My Love / Hate Relationship with TechnologyTECHNOLOGICALLY CHALLENGED This morning I admitted I was technologically challenged. What does that mean? I know enough to function in the modern world of cell phones, computers, and the internet but not enough to avoid getting into trouble. Sometimes I long for the simplicity of my youth. Phones were securely attached to a wall and were used strictly for talking to other people. Letters, hand written in cursive, were dropped into an actual mailbox. In order to make a deposit to your bank account you went to the bank and had a pleasant face to face interaction with a real human being, not a computer. It wasn’t as convenient but it didn’t take a technological wizard to accomplish. FEAR OF TECHNOLOGY I am still trying to deal with the chaos that resulted from my being flagged as fraudulently trying to access my own bank account after my purse was stolen. In my mind I blame technology. I am embroiled in a web of misunderstandings that happened because I couldn’t deal directly with another human being. Every time I make a call on my cell phone to the bank’s customer service or access my bank account online I worry that I will end up in that black hole again where I am not recognized as a person. My trust in technology has been replaced by fear. This is not a good place to be. I don’t want to let the fear of being technologically challenged rule my life, but I can’t just wave a magic wand and make it go away. I know I need look at this fear from a new perspective and find some peace. Unlike a robot, I do have the ability to process my feelings. That is the beauty of being human. USING MY BRAIN It occurred to me that my brain is actually similar to a computer but way more complicated. It works in mysterious ways. I can feel it shuffling thoughts as if they were a deck of cards. New ones pop up and are matched with other similar ones. My brain lines them up and reshuffles them and then all of a sudden I see a pattern that makes sense. I have noticed this process is slowing down as I get older but it’s still working. It gives me joy when my thoughts come together and I see the light in something that used to be confusing. I am hoping that I will see the light in this current situation with my bank, sooner rather than later, but I will need to be patient. I am only human.
0 Comments
BREAKDOWN AT THE BANK I haven’t had a good cry for a long time, but last week I found myself at my bank sobbing like a baby. This wasn’t the quiet cry I have when watching a movie or reading a good book, it was the full on moaning of desperation. Having my purse stolen was hard. The consequences are even harder. I managed to make it through the initial frustration by stifling my feelings. This was made easier by all the helpful people around me. But last week I found myself sitting in a cubicle at the bank being told that my new account, the one I had opened after my purse was stolen, was being closed and frozen because I was flagged as fraudulently seeking access online - to my own account. BREAKTHROUGH AT THE BANK It was a nightmare. I was confused and devastated. It took 2 1/2 hours, most of it on the phone with the fraud department, for the woman at the bank to figure out that my account had not been updated with my correct cell phone number. It was a huge relief to be able to understand why I had not been able to be verified. My account was still frozen, but I was able to open another new one with her help. In the mean time I had gone through banking hell. It was horrible to feel so vulnerable and out of control. No wonder I was a sobbing wreck. I was crying over the frustration of not being believed and the embarrassment of being labeled a criminal. I was crying because the simple things I depended on to make my life easier, like automatic deposits and withdrawals, had been pulled out from under me. I was crying for the loss of my sense of safety in the world. I was crying for all of this, but also for the theft of my purse and the tears I never shed in the first place. BENEFITS OF CRYING Evidently crying is a good thing. Scientific research indicates that emotionally triggered crying releases endorphins that ease both physical and emotional pain and relieve stress. Holding difficult feelings inside can affect your immune system and lead to cardiovascular disease, hypertension, and mental health issues. Although it didn’t feel like it at the time, I guess my breakdown at the bank was good for my health. No doubt it was also pretty stressful for the people trying to help me. Crying is also an important way of dealing with grief and accepting loss. I have had a lot of losses beyond my purse. I still feel sad about losing my twin sister, Linda. Even though it’s been over two years since she died, I sometimes shed some tears when I think of her and other close family and friends that have passed. This process of acceptance seems to be a big part of getting older. BEFORE AND AFTER When my purse was stolen I experienced a wave of gratitude because of the way I was supported through a difficult situation. I am now finding it hard to be grateful, as the realty and consequences of that theft come crashing down. Gratitude seems to have been replaced by acceptance. I don’t like it but I don’t have much control over what comes next. I just have to accept and deal with whatever happens, and maybe shed a few more tears as well. That’s OK. At least I can take comfort in the fact that crying is good for my health. I Was Robbed, But Not of My Ability to be GratefulIt was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the day my purse was stolen. THE CRIME
