Cell Phone Upgrade

Over 50, Still Kickin'

My husband, like most men, likes technology -- gadgets in any shape or form. If it weren't for him, it would have taken us at least ten years longer than it did to get our first computer. He loves his iPod, his flash drive, and his wireless this-and-that. I don't even know what he is talking about most of the time. What is Wi-Fi anyway? Paul would know, and I don't care! He listens to podcasts of all descriptions, and his Internet radio, and gets his God-TV broadcasting via his computer. On the other hand, I am barely conscious of what these things are or why they exist. Now, if I can just find a way to get him tuned into what I am saying!

There is one area, however, in which Paul is rather technologically challenged -- cell phones. He has had one for years (one of those prepaid card types), but has just recently figured out how to record a personalized voice mail message. Our current goal is to get him to learn how to pick up his voice mail.

One thing overrides Paul's love of technology, and that is his love of free stuff. He would not have an iPod, a wireless thing-a-ma-bob of any sort, an anitvirus program, and maybe not even an alarm clock if he had not found a way to get each of these items free. (Read "free" as in signing up for credit cards offering premium gifts, doing Best Buy and Office Depot rebates, completing surveys, and otherwise giving out more personal information than he ever ought to. Cringe!) I have ceased to worry about who knows what about us that they shouldn't. It doesn't help to worry about it anyway.

Thus, the main reason Paul has any kind of cell phone at all is not because he needs one or uses it much. It was free with a rebate. Of course, he pays for his minutes, but the phone with its original allotment of minutes was free. This explains why he has one that is the size of a toaster. While other people's cell phones have gotten smaller and smaller, and now do almost everything except cook supper from a distance, Paul's just talks to him and allows him to talk back. How novel!

Beebee is embarrassed to be in public with her dad when his cell phone is visible. How many other dads carry a gadget that large with them? If she has to borrow it when she goes to the mall, be assured it is well hidden in the bottom of her purse. Paul lost his phone once, and we had a good idea where it might be. "Hector, could you check your car and see if Paul's phone might have gotten under the seat? It doesn't look like a cell phone, though, so you might not recognize it. Think LARGE, like the transistor radios were thirty years ago. Don't hurt yourself lifting it when you find it."

But unexpected help has finally arrived. A few days ago, Paul's cell phone provider informed him that technology has moved way beyond him, and that his phone will no longer function with the newest way they do stuff. So, in the magnanimity of their hearts (and their desire to keep selling him more unneeded minutes), they decided to send him a new phone. (Well, it's not really new. It's refurbished, which means it was the hottest item out there two to three years ago.) It is not exactly streamlined, but it IS smaller than a toaster. I'm not sure that Paul has achieved the ultimate in coolness with his new phone, but my teenager's feelings are at least partially relieved. She can now be seen with her dad in public, even if he's got his cell phone visible.

Over 50, Still Kickin'

Daniel Fast

Over 50, Still Kickin'

Our church family just finished a 21-day Daniel fast and time of prayer. For those of you who may not know, a Daniel fast is patterned after how Daniel in the Bible fasted and prayed:

Daniel 10:2, 3 -- In those days, I Daniel was mourning [probably repentance prayer for his nation] three full weeks. I ate no pleasant bread, neither came flesh nor wine in my mouth, neither did I anoint myself at all, till three whole weeks were fulfilled.

At the end of the 21 days that Daniel fasted, an angel came with revelation from heaven for Daniel. His prayers were answered.

It's amazing what people do with a small passage in the Bible like that. There are umpteen web sites that will tell you exactly how to do a Daniel fast. Supposedly, the web site authors have done research, and have discovered exactly what Daniel ate and what he didn't eat during that time. But the web sites do not agree with each other, so either several somebodies' research is faulty, or else they are making it up as they go along. (Can I say this, and get away with it?)

One web site declares that on a Daniel fast, we must eat all whole-grain bread, fruits and veggies galore, no preservatives, no sugar, no meat, no dairy, no oil of any kind. Another site allows dairy, including butter (but not margarine). Another says sugar is bad, but honey is acceptable. Still another says we cannot eat any bread.

I did not think the verses in the Bible were as hard as all that to understand -- No wine and no flesh is pretty straightforward: we weren't going to be eating meat, and we don't drink wine anyway. No pleasant bread tells me just that -- the cookies, sweet breads, and goodies of that ilk gotta go. Some translations say "no pleasant food." OK, so fruit is a pleasant food in my book, so shouldn't that go, too? (But we ate fruit. We had to eat something.)

