Internet Etiquette

Although I love email, the Internet, and Face Book, it is probably worth revisiting Internet etiquette. Chatting on Face Book or responding to the status of a friend is not the same as sitting across the table chatting with them. You lose the visual cues that impart more information than their actual words. Sometimes what seems like snappy repartee in your mind becomes obnoxious or inappropriate to another person—especially if you are responding to something a friend of a friend said.

I have been guilty of this myself and goodness knows who I may have offended, but I try very hard to edit myself and make sure that my comments are pertinent to what is being discussed and use no innuendo, particularly with friends of the opposite sex.

There is a little story making its way around the Internet about how Southern women impart their disdain for someone else by saying, Bless her\his heart—instead of using some pejorative.

My mother had two books of etiquette when I was growing up, but she always said that these tomes boiled down to doing the nicest possible thing in the nicest possible way. Life if hard enough—especially right now—and we ought to contribute to the conversation in a positive, inoffensive way, not display our ignorance to one and all. Bless their heart.

Surviving Hard Times

You do not have to go far to find the desperation of those impacted by these hard times.

I saw the neat little motor home come slowly down our hill past our barn. A sign my father lettered twenty years ago when we bought our place says The Bath House, Circa 1880. The bath house refers to our cottage which sits at the back of the barn. Actually it was the barn that was built in 1880 and the bath house added during the 1930s, but we did not know that at the time my father made the sign. What we did know was that before it was a cottage that part of the building had been a Finnish bath house and thought the name was appropriate and never bothered to change the sign, especially since you cannot actually see the cottage from the road. Our pink barn does get attention so I assumed the driver of the motor home was having a gander and went about my yard work while a friend installed new gates.

When I looked up a bit later I saw an elderly gentleman coming toward me and realized that the motor home was parked by the hedge that borders our backyard. He was dressed in clean khaki pants and polo shirt, smiled and handed me a card that announced that he is a detectorist. I believe that is a made up name for a treasure hunter. In his thick Boston accent he explained that he is living on Social Security and making ends meet by looking for old coins around old buildings. He had had a stroke in 1996, but this was something he did to supplement his income and would I mind if he attempted to detect coins around our barn and bath house. He showed me his identification and except for his missing lower front teeth and his physical limitations due to the stroke, he appeared like a gentleman who my father might have run into on the golf course. Because of our own struggles with the economy and because he seemed nice, I let him look.

That same day I mentioned to my gate-installing friend that Dave had left before getting rid of a broken dryer in our barn that was definitely in the way and asked if he knew of someone I could hire to take it to the dump. He said not only did he know someone, but this man would do it for nothing because he, too, was struggling with the economy although employed and recycled metal to supplement his income. Two days later a youngish man knocked on our front door as my daughter and I were finishing up our dinner. He apologized for calling so late, but said that he had heard that we had a dryer that we did not want. I was delighted to tell him to back his truck up in front of the barn. He thanked me profusely for the dryer and said that it would help his family during these hard times. I told him that Dave is working in Arizona because we, too, have been affected by the bad economic times and are we not on this earth to help each other. Besides, I was thrilled to have the room in the barn. We both ended a long day happy for our good fortune and for having helped each other.

Certainly 98% of us have been affected in some way by the 2008 stock market crash and accompanying real estate crash. Our situation with Dave having to work 1,500 miles from our family, making us part of 3.5 million Americans, and the very real possibility that we will have to eventually walk away from our Gig Harbor house (another group I would rather not join) demonstrates the depth of this recession. Now with the draught in so much of the country, the price of food will undoubtedly go up since King Corn rules the food industry.

My father was born in 1922 and grew up during the Great Depression which he called Hard Times, the days of soup lines, the Dust Bowl, and the Joads. For nearly four years we have been living through a twenty-first century version of hard times. The poor are perhaps not as visible as they were during the Great Depression or maybe even during the Regan (who for some reason has reached sainthood in the Republican sphere) Era when I found people sleeping in their car in our carport in San Jose, CA, but you do not have to go far to find the desperation of those impacted by these hard times.

Summers with Grandma

I grew up in Bellevue, Washington. My grandparents all lived in Vancouver, Washington so when I was elementary age my parents would take me to Vancouver to stay with my Frieze grandparents for a week in the summer time. I could visit my Mills grandparents for an evening, but because my Grandma Mills had an addiction to alcohol I actually stayed with Grandma and Grandpa Frieze.

Sometimes my cousin Janice, who is not quite eight months younger than I, would come from Whidbey Island at the same time and for a week I would have a beloved sister to play with, a treat for an only child. We made our own fun, playing in the yard or enjoying the treat of going to the dime store with our grandparents to pick out a toy. One year we got little baby dolls that came with plastic bath tubs. My grandfather had an English Ford and I found the little lighted sticks that popped out and blinked when Grandpa made a turn fascinating. My parents had to roll down the window on our American Ford and stick out their hand to signal.