I had put my purse in the kiddie seat of my grocery cart at Trader Joe’s and was innocently collecting the items from my grocery list when I noticed it was missing. After a thorough search, retracing my steps throughout the store, I finally had to admit it was nowhere to be found. Panic set in as I went through a mental check of what was in it. It was a small purse but it held all of the basics; there was my driver’s license, yup, phone, yup, keys, yup, check book, yup, and of course several credit cards. A quick analysis confirmed I was stranded at Trader Joe’s with no ID, no money, no way to get into my locked car, and no way to call for help. This was one of those moments when all of the things I take for granted suddenly disappeared. I felt helpless and went looking for some salvation in the service area at the front of the store. I was hoping to use the phone and call someone but I realized that, due to my smart phone and the fact it automatically dials numbers for me, I no longer remembered any phone numbers and phone books have gone the way of the dinosaur. A very nice man at the service desk suggested I call AAA to come and unlock my car, but the high tech auto-unlock keyless entry device was in my missing purse. Even if I could get into the car, I couldn’t drive it. All the modern convinces that are intended to make life easier were crumbling before my eyes. ONE STEP AT A TIME I tried using the store phone to cancel my credit cards. After being put on hold several times I decided it would be faster to walk over to the bank which was just around the corner. I soon found that you can’t cancel a credit card at the actual bank. You have to do it online or on the phone. The kindly teller guided me to a phone I could use and I was able to cancel one of my cards. I tried canceling another card on the phone but the pesky help lines were jammed with other callers who were probably in the same predicament as me. I headed out on foot to another bank hoping that someone would take pity on me and help me secure my checking account from the people who stole my purse. By this point I knew that my purse wasn’t just lost, it had been stolen and the culprits were already charging on my cards. At this bank I was ushered into a cubical with an actual person who bypassed the clogged phone lines with her special bank employee codes. I had to cancel my old account and set up a new one to ensure no one would have access to it. They even went on line to look up some of my friend’s phone numbers. Unfortunately I couldn’t reach anyone. I figured it would take me a little less than an hour to walk home and get my backup key fob so that I could unlock my car. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and there was a cool breeze coming off the ocean. I took the shortest route home, walking the levee along the river. In my head I was feeling somewhat peaceful but I must have been putting out little old lady in duress vibes because a nice young woman asked me if I was OK. I told her the story of my missing purse and she was very sympathetic and wished me well. GRADITUDES I guess I did feel a bit worn out by the trauma of being robbed, but I also felt grateful. I was grateful for the kindly people at Trader Joe’s, who not only gave me access to a phone, they paid for my groceries and stored them in a cooler to pick up later. I was grateful for the people at the banks, and on the help lines who patently did what they could to assist me. I was grateful that the one number I had memorized was my Social Security number. This saved me multiple times in the process of accessing my accounts. I was grateful for the encounter with the young lady I met on my way home who was concerned about a total stranger. I was grateful for the cool breeze and the sun sparkling on the river that made my walk home easier than I thought it would be. I was grateful that my legs and feet are in relatively good shape and that I still have the ability to actually walk home on a route I would normally drive. I was super grateful that an elderly man found my ID cards that had been discarded by the thieves and for a friend who retrieved them. I didn’t have to replace my driver’s license and insurance cards. I was even grateful for the people who took my purse in the first place for tossing my ID cards where they could be found. I was grateful I have a land line at home although I rarely use it. It was a lifesaver while I was cell phone challenged. I was especially grateful that I just put one foot in front of the other through the whole ordeal and didn’t collapse into a sobbing wreck despite the fact that there were moments I felt like it. I got a call from a young police officer the next day. He had found my credit cards near the last store where they had been used, tossed in a ditch. He was going to look at security footage from the store and was anxious to catch the thieves. It was good to know the law was on my side. Despite all the trauma and drama it actually turned out to be a pretty good very bad day. Finding Peace Through CreativityESCAPE FROM REALITY