My family obsessed over food for two weeks leading up to the fast. I never saw my husband and child so preoccupied with their stomachs before! They were wringing their hands about what in the world they were going to eat. Now, you have to understand how serious this was to them. My daughter is a growing teenager, and teenagers need a lot of fuel. My husband is six feet tall and weighs about 150 pounds on a good day. He has a high metabolism and a high-energy job. He eats constantly, just to keep going and maintain weight in the process. We call him The Hummingbird. I, on the other hand, do not need more fuel. Maintaining weight, for me, means not blimping out and breaking the scale. I saw this fast as a marvelous opportunity to lose a few pounds and not have to cook!

It was very interesting hearing from our church friends how they were doing the fast. They ran the gamut from hard core fruit-and-veggies-only people to letter-of-the-law types who tried to get as close to the line without stepping over it as possible. One family in our acquaintance finally decided that cheese pizza would fit the fast criteria, since there wasn't any meat on it. They managed to find one with a whole wheat crust. Hmmm. Some spent many hours in the kitchen, coming up with gourmet bean delights that were as tasty as any meat dish ever thought of. I rather thought this might be defeating the purpose. I thought we were supposed to suffer a little, and use the time we would normally spend preoccupied with eating on prayer. Well, what do I know?

Several of our people suffered horribly without their Starbucks or Mountain Dew fix. The caffeine withdrawal was enormous. My sympathies to them.

My daughter decided she was going to fit into the get-as-close-to-the-line group. She read all those web sites, and picked the most appealing "acceptable" foods from each. On the first day of the fast, I caught her eating white bread with honey on it. I think potato chips (a veggie) would have been next on her agenda, if I hadn't put my two cents' worth in.

"This is a fast, after all, Beebee! It's supposed to be a little hard for you. Somehow I don't think honey bread is fast material." I noticed that the next day she was dutifully gagging down the whole grain bread with no sweeties on top.

It was a hard three weeks. We were not hard core. I would describe our eating patterns as moderate. We drank milk and ate some butter on our bread. We popped pounds of popcorn in olive oil. We ate a few baked potatoes. We will be paying off the credit card debt for the fruit and veggie grocery bill for the next year! (Daniel fasts are an expensive way to eat.) My child refused to eat beans under any circumstances. We were hungry a lot; the food was just too boring to care about eating it, hungry or not.

I reminded my family that things could be much worse. What if the angel hadn't come to Daniel at the end of 21 days? We could have been on this fast for three months, or a year, if the angel had taken that long to get to Daniel! So, I heard a few thanksgiving prayers from our teenager, "Thank you, Jesus, for not waiting 52 days to send the angel to Daniel!" It's amazing the things you can find to be thankful for.

Yesterday was the first day off the fast. You want to know what we ate, don't you? We had been carefully planning the menu for a week, and it was outrageous. I had a Toaster Strudel for breakfast and potato chips for midmorning snack. Also part of a chocolate candy bar. Beebee ate a fat-laden store-bought muffin as big as a softball. We had milk and an apple, to assuage our consciences. We had Dairy Queen ice cream cake for lunch. I did not feel well all afternoon. I prayed my gall bladder would hold up! This did not stop the excess at suppertime, however. We indulged in a Little Caesar's pizza. We controlled ourselves a teeny bit and did not eat quite the whole thing.

Today, we will climb back out of the abyss of indulgence and eat with more sanity. The junk we ate yesterday is not typical for us. I think I've bought Toaster Strudels only once before in my whole life, and if the potato chip companies had to depend on people like us, they'd all be bankrupt. Ditto for Dairy Queen and Little Caesar's. It was fun for a day, but will not be a trend. (And my gall bladder prayers were answered, by the way.)

I know I've made our church family sound like a bunch of the most carnal Christians you've ever met, but seriously, it was not that way. Everybody was pretty cheerful about doing the fast, a lot of serious prayer went heavenward, and even the cheese pizza-eaters probably managed to deprive themselves a little. (I will give them the benefit of the doubt.)

