things like lentil soup. He started doing everything right. He still got sick. He still died young.

When he was dying, my dad told me about some of the things he had planned to do once he retired. On his list: conduct his own, personal comparison of world religions; travel to Italy; cure me of my tomato "phobia." He regretted putting off these pursuits. 

It took me some years between then and now to really internalize the life lesson, but I know now how important it is not to put off doing the things that matter most.

It helps greatly when one of your important pursuits is travel, and you find a friend with a similar love for and commitment to making trips happen, not to mention a similar mindset as to budget and type of travel experience. But regardless, I am not waiting any longer to make travel a priority.

I have my dad to thank for that. 


Monday, December 7, 2015

Closet Under the Stairs

Thirty-something years ago, my family took a road trip to New Hampshire. I was not yet ten years old. My parents bundled me, my older sister, and my grandparents into the station wagon, and we drove north.

We rented a house in the mountains somewhere. I was young, and have vague recollections of this trip, but a few things in particular stand out: I distinctly remember that our rental was in the woods, among the trees. The scenery was different than the familiar landscape of Maryland. The house was tall, with a third floor loft that I thought was the coolest. You had to climb a ladder to get all the way up to the top. I don't really like ladders, though, so while interesting, that was not the most intriguing part of the property for me.

My favorite part of this house was a small closet on the main floor. It was the type of walk-in closet that you typically find built in underneath a staircase. The only thing in the closet was a vacuum cleaner, so there was plenty of space for me. Whenever the grown-ups spent too much time talking about grown-up things, or my sister didn't want her kid sister tagging along, I would hide in the closet under the stairs, happily sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor, reading my book.

If memory serves, my parents thought that was weird, and kept trying to draw me out of what they viewed as my anti-social hideaway. What I now realize, with the wisdom of many years between my adult self now and my child self then, is that I am a natural introvert, and while not shy, at times I do need my secret lair in which to retreat from conversation and company. I crave alone time, and more than that, I need the space, quiet and unbothered, in which to be on my own.

I still need that type of space to this day. In an interesting twist of fate, I have recently moved from my home state of Maryland to New Hampshire, just a short half hour's drive north of where we rented that house many years ago. Moving was a difficult endeavor, fraught with stress and emotion. Many times, I needed that small space in which to retreat and be still. The demands of moving did not allow for much time for reflection, however. The stress began to mount.

Once in New Hampshire, a good friend came with me for the drive and for moral support. At one point during our weekend of exploring the neighboring towns, we were discussing whether or not to go out and find another fun thing to do, or just go home. "Let's go back to your little cocoon," she said, referring to my new apartment. I knew immediately that I could weather the change in circumstance from the comfortable familiarity of my home state to the new beginning I had before me. I knew I would be okay, because I have in my apartment, another little closet under the stairs. I had been worried that apartment living would be noisy and stressful, when in reality, I chose a quiet place, where I don't hear much except for the occasional plane flying overhead, reminding me of all of the possibilities for travel that are right here at my fingertips.

I am grateful to have found another little place to call home, even if for a short time.


Sunday, December 6, 2015

Finding my balance.

Not too long ago, I had a bad day. Things were frustrating at work, and I felt stuck in a situation where I couldn't win, so I needed to walk away.

For me, walking away entails walking to nature. I knew I needed to take a deep breath, and go where I had no cellular service, where there was no choice but for me to hear the leaves crunch underneath my feet, and the birds and squirrels rustling in the distance.

I am not sure what it is about nature that has such a calming affect. Probably, there is a link between our human nature and the relationship with the earth. After all, we don't truly need cell phones and computers to survive as a species; just to survive in today's modern professions. I needed to step back into nature to find my balance, to feel centered, and find a sense of peace.

On my next day off, I drove from the highly populated area to a state park about an hour away. The drive entailed traveling over a major bridge, which created a true separation for me between my place in a world of technology and the demands of others, and a place of calm.

I had a destination in mind, but along the way, I couldn't help but notice the most amazing grove of trees. A good friend had driven out this way not long before, and had taken a picture of these trees, and I was hoping I would see them on my drive. I was not disappointed. I wish I knew their story. Who planted them? What was this person's vision? Did this person know the art that is found in cultivating nature, or were they just planting trees, trying to spruce up the property?

I pulled over to the side of the road, and took a few pictures. Then, I lingered for a bit, taking in the sight, before traveling down the road to the hiking trails. Every time I look at this picture, I am reminded of my inner need to get away, to change the scenery, to breathe.