My brain has been overtaken by the Wizard of Oz. I am obsessed with making Land of Oz themed fall yard decor. It snuck up on me, and before I knew it I was deep in the creative process and ignoring all of the other things I need to do. Is this a bad thing or a good thing? It’s bad in the sense that my to-do list just keeps piling up with unfinished chores. However, it’s a good escape route from the fear I feel about what is happening in the world right now. Doing something creative has always been an escape for me. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t get lost in my imagination, working on a drawing or building something out of fabric, cardboard, paint, or anything else I could find to make my ideas come to life. It’s a problem solving process for me. I will start with an idea, in this case making a yellow brick road in my garden that leads to my scarecrow “Spike” (I made him from a garden rake several years ago). Then before I know it, ideas start filling my head and off I go into the Land of Oz. There are themes in the Wizard of Oz that speak to me, like following a path but not knowing what direction to go. I see myself in the characters, hoping to find some of the same wishes - a heart, a brain, courage, going home. When I was working on making Dorothy I tried to give her an expression that showed what I felt inside: dreamlike wonder, curiosity, sadness, but not fear. I didn’t want to go there because it was too real. EMBRACING REALITY I would rather be distracted by my creative ideas, but I can’t ignore what is going on in the Middle East. It brings up the same fear I felt when Ukraine was invaded. The horrors of war never seem to go away. I found myself trying to distance myself from reality by going to my other world, the one I discovered as a kid, the world of my imagination. I talked to a friend about this obsessive desire to escape from reality in times like this and she reminded me that creative energy is a connection to a higher power. For me that means opening my heart to a sense of trust in the world and letting of worry over all of the issues that I have no control over. It also means embracing all of my feelings through the creative process, especially my fear but also my sense of humor. Rather than feel bad about my desire to escape I am grateful that I have a way to find comfort and even a sense of peace. And, like I did in the past when war was looming, I can wish for others to find peace as well. CONFRONTING MY FEAR OF TICKS It amazes me how fearful I am of something so small. Maybe it’s because they are so small. Ticks can sneak up on you when you aren’t looking. There is nothing creepier than finding one climbing up your pants leg and knowing it’s probably not alone. Instantly I have a desire to rip all of my clothes off and jump into the shower as fast as I can. When I was young we spent a lot of family time out in nature, picnicking, fishing, picking blueberries, looking for wild flowers and interesting rocks. It was fun until the wood ticks showed up. I remember sitting in the back seat of our car behind my dad, as we headed home from an outdoor adventure, when I spotted something crawling up the back of his neck. Mom identified it as a tick and then we all freaked out. It was the longest ride home ever, knowing I was helplessly trapped in an enclosed space with wood ticks. I felt like they were were probably crawling somewhere on my body looking for a spot of bare skin they could poke their repulsive little heads into. Unlike many of my childhood fears, this is one that hasn’t gone away. THE GIANT MUTANT TICK The other day I took my Abby cat to the vet. As she is an indoor cat, I don’t even have to think about the possibility of ticks. However, sitting on the counter was a giant stuffed version of one. It was in a basket, poking its head out of a pile of other items that some vet supply company thought would be an amusing advertising display. I was not amused. It made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t stop myself from picking it up. I guess the people who thought up this ploy, to peak their customers’ interest, knew what they were doing. Despite the fact it was basically a chew toy it triggered my inner tick aversion. The plump body and rows of skinny legs were quite realistic. Then the fear was taken over by a little part of me that wanted to take it home. Maybe I could use it to take out my frustrations by whacking the bejeebies out of it. Perhaps it could help me find a more healing place in my psyche around wood ticks. I decided to just take a picture of it instead, knowing it would make good blog material. HEALING THROUGH HUMOR My blog is a good place to explore my fears and frustrations. Writing about them helps me see things from another perspective. There is something very healing about finding the humor in a fear inducing situation. I’m glad that I could experience that with the giant stuffed wood tick. Otherwise my vet visit might have triggered nightmares, reminiscent of some horror movie, about being attacked by giant mutant ticks. Mr. Rogers Would Be ProudNEIGHBORS THEN AND NOW I live in a neighborhood where I am close to my neighbors physically, but I don’t actually know them very well. The houses are close together and everyone has fences that define their property and provide a bit of privacy. This is very different from the neighborhood where I grew up. There was more space and few if any fences. We could see the yards of everyone else on the whole block. I knew all of my neighbors and went to school with their kids. A NEW NEIGHBOR: ADAM The sidewalk in my neighborhood is only a few feet from my front door. When I am out in my front yard, minding my garden, I chat with the people who walk by. The other day, when I was digging weeds out of the cracks in the sidewalk, I met a new