Stay or Go

Posted on May 24, 2012 by robin swetz

Stay or Go

                 I am arguing with her again, and now I am yelling. We are on the highway, time frame looming, still a ways to go before the next exit.  She calmly says, “Take a right onto Oak Street.”  I yell at her “There is no Oak Street, we are on the highway!” She counters, in her always and forever calm and unruffled voice, “Recalculating.” There is nothing to recalculate.  We are on the highway, there is no Oak Street. I try to remain calm. But, she is confused, and I cannot be late. I get on my cell phone and call my husband to get some directional help from him.  As I brief him on the situation, she suddenly changes her tune. “Drive 17 miles on Interstate 91.”

                 So, has she gotten jealous about me seeing somebody else for directions?  I hang up with my husband, and she remains focused and on task for the rest of this journey.

                 Our relationship started out a little rocky.  She was misunderstood, yes, I know.  It was a while into one of my first journeys with her that I realized my 5 year old had programmed her to indoor simulation.  No wonder we could not connect and understand each other. But, we worked this out.  Some fiddling around with her settings helped us reconnect.  Then, another rift. We just were not seeing eye to eye.  Yes, my 5 year old, again.  This time he had switched the language to Spanish.  This took me longer to figure out the fix for.  But, she waited patiently for me.  She is always so patient, no matter how many times I ignore her.  She keeps recalculating and offering options, calmly and politely.  I once heard her say “When safe, complete a U-turn.”  She was so forward, that time.

                There are many times she is troubled, and she tells me. But, this she is not able to share out loud, so I read her message. “Trouble acquiring satellites.”  This, she tells me, sometimes for miles.  Then, I go elsewhere; I call my husband again.  I inform him of her silent treatment, her troubles.  He then guides me, using his iPhone.  One time, she shared with me her trouble finding satellites, asking me if she should continue searching.  I select “No”.  She continues to search to locate a satellite, so she tells me in a message.  She is sending me mixed messages again.  I inquire, “Why bother asking if you are going to do what you want to anyway?”

               All weekend she competed with my husband’s iPhone as we traveled around.  She never did acquire a satellite the entire time. I wonder if she thought she was not really needed, so why bother.

             I have been considering looking out there to see what else there is. I thought about breaking it off completely, turning perhaps to my iPhone, and moving her along to my kids to play with. But, I like how she talks to me; I need that.  What I mean is, I cannot read a map to save my life.  My directional impairment makes it extremely difficult.  Also, the small print requires reading glasses, which are difficult to navigate using while driving; it’s downright unsafe. This is why the voice prompts are essential.

            My husband, he says she can be helped, something about an upgrade or an update, a technical intervention. For now, I will stay with her.  I know her nuances, her idiosyncracies.  And, she doesn’t give up on me; she tries, as best as she can.

            

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Pink Flamingos

Posted on May 20, 2012 by robin swetz

I did the unthinkable. I adopted three pink flamingos, and have settled them in on my front lawn. My 8 year old son is in disagreement with my decision, asking me, “Is this necessary?” My 5 year old, now he completely welcomes the new addition to our family.
“Oscar, meet Ernie, Ernie, meet Oscar, Pink meet Oscar and Ernie.” This is my 5 year old son introducing the flamingos to each other, touching each of them on their plastic molded feathers on their back as he tells them their names. Then, he picks one up, leaving the two legs behind, sticking out of the ground. But, this is okay, as the flamingo is using my son’s legs. Oscar, the pink flamingo, is tightly nestled and tucked under his arm, pink neck craning out to look as his eyes move wildly around. My son marches around the tree in our front yard, as he sings sweetly to Oscar, the pink flamingo. I cannot make out the words from where I am, unfortunately.
So, our flamingos will stay with us. So far, they seem to be enjoying each other’s company, being forced to get to know each other because of their display position, all of them facing each other, their legs pushed firmly into the ground. I wonder what they talk about all day? I will ask my five year old, I just know he knows and will tell me all about it.