Grandpa went-to-bed-with-the-chickens. Eva, fix the bed he would say not long after dinner. Grandma would let me stay up and watch Johnny Carson and eat Cheerios. This is something my parents would NEVER have allowed. Grandparents get to spoil their grandchildren more freely than parents do although I believe I may have spoiled my own children too much.

Grandma Frieze was a tiny woman with a backbone of steel. Because my grandfather was never quite happy wherever he was she had to learn to travel light and make a home in more than forty houses in two states and moved back and forth across the country between the Missouri Ozarks and the Pacific Northwest three times. Whenever adversity as come into my life, instead of asking myself what-would-Jesus-do, I look to a woman to whose experiences I can relate and ask myself what-would-Grandma-do.

Recently I got to have my Granddaughter Linda for a week at our home by the sea. I, too, spoiled her. We watched too many movies, ate too much popcorn and she got to have chicken nuggets as often as she liked. Instead of staying up watching one of the late shows at night we snuggled in bed and watched a movie past her usual bedtime and in the morning I made whatever breakfast she wanted. We got to visit with one of her favorite people, author Sydney Stevens, twice and sit next to her at vespers in Oysterville, which Linda thought was very special. Although Linda may never see me as a role model, I hope she looks back fondly on summers hanging out with me..One of these years she can bring her little sister Lydia and just think of the fun we will have with that little spitfire!



Life Without Father, Day Six

It is day six of my husband Dave being gone from our household, but I hope not from our lives. Day six of our "commuter marriage." I feel the emptiness he leaves and wonder at all of the families who historically bid farewell to father, not hearing from them for months, or years, or ever.  In comparison I am lucky. This magic box keeps us connected via the Internet with email and our cell phones, a Dick Tracy novelty when I was growing up, send the sounds of home 1,500 miles.

Before he left Dave said that a household is like a machine and each person a gear. He knew that his departure would throw a kink in the works. Our lives together have been divided along traditional lines because that’s where our talents lay. There is some overlapping, but for the most part I haven’t done yard work making sure the yard waste bin was filled every two weeks and I don’t climb up to change garage florescent lights. I think Dave has been a pretty important gear in our household machine. I’m not looking forward to buying and storing pellets this fall!

Life Without Father on Fathers Day

Today is Fathers Day and the third day of Dave being gone. He awoke today in Barstow and called me before he was out of bed. He had the Fathers Day cards we had slipped into his brief case before he left, one from my mother, one from my daughter Amy, and of course, one from me. Even though I knew what each one said, he read them to me over the phone. Although Dave has no biological children for more than two decades he’s been father and friend to mine.

It takes a special sort of man to take on a huge household where most of the children are already half grown. Maybe part of his success is that in many ways, Dave is a big kid himself. Another factor is that he’s the second child of a family of seven boys. As if that wasn’t enough my mother-in-law ran a day care in the family home. Dave had training for having a big family.

Dave has never attempted to usurp my children’s biological fathers, but in Amy’s case he has—which is mostly the fault of hers—and he spoils her. I have remained friends with my exes for the sake of my children so we’ve had some family celebrations that could be viewed as odd to an outsider. We’ve actually had dinners when both were present. One evening when we were having a party and Amy’s dad was at our house she came to me asking where her dad was. I told her I thought he was in the dining room talking to someone. No, she said, she meant her real dad, Dave.

Dave has taken the boys to concerts and baseball games and is the favorite with their children. At our farewell dinner for him, we put Linda next to GranDave because she fit nicely into a little spot in the booth. Not to be outdone, her little sister Lydia demanded a spot there, where she stood on the bench and leaned her head on GranDaves shoulder. One of Dave’s biggest sorrows about leaving was missing out on seeing the little kids on a regular basis. GranDave is fun. How many grandfathers have a skating birthday party? Maybe I will call him and have them practice their music for them.

When Amy found out that Dave was leaving she came to me in tears. Just that morning I had been trying to figure out how to make my special needs daughter understand why he was going back to work (she had looked forward to having him retire) and why he wouldn’t be living at home for longer than she can understand. Dave said that he hadn’t told her so she must have just overheard enough conversation to figure it out. I had waited too long. It was not a conversation I had looked forward to because she’s known for being emotional. A favorite teacher died and she cried for three days.

Since Seattle Flight Service closed and Dave has been around the house he and Amy, frequently along with our daughter-in-law and grandson, have been going to the $2 movie at our local theater on Monday mornings and then getting Subway sandwiches. Last night I told her that I would leave money with Ana tomorrow so she could take them all out. No, Amy said; just bring