neighbor from down the block. He had seen me toiling away as he rode by on his bike. He introduced himself as “Adam” and looked like a typical local college student, casually dressed in a latent hippy kind of way except he was wearing garden gloves. He obviously had a purpose in mind and offered to help with the weeds. He was very sweet and very insistent about helping. I was almost finished with the pesky weeds that had taken over the gutter along the street and every little crack in the concrete, but I took him up on his offer and let him tug out the last of them. He was stronger and faster than me, and his youth and enthusiasm made me feel very much like the little old lady I am. I was grateful for his help and sent him off with some freshly picked tomatoes from my garden. A LITTLE KINDNESS MAKES A WORLD OF DIFFERENCE Afterwards, as I pondered this unexpected encounter, I felt like I had received a gift beyond just the removal of a few weeds. When he told me his name and smiled at me with his soft eyes it felt like I was experiencing something biblical. Adam is not a common name for a young man from the current generation and he acted much older and wiser than his years. He made me feel like there is a God and there is someone watching over me. I haven’t seen him again but maybe I will run into him on one of my walks. I am usually not good at remembering names but I won’t forget his, or the kindness he showed to a little old lady in the neighborhood. Will the Real Little Old Lady Please Stand UpACTING LIKE A LITTLE OLD LADY
When I played the role of a little old lady in high school, I thought it would give me a look into the future. But putting my hair in a bun and adding a few fake wrinkles to my face didn’t give me a clue about what getting old is really like. I loved being in plays. As I was waiting back stage I was always nervous about the performance, but when the curtain went up I felt a sense of peace. It was a mini world where I knew my lines and what I was going to say. Yes, there would be moments during the play where something went wrong, but I knew where we were going and I felt confident that I would know what to say and do. BEING A LITTLE OLD LADY Real life isn’t like that. I don’t know what the future holds. Thank goodness my 75 years of life experiences have given me the confidence I didn’t have when I was teenager. At this age I don’t need to know all of my lines in order to deal with the unpredictability of life. Not only can I go with the flow, I kind of enjoy it. Recently a friend, who is 6 months younger than me, made a comment about this age as being 3/4 of the way through life if we live to be 100. My Dad lived to be 101 so reaching the 100 mark does not seem impossible. The reality, however, is that I’m looking at a more limited future with a maximum life expectancy of twenty years or so if I’m lucky. The other day I heard myself refer to this time of my life as the “Last Act.” I think it’s time for me to stop thinking about being in my Last Act and focus on living in my Next Act. THE LAST ACT VS. THE NEXT ACT There is something very limited about the idea of the Last Act, as if I don’t have very far to go. Who knows what will happen next. I would never have guessed as a teenager that I would be a writer and publish a book as a little old lady with cats. I could have some new experiences that far surpass anything in my past, or at the very least will challenge me and expand my view of the world. I might be limited by my physical abilities but I am not limited by my imagination. It’s probably a good thing that I can’t predict what the future holds as if I was a character in a play. It’s better if I let myself be surprised by this Next Act. A Lesson in SurvivalTHE PROBLEM WITH REFRIGERATORS My refrigerator is on its last legs. I have ordered a new one but I have to wait two long weeks for delivery. I only hope that the old fridge won’t completely die in the mean time. I am now face to face with a situation in which the life of modern convinces I take for granted is crumbling before my eyes. I feel a little panicky and vulnerable but I know my parents survived without refrigeration when they were young. How did they do it? They had an ice box. It did not require electricity to function and there were no mechanical parts to fail. It was just a wooden cabinet lined with metal, and it had a place in the top to put blocks of ice. People bought ice blocks from the iceman to put into their icebox. By the 1930’s iceboxes had been replaced by refrigerators that were powered by electricity, but at that time my Dad’s family didn’t have electricity. During the Great Depression they had to leave the house they were renting and move out into the boonies. The family was living in a cabin that they built themselves and it had none of the modern convinces I take for granted. They had wood stoves for heating and cooking, a pump outside to pump water from a well that Dad and and his brother Don had dug, and a root cellar to keep produce cool-ish. During the Minnesota winters Dad and Uncle Don cut ice blocks on a nearby lake. It was stored in a shed with the blocks packed tightly and covered with sawdust for insulation. The ice evidently stayed frozen enough to last through the summer. A FUTILE ATTEMPT AT SOLVING THE PROBLEM If my parents survived life without a refrigerator I guess I can too. Inspired by the ice box concept I decided to fill up my freezer with plastic containers of water with the hope there is still enough life in the fridge