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Road Atlas

Posted on May 19, 2012 by robin swetz

 

          I was at Target today, and in the discount bin, I discovered a Road Atlas, all 50 states for merely $2.50.  Each state had an 8 and half by 11 page dedicated to the entire state, with a couple of the smaller states that are next to each other geographically, like Connecticut and Rhode Island, sharing a page.  I stood there and pondered who might spend a full $2.50 on this book.  The level of detail, or the lack of, makes me question its very relevance and usefulness. Not to mention, of course, the abundance of technology to accomplish the same end, from Map Quest to Google Maps to I Phone applications to GPS. 

       This reminds me of when my husband and I moved into our first home 12 years ago.  We selected a house to grow into, four bedrooms.  This left us three bedrooms to play with.  One became what we called “The Map Room”.  It was fully decorated with travel themed items; old fashioned suitcases neatly stacked, a metal Eiffel Tower, a large globe. 

     The next step was the wall treatment.  I chose the biggest wall to do the map effect.  I took pages from an atlas, used wallpaper paste, and smoothed them all over the entire wall.  Then, I took a wood stain and ran it over the dried maps. It came out looking like aged maps, and really finished off  “The Map Room”.

     Now, as for the Road Atlas in front of me, I imagine these days that a wall treatment would be about the only use for an actual hard copy of a road atlas.  I am thinking this Road Atlas should be sold within the Room Décor area of the store, perhaps a coffee table book entitled “Remember When?”

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Rabbit Ears

Posted on May 19, 2012 by robin swetz

 

            I just drove by a television left out by the road for free.  Yes, it had rabbit ears, precariously perched atop its square flat head.  And, yes, it had two knobs, just two. They look plastic, and I can almost hear the clicking sound they make as you turn them with all the strength you can muster up between your thumb and index finger. My guess is that there are no outlets or ports for any additional cables, no buttons for pushing, no nothing.

            I imagine this television to smell like cigar or cigarette smoke from years of being in the rec room in the basement.  It must be lonely and in shock out here in the fresh air and sunlight, perhaps longing for its family of orange vinyl furniture set that it was ripped away from. 

            I have passed by this television 4 days in a row now.  I believe its owner who evicted it out here to the curb was hoping for it to be lovingly adopted.  But, for what?  Would it even be compatible with modern technology, with current electrical standards? Would the three channels it might get be enough to keep its new family connected and engaged?  Perhaps it would make a humorous YouTube video with the older version of Elvis shooting at it with a Nerf dart gun or a Supersoaker water gun .  

            I digress.  But, Ole’ rabbit ears here in this man’s front yard is a digression, a digression from reality. I find myself hoping he takes Ole’ rabbit ears back in his home, back where it belongs, and keeps it there, forever. 

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Closet Catholic

Posted on May 11, 2012 by robin swetz

    I met a closet Catholic today.  I was visiting a close friend of mine, and she was giving me a tour of all the updates she did to her home. She is so industrious, and I so admire that.  I love the painting she did in the two bedrooms and the bathroom; great color choices and very carefully done.  She even took all the molding off, painted the walls, and put them all back on after finishing the painting. I am talking baseboard molding, chair-rail molding, and molding at the top of the wall adjacent to the ceiling. That is a lot of work. Amazing. 

    Then, as she was presenting her well-organized walk-in closet, there it was. A crucifix, hung on the back wall of the closet. My eyes immediately went to this unexpected sight.  It was a dark walnut brown, and maybe it had a shiny gold Jesus hanging on it.  I actually don’t know for sure, because I only looked very quickly, and then looked away. I felt like it wasn’t meant for me to see it. I quickly turn to humor, and tell my friend that I didn’t know she was a closet Catholic.  I did ask why she hung the cross in that spot. She said she didn’t know where else to hang it. 

    I am not sure where to hang my catholicism. But, I do have a confession to make.  I carry a set of rosary beads in my purse.  They are a piece of art, what looks to be jade or glass beads strung on a weighty metal chain with a metal crucifix.  But, before this set were the plastic ones, strung together on basic white string, with a white plastic cross, with no Jesus on the cross. I imagine it increases the cost to add the elevated relief image of His tattered and tortured body.  I knew I wanted to upgrade this set. And I eventually did.  But, they stayed in my purse until the upgrade happened.  And, my scapula, that is in the top compartment of my jewelry armoire. And, the two crucifixes, those are under my bed, at the bottom, on my side. 