So yes, thank You Lord, for coming to Daniel after 21 days instead of 60, thank You for the answers to prayer you are sending our way -- and thank You for potato chips!

leeannrubsam.com

Shopping Excursion

From the files of Over 50, Still Kickin':

My daughter Beebee and I went thrifting at St. Vincent de Paul this morning. I can find a story in almost anything, but there is ALWAYS a story waiting to happen at Vinnie's. Today, it was a mob of grownup sisters shopping with their mom. There was the bushy, long-haired gal who was the consultant of the family. We'll call her "Cinderella" for convenience' sake. (Don't ask why, just live with it. Beebee informs me she was no Cinderella.) Her sisters were taking up two of the three dressing rooms for a very long time. It was long, not only because they had to try on lots of stuff, but because of how they went about it. Go there in your mind with me:

Sister #1 puts on an outfit. She steps dramatically forth from the dressing room and strikes a modeling pose, to be admired by all. I happen to look their way, just then, because they are all loud. (I am in the book department, yards and yards away.) "Loud, loud, loud," as the Dick, Jane, and Sally readers would say. Sister #1 does not look appealing in her outfit. Cinderella thinks otherwise.

"Ooohhh, Rachel, you look beautiful! Mom! Mom! Come see! You gotta see this!" Rachel looks anything but beautiful, and the dress does not help. Wrong color, a few sizes too small. Mamma waddles over. She has been in a completely different section of the store, so it takes some time for her to arrive. But she hears the call and makes her way as fast as her legs will carry her.

They ooh and aah briefly, and then go on to the next outfit. Sister #1 seems to be majoring on smart little dresses and power suits. Each one has to be modeled, exclaimed over, and discussed to the Nth degree, whether she is going to take it home or not. Even if she does not like an outfit, she models it for the family and the rest of us poor people waiting to get a dressing room.

After we have heard several outfits declared cute (they might have been -- on somebody several sizes smaller than Sister #1), Cinderella wants to know, "Rachel, what size do you wear?" Rachel announces to anyone who doesn't care to hear that she wears 8's and 10's. This is why the stuff she is trying on looks so awful on her. Yours Truly only wears 8's or 10's when the clothing is from a very expensive shoppe--or when someone has sized it wrong. Yours Truly wears 12's, 14's, and an occasional 16. This woman is quite a bit larger than Yours Truly. She is also tall, and is trying on petite-ish type thingies. It is embarrassing to look at her, stuffed into those little bitty outfits. I wonder what is wrong with the family. They all look like normal, average, attractive people. They do not appear to have mental challenges of any sort. Clothing challenges, yes, however. (Please understand that I do not have issues with large. One can be very attractive and large. It is all in how one dresses.)

Sister #1 continues to pose and model for us, with an occasional interruption from Sister #2, in the next dressing room. She also likes to wear her clothes way too small. She is not into power suits and business dresses. She is doing shorts and slacks. (Beebee's feet are sore from standing. My eyes and mind are sore from watching.) Sister #2 does not have the confidence and modeling ability of Sister #1. She does not jump and strut out of her dressing room and strike poses. (Good, I'm getting too much of this already.) She can't find pants that are long enough, but they are plenty tight enough to make her happy. Finally, Voila! pants that are long enough. The whole family agrees that they are long enough AND cute! Sister #2 does not like them, though. They are "too baggy" (translation--they fit her just fine for a change). Cinderella likes them and thinks she should buy them. She turns to me for moral support. Aaaarrrrgggghhh!!!! She wants my opinion. I am shocked. I mumble that they look fine to me. (Why drag me into this? Do I look like a fashion designer in my neon blue-and-cranberry jacket with the clashing red sweater underneath? And why AM I taking issue with other people's clothing choices when I wear this thing all over town? Perhaps I ought to accessorize with a paper bag over my head.)

Before Cinderella asks for further expounding from me, we are all distracted again by Sister #1 bounding forth from her dressing room, in a cute little business suit that would have fit Princess Di about right--but Fergie would never have attempted it. (Fergie has brains. She looks elegant and nice. I like Fergie, in her own little way. She may be a worldly gal, but she is winning.) They all decide after much deliberation that she MUST buy the outfit because of the blouse and blazer, but the skirt should not be worn (neither should the rest of it, but yes, the skirt DEFINITELY should not be worn). If any of us had a curiosity to know the exact dimensions and shape of Sister #1's tummy, we are curious no longer. It is starkly framed in black and white checkerwork. It will be starkly framed in my mind's eye for the next decade, at least. (I have a tummy. I know that pictures are supposed to be framed -- but not tummies.) How she managed to zip or button that skirt is beyond comprehension. Yes, let's avoid wearing the skirt.

