For My Husband

I met my husband when I was dating someone else.

But when our gazes met and we conversed for the first time, I remember thinking This guy is really nice.

And 27 years later, not only can I say “Once upon a time….” but, even better, I can say “……and they lived happily ever after.”

Sometimes fairy tales do come true.

Broken iPhones

For the last couple of months Cablevision has been having problems in my geographic area. Any and all combinations of phone, cable and internet service have been disrupted for extended periods of time. It has been an annoyance--particularly when it prevented me from posting my blog.

But because I had my iphone the inconvenience was bearable. I was completely able to make do. I could receive my emails, texts, and retrieve voicemails as well as make calls. But yesterday for seemingly no reason, my iphone developed an excessively enlarged viewing screen---so large that I could not swipe to check my settings. No amount of pressing and poking could restore its natural state. 

I  panicked. 

And when I googled my issue on the computer nothing came up. And while I am not easily prompted in most matters to  fix broken things immediately, this was an  emergency. I realized that I could not survive without my iphone. I quickly showered and headed to the Apple store.

 All the while I prayed it was fixable.

And when I arrived at the store there was a line of no less than 80 people. I thought okay –I will do whatever it takes for as long as it takes to get this thing up and running. I cannot function without it.

And I was standing  no more than 10 or 15 feet inside the store, frozen in indecision as to how I should proceed when the greeter came over and asked Can I help you? And in a hurried and concerned tone I said My iphone isn’t working. So he said What ‘s going on? May I see it? And he looked at the screen, tapped the glass three times, and poof all was right with the world again.

Apparently the zoom had clicked in---a feature a friend activated last week when she played with my phone but forgot to tell me about.

I felt like an idiot.

And on Sunday on my flight back home I overheard a conversation between two women. They were well into their seventies. The one woman said her new iphone was literally saving her life.. She had an app that did not just alarm her when to take her medication but it had an added feature to remind her which other medications she had already taken, as well as any potential interactions.

Her  iphone was keeping her from an appointment with death.

And while I hate to admit that my phone is as important an appendage as my arms and legs-- it truly is. It is my pacemaker. My phone is something I have learned that I simply cannot live without.

Age Ambiguity

I recently caught an episode of  Katie Couric’s new show. The topic was anorexia and bulimia. It seems that this body dismorphic disease is rising in logarithmic proportions in women in their forties and fifties. The spike is attributed to an unprecedented generational fear of aging.

When we got to the airport on Sunday there was a slim, extremely attractive, expensively dressed, model-like woman. And I found myself staring at her—not just because of her beauty--but because something seemed a little bit off.

Her face was flawless—too flawless. There were absolutely no wrinkles ---her skin was perfectly smooth. Yet unlike Hollywood housewives, it was not frozen-- it still moved fairly naturally.

Her plastic surgeon  was highly skilled. This woman was was age-ambiguous.

But no amount of exercise, anorexia, or liposuction could hide her barest menopausal pooch. And even more telling was the skin on her forearms and hands. They showed her middle age like a badge of carbon-14. Her appendages revealed what her face kept secret.

And I will not lie. I maintain my weight. And sometimes I look in the mirror and think a bit of filler might be nice as well as a more relaxed forehead. Yet even without tweaking, the female elders in my family have never lost their beauty. They are like luminescent copper with a fine patina. They are well preserved. And what I have learned from them is that the healthy goal is to look good for your age—to appear younger than your chronology—but not to the point of absurdity.

Because no one wants to be an afflicted outcast on the Katie Couric show nor do they want to attract unwanted critiques from strangers on the security line in the airport. We just  want to age really really gracefully.

I Love Caller ID

When phones developed call waiting—I completely embraced it—no more annoying busy signals. And sometimes if I was engaged in an important call and heard the beep, I ignored it. And I would press *69 immediately after hanging up and the beeped in number would be automatically dialed. But since I did not know identity of the party who called me, I would have to say Hi this is Karen—with whom am I speaking?

Sometimes it was socially awkward.

And then came caller ID.

Now we can see who is trying to reach us as the phone is ringing---even if we are engaged in conversation with someone else on the line. It has changed the way we answer the phone. We may now chose based on the identity of the person calling whether we want to pick it up or not.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Because when people who instill ansgst in my inner core phone me I am now empowered. I can either take a breath and answer it, or let it go straight to voicemail so I can collect my thoughts before returning the call.

I need not be blindsided anymore by crazy people.

The saying goes: When you see crazy coming, cross the street.

Just as true is: When you see crazy calling, let it go straight to voicemail.

Choosing a Rental Car

Upon arriving at the Hertz rental garage my husband and I walked toward the two types of vehicles available in the compact class: a red Ford and a white Hyundai.

And my husband—being the accommodating type that he is—deferred the decision-making to me. So he inquired Which car do you prefer—the red one or the white one?

And because the question was too good to be true and that the likelihood that such an opportunity would ever present itself again was less than negligible—I looked him squarely in the eye, and in all seriousness asked Well… Have you driven a Ford lately?

He laughed and said no.

So our decision was made.

Madison Avenue reaped their reward.

Like Father, Like Daughter

The ill-fated former principal at the high school was well known for being verbose---to the point of filibuster. He simply would not shut up—ever.

I was on the site-based team with him.  And at a meeting when this principal was in a circuitous oration, I, in total frustration, while sitting next to him, touched him on the arm, looked him straight in the eye, and respectfully said I think you have made your point—can we move on to the next item on the agenda because I’ve got be back home by dinnertime.

And last week I was in Yonkers at a wake for a family friend. My mother noticed in the crowd a man who had been a colleague with my father back when he was an administrator. So the two of us went over to speak with him.

The man told us that whenever he thought my father, he thought of a particular story. It was a tale my mother and I had never heard before. It seemed my father, at a superintendent’s meeting, was frustrated at the way a committee member had been carrying on way too long about a particular topic. And so, at his breaking point, my father interrupted him, looked at his watch and said Excuse me. Is there any chance we might be out of here sometime before Thanksgiving?

Apples do not fall far from trees.

Like father, like daughter.

Keyless Ignitions

When my last tuition check was paid, my father bought a chocolate brown  Chrysler New Yorker. He loved it—but for its trendy feature: the car spoke. It was a novel advance in technology that quickly grew old.

Two of my cars have keyless ignitions. A sensor in the steering column or the dashboard detects the presence of a key. And with the simple touch of a button, the car starts.

It was fun at first. I did not have to dig into my handbag to find my keys nor did I have to lock or unlock my doors—the sensor did it for me. But the fact that the driver need not be responsible for the key’s possession at all times has created more issues than not.

I have left my car running in parking garages in Manhattan and walked away with the key. I once had my daughter drop me off at home, drive to town, and upon reaching her destination realized the key was hanging in the mudroom. And if that wasn’t annoying enough, one winter morning I peered out into the driveway to see exhaust escaping the tail pipe—I had not shut the engine off. I wasted an hour’s worth of gas.

I am too irresponsible or absentminded to have a keyless ignition.

And the reason I imagine that talking cars fell to the wayside is the rise in anger management. When a vehicle reminds you every 10 minutes that the windshield wiper fluid is low it triggers a cascade of not-so-nice words. And the ensuing fury intensifies the likelihood of an accident.

Sometimes technology does not propel mankind forward—especially when you are stuck with a gasless car in the driveway.