    I am not a practicing Catholic. I was raised Catholic, and went to catholic junior high and high schools, 7 years of my young life. The closest I get to formal religion now is at funerals, and in the remote past, weddings.  My current age group has no weddings to speak of; in fact, there have been a few divorce parties.  

    So, I see now that I in fact am, at best, an under the bed in the jewelry armoire in the purse Catholic, which I imagine is a type of closet Catholic, or perhaps a next step for me may be the closet Catholic.  I cannot help but wonder if that is what kept me from looking very long at my friend’s crucifix hung in the back of her closet; I didn’t want to really see it, to think about my own closet Catholicism.  And, as I write this, I feel there is some space for moving out of the closet with this. 

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Moldy Bread

Posted on April 24, 2012 by robin swetz

I am into my third grilled cheese coming out of the pan when I notice, as the fourth one heads in, there is mold on the bread. Damn! I inspect the three grilled cheese sandwiches already prepared. Fortunately, they are all unscathed.
    The rest of the loaf of bread, however, is completely infested, the mold growth getting bigger and bigger as you get deeper into the loaf. I yell upstairs to my husband “I will be heading out to the gas station to give their moldy bread back to them!” My husband knows by now, it is a matter of principle. The principle for today is that this bread was bought the day before yesterday. And, the majority of the loaf is moldy. Not acceptable.
    I prepare myself for my approach on the short ride there. When I arrive, the kind man who is always there greets me with a smile and a hello. I have never seen him cranky.
    “Hello, friend,” I say. “The bread I got here the day before last is all moldy” I say as I put the loaf on the counter. I feel compelled to provide some additional supporting information, as I had thrown the receipt away.  ” Remember , I had bad news and good news when I bought the bread?  The bad news was you had no wheat bread only white bread,  and the good news was that you had Bugles? ”
   “Oh, yes, yes. ” Long story short, he graciously handled the situation, allowing me to replace the bread with another loaf. I thanked him and left. On the way out, I stopped and watched this man do a very kind thing. He went outside and broke the bread up into pieces and carefully put the pieces on a bush for the birds to eat. This simple gesture touched me. What a very kind man, very kind.

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Picture Story

Posted on April 24, 2012 by robin swetz

    I am laying flat on my back. The Iodine feels cold and slippery. I can smell it. The lights above me are bright. I close my eyes, not because the lights are bright, but because I cannot watch what is going to be done to my body.
    My arms are folded over my stomach, and the doctor’s assistant holds them down.  For a moment I wonder why she is doing this, until I feel the first needle go into my right breast. I feel my arms instinctually lift to go to the pain, even as I am telling myself to be still. I am breathing deeply. Now comes another needle, then another, and finally, the last one. The pain is pinching, then burning.                
    Then I hear the clanging of metal instruments. I think for a moment of a car mechanic, then of the dentist. Both images are not helpful. I hold my eyes closed even tighter, not wanting to risk them accidentally opening and witnessing this. Then I feel a tugging on my skin. I believe this is his scalpel cutting my skin. This goes on for a while. Then the doctor asks the assistant for something with a technical name. I think stitches. Yes, that is the right guess. I feel more tugging. I feel and hear him wipe away the area several times. I think he is wiping blood away to see where he is stitching. This guess comes from my viewership of Real Life ER on the learning channel. I feel very hot and want this to be over. I say nothing as I concentrate on not crying.
    Moments earlier I waited to see the doctor in an examining room full of informational literature decorating the walls. I paced the room in my nervous state of mind, going from poster to poster as I clutched the front of my cloth johnny closed.
    The stages of breast cancer, complete with drawn illustrations, with the ending of that picture story being the little red blobs representing cancer in the woman’s brain, bones, and organs.
    Next was suggestions for quelling nausea caused by chemotherapy; eat frequent small meals, drink liquids separate from meals, sip on mint tea.
    Next, a list of Breast Cancer Support Groups. Bosom Buddies meets monthly, with telephone number and location listed.
     Next is a piece for caregivers; the importance of taking time for yourself, eating well, exercising, getting adequate sleep.
     I got more and more anxious as I waited for the doctor to be ready for me, to finish with his other patients. The exam was very quick, especially compared to the wait in that room. Yes, he would need to do a biopsy. Yes, they were looking to rule out cancer. Did I want to reschedule and have the procedure done in the OR, or shall we do it today with a local. Well let’s keep this moving. Holding onto stress is not my forte.
   So now I’m hot and wanting to be done with this. As though having read my mind, the doctor removes the paper barrier used to keep things sterile, crumpling it into a ball, so says my ears, as my eyes still remain closed.  
   It is over the next few days that I allow my thoughts to go beyond this moment in time. I am at a fork in the road. This will be the beginning of a journey, a journey still to be revealed. The wait for the reveal, agonizing and timeless. I am left wondering and wondering what the ending of my picture story will be.