By this time, Beebee and I are wondering if we will get to try on our stuff before closing time (noon). It's 10:35 when we begin to whisper our wonderings about this. The two sisters finally exhaust all the outfits in the store that are too small for them, as well as all the commentary they can think of on how all the outfits in the store that are too small for them looked on them.
We get one of the dressing rooms. Cinderella finally gets her turn in the one next to us. She is thinnish, and I thought perhaps she might not be trying on stuff three or more sizes too small for her. However, I am mistaken, for I hear her shout loud enough so that the people in the furniture department know all about it, that she "couldn't even get it on over her ...." We didn't want to know, Cinderella!

Over 50, Still Kickin'

A Night on the Town

We went to the local Christian coffee shop last night for a bit. My husband wanted to go. I said, "Maybe we shouldn't go on a Friday. They'll have live music and it will be hard to talk." You're not going to believe this, but this was part of the attraction. He was planning on having a band handy so that when he got tired of talking (five minutes into the conversation) he wouldn't have to share the innermost recesses of his heart. It was the safety valve he had in mind! He gets nervous if he thinks I might delve into what is ticking inside. I'm just warming up, and he's ready to shut down! Isn't this lovely?

We got there, and were told the band was going to be playing in the downstairs room to the right. I suggested we go upstairs for a little peace and quiet.

"But I want to hear the band when they get going."

"Honey, trust me. We'll hear the band when they get going."

We heard the band when they got going. They just about blew the windows out. Somebody opened the front door to ease the pressure. They kept the door between the right and left halves of the downstairs closed. We could talk by mild shouting when the door was closed. However, someone opened it to go in or out every five minutes or less. We could not talk by mild shouting when the door was open. It was good for a few funny comments. We waxed witty at times.

The lead "singer" kept yelling "AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH" evilly into the mike. "AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH" was the lyrics, I guess. Imagine Darth Vader barfing into a microphone. This will give you a pretty good idea of how it sounded.

We decided to leave. We chatted briefly with the counter person on the way out. He said it was the first time they had had a "melodic" band in. We were mystified, and asked what a melodic band was. The guy explained it was another term for hard-core rock. Oh. I thought "melodic" was Lullabye, and Good Night, done by Bing Crosby or Lawrence Welk.

There were three middle-aged people downstairs in the non-band room. One of them was holding her hands over her ears with a painful expression on her face. I suspect they probably left shortly after us. There were older people on the outside of the building, peering in, with amused faces. They smiled at us and shook their heads. I peered in also, to see what Darth Vader looked like.

The band's appearance was not all that remarkable. Two guys and three girls in T-shirts and jeans. Hubby says it was one guy and four girls. I'm not sure which of us needs the eye exam. Anyway, Darth Vader looked like he was doing just what I had expected from the sounds I had heard upstairs. No, not barfing into the microphone--just yelling. No words, just "AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!" Uh-huh. Melodic. I see. Christian lyrics and all that.

We walked up and down the Avenue, and in the process ran into some former church acquaintances and had some friendly chit-chat. They had intended to go to the Christian coffee shop that evening, but didn't want to hear anything melodic, so they had settled for a different coffee shop. I barely know these people, but of course I had to embarrass my husband by telling them about Darth Vader barfing, and that melodic does not mean Bing Crosby. I think their endorphins are still in overdrive. Their sides will hurt for a week. Just remember, laughter does good like a medicine. Healthiest people in town now, they are.

Over 50, Still Kickin'

My Latest Inspiration

I have been reading Tasha Tudor's biography, Drawn from New England, and it has inspired me to write a biography of my best friend Peggy--authorized if she is enthused, and unauthorized if she isn't. She won't have a choice!

I thought the Tasha Tudor thing had a pretty good title, seeing she was an illustrator (Drawn) and from New England (lived in New England). So I've decided to go with a catchy title like that for my buddy's biography. We want the readers to know she's an artist (she's into basketry), and we want them to know she is from Wisconsin, so we'll call it, A Basket Full of Bratwurst. Isn't that good??!!!

I haven't got much material yet--just a great title--so I'll have to interview Peg (for the authorized version) or those that know her (for the unauthorized version). Better yet, why don't I just make it up as I go along? Who cares if it has any basis in reality? Hey, Hillary Clinton got away with this, and look how well her book did! Especially for the unauthorized version, we will have to find people who aren't Peg's favorite friends and can provide scoops of dirt (isn't that the way they do it for the celebs?). Maybe, true to the Drawn from New England style, we'll just stick with my own fond remembrances.

I'd better make this biography sound convincingly positive to Peg, so that she'll cooperate, because we'll need lotsa pictures--cute baby ones right up through the awkward years. (No, I'm not referring to adolescence. It's the latest stage we're in--the almost Depends generation.) We'll want to include the colorful pictures of her accomplished artwork--knit sweaters, baskets, paintings, quill boxes, silk banners, grapevine wreaths, beadwork, and any other of her past art passions that I can't recall right now. I'd just go steal the pics off her web site, but she has them all scientifically sabotaged so that they can't be swiped.

If I do an unauthorized version, I probably won't have to pay her anything from the massive profits I make. But then, she probably won't let me have the pics, and I'd have to rely on dirt. Such a hard decision! Tsk.

This biography brainstorm has just got to be a winner! I figure, with Peg's colorful, multi-faceted art career, she has at least as much going for her as Tasha Tudor. All Tasha did was create art while living like the pioneers did 100 years before her. Hey, Peg did bugs and butterflies, too! (See Chapter 9--The Lepidoptera Years.) We could add a little extra interest by having her pictured crafting an art piece in an RV with a flat tire out in the woods of Door County. It's a sure winner. Yes, I like the ring of it--A Basket Full of Bratwurst.

Over 50, Still Kickin'.

The Church Dinner

Recently we had a dinner at our church, and I was volunteered to be part of the kitchen crew. The thing I love about church dinners is that something amusing always happens. It is part of the nature of the situation. And we were not disappointed on this occasion.

My source of entertainment this time was a visiting elderly lady of peculiar appearance -- bright blue spectacles, with blue tassels and beads hanging from the bows. While she was going through the food line, she commented that she couldn't eat the salad because it had Italian dressing on it, and ohhh, she couldn't eat dressing! One of the serving ladies offered to bring her some plain lettuce, but she wouldn't have it brought--she had to march into the kitchen to get it.

A few minutes later, I happened back into the kitchen, smack dab into the middle of an extremely graphic monologue this woman was slathering all over Daisy Miller about why she couldn't eat the salad with the dressing on it. Daisy is an extremely elegant, lady-like person, and she was politely listening and nodding, with a little smile on her very frozen face. If I could have read her thoughts they probably would have gone something like this: "Do ... not ... show ... emotion. ... Look noncommittal. ... Do ... not ... look ... grossed ... out. ... Do ... not ... look ... embarrassed. ... Oohh my! What can she be thinking??!! ... Try ... to ... look ... pleasant. ... Focus ... focus ... focus ...."

It had a lot to do with having a barium test and the hospital people forgetting to prescribe an enema first...and what happened as a result. And how she has to be very picky, picky, picky about what she eats ever since -- two years later. OOHHH MY!!!

I waited until she had left the room and was out of earshot, then burst out laughing. "Some people will just tell you anything, won't they?!!" I chortled. Daisy didn't say anything. She was still trying to process -- or maybe erase her memory banks, I think. I, however, will cherish this little episode forever in my memory banks, because my humor is a little sick, and I love people's quirks.

Later on, the lady came back into the kitchen. She needed milk--2% milk--in her coffee, couldn't use creamer, you know (because of her condition), and did we have any 2%? We looked in the fridge. Ah yes, there was a gallon of milk in there.

(Now, you have to understand about the church fridge. It is a scary place. All sorts of forgotten items were in there. Half-eaten this, and half-eaten that, some from pre-Noahic days, I think. Take-out pizza--nobody dared lift the lid of the box to find out what was residing there. No one ever seems to know who put these questionable items in the fridge, why they didn't finish them up, or how many years ago they were abandoned.)

Mabel Cory expressed doubts about the milk and said we would look at the date. June 30. This was July 11. The lady insisted, "Oh, I'll just taste it, and if it's OK, I can put it in my coffee." Mabel was horrified and protested that it was too old by now. "Oh, you can't believe the dates on those jugs!!! You got to taste it to tell! It's probably fine." She proceeded to pour a cup, taste it, and smack loudly several times. Smack, smack, smack! "It's good! I'll take it!" (More laughter from yours truly after she left the kitchen. Why can't I control my funny bone? Nobody else seemed to think she was nearly as funny as I did, except my ten-year-old daughter, Beebee--only she informed me on the way home that the old lady wasn't so much funny as SCARY.)

So, that was how I spent last Friday. I am laughing still. I'll bet you're all just envious, now aren't you?

Lee Ann's web site -- Over 50, Still Kickin'