to freeze them into ice blocks that I can put in the refrigerator section if needed. I may not have thought this out too well. The temp in the freezer is rising, probably due to the energy it’s taking to freeze all that water. My Dad thought my generation was spoiled by modern conveniences and not cable of using basic survival skills. He was right. When something like my refrigerator stops working I’m clueless. MY SOLUTION It’s time to get real about what my life without refrigeration will look like. After endless days and sleepless nights worrying about my refrigerator, the temperature is now 68 in the fridge and 30 in the freezer. Everything that used to be in the refrigerator is in the garbage and I am getting creative about using canned food. I still have more than a week before my new refrigerator arrives. The chances of my refrigerator surviving that long are slim. I have decided to skip the idea of storing my food in a cooler that I have to refill every day with ice. It seems like using a cooler for a week is probably a bad case of food poisoning just waiting to happen. I bought a mini fridge instead. Even if I only need it for a week it will be worth it. Thanks to Amazon prime my mini fridge will arrive tomorrow. It’s small but it’s big enough to hold a carton of milk and a few leftovers for me and my cat. Plus it’s adorable. I found a retro inspired one that looks a little like the refrigerators we had when I was growing up. Those were the days when I never worried about the possibility the refrigerator could stop working. I knew my Mom and Dad would know what to do. They were my role models for survival. This experience is a reminder that I am a survivor too. Growing vegetables looks easy but it’s not. With unpredictable weather and the onslaught of various diseases, not to mention the challenge of insects and critters like squirrels and gophers that are just waiting to attack, it’s a miracle that anything survives long enough to become edible. But this year I found the golden ticket, CORN! The Birth of a Corn PatchLEARNING FROM MY MISTAKES
I have tried and failed before. Living close to the ocean is great for people but not so great for corn. Corn likes heat, not foggy mornings and ocean breezes. There is so much hope in the beginning when you plant the seeds in freshly amended soil, but hope can be dashed in an instant when something goes wrong. This year I applied what I have learned from past mistakes. I made sure it was warm enough for the seeds to sprout by covering the soil with plastic. I gradually moved the plastic higher to make a mini greenhouse for the tiny sprouts. I side dressed the growing plants with nitrogen rich blood meal, trying in my mind to ignore the obvious source of a product with that name as I mixed it into the soil. My heart swelled as the plants responded to my care. They were actually a little bit more than knee high by the fourth of July. I waited with bated breathe to see if they would mature. The stocks grew vigorously (yay blood meal!) and I finally spied the first tassels emerging from the top of the plants, woo hoo! The tassels were soon followed by tiny silks peeking out of leaf bundles lower down on the stocks. THE BIRDS AND THE BEES OF CORN POLLENATION Corn is a wind pollinated plant. The pollen from the tassels drops down onto the silks with the help of the wind. I didn’t trust nature to just do its thing because it was such a small plot of corn. It was likely the wind would blow the pollen thingies from the tassels away from the plants, so daily I shook the stalks as well as hand sprinkled the pollen directly onto the silks. Yes, I guess this means I am a tiny bit obsessive and controlling but who cares when I comes to having my own corn on the cob. My obsessive compulsive behavior worked. The silks started turning brown and the new corn cobs bulged out as if they were pregnant, which I guess in a way they were. Then the challenge became deciding when to pick them. Supposedly it takes three weeks from pollination for the corn to be ripe. I waited, not so patiently, and yesterday I found some cobs that felt big enough to pick. They looked pretty good but I might wait a few days longer to pick some more. ENJOYING THE FRUITS OF MY LABOR Last night I ate my first ears of home grown corn. They were really good, but somehow I was expecting something more. After all that effort I figured I should be overwhelmed with how wonderful they are. I was just happy - but happy is good enough. I actually have corn to eat and a bunch of corn stalks to use for fall yard decorations. There is a lot more out there. I had over 20 stalks and most of them produced two ears. For the next few weeks I can have corn for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That might be overkill so I’ll give some to my neighbors too. They may not have enjoyed the experience of growing corn but I know they will love eating it. |
Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
* * *
The Book Naked Little Old Lady with Cats A collection of Little Old Lady with Cats blogs * * *
WHAT IS A LITTLE OLD LADY WITH CATS - REALLY?
(from an entry posted on 5/1/2015) “I definitely fit some of the characteristics of a little old lady with cats: Retired - check, Single - check, Like to knit - check, Have cats - check. . .I do not want to get stuck in my Little Old Lady persona, however. In fact, this blog is a risk taking experiment in exploring and redefining what I want my retired life to look like.” Categories
All
Archive
June 2024
|