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Brillo Pad

Posted on April 24, 2012 by robin swetz

   Something just popped into my head the other day ; the Brillo pad. I am not sure if they even make them anymore. My home has all non-stick pots and pans and plastic, too, so sponges with a scouring pad and a brush with nylon bristles it is.

    But, coming up in my family, we, (meaning me) were very familiar with and fond of the Brillo pad. It could save a fingernail or two on hard to clean messes. It could also save you soaking time.

    My favorite was the first use of the Brillo pad. It had a lovely pink coating of what I could only imagine must be a cleaning agent. It looked like a giant frosted wheat square before it hits the milk.

    I remember getting  the brillo pad wet to get it ready for it’s shift with the pots and pans. I also remember getting a few metal slivers in my fingers from pressing it so hard to clean the mess of the day. And, if the Brillo pad was left at the edge of the stainless steel sink, undisturbed for a few days, a little pile of rust would be under it when it was disturbed again.

     One time I left a metal mesh strainer used to strain spaghetti out after using it. The starch dried all over the entire surface. Well, this tough mess seemed like the perfect job for the Brillo pad. I scrubbed and scrubbed. Success. And into the dish drainer to dry.                 

    I used the strainer a few days later while making macaroni and cheese, the boxed kind, for the family. As we sat down to eat, I could see little black specks all over the macaroni and cheese. I knew I hadn’t added any spices. I recall my father had gotten in a bite or two before he boomed “What the hell is in here!”. In the end, I figured out having used the Brillo pad on a wire mesh strainer was a very bad idea. The Brillo pad had broken apart while being scrubbed against the wire strainer,  leaving it’s little metal pieces behind.

    Yes, the Brillo pad.  Funny what gets tied into our childhood memories.

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Dad’s on the Wrong Side of the Fence

Posted on April 24, 2012 by robin swetz

    So today at baseball practice,  I timed the turns for all of the kids in my 8 year old son’s training trio,  as it seemed inequitable.  3 minutes and one second for one child, 1 minute and 38 seconds for another , and 1 minute and 3 seconds for my son. I investigate this. Why such variation? And why is my son’s time the shortest? I watch and time.
    Oh, what do I see? There is a man on the inside of the fence, jumping in there and doing ad hoc coaching for his son. Now I understand. The dad is in there with the 3 minute boy. The dad is on the wrong side of the fence;  inside of the fence for coaches , outside of the fence for parents.
    My son has always been a natural at baseball, from the age of 3. And, most importantly, he enjoys it, practicing and playing whenever he gets a chance (he’s out in the rain with glove, ball, bat, and Dad right now !) So, he needs less skill development during practice than some of the other team members.
     But, I’m thinking that things should still be equitable. I think about  talking to my husband about getting on the other side of the fence. But, that seems less than ideal. I’m hoping over time the coaches balance it out. And, I hope my son always has fun with baseball.

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S as in Sam

Posted on April 24, 2012 by robin swetz

    I was at Staples today and the cashier was looking up my Staples Rewards card by my last name. I began spelling my last name for her, in the way that I had learned when I was a child listening to my mother spelling our last name for others. I said “S as in Sam, w, e…..”.
    I couldn’t help but notice on her computer screen was a very very long last name ; Sasinsamwe…”.
    I paused, and then began to explain that the S as in Sam was to clarify that the first letter was s, not f, as they both sound very similar. As the young lady looked at me, I asked her to skip the Rewards Card. I suddenly felt like I was in a time warp; at least completely in another world from this young lady. And our ages aren’t even that far apart, but, just enough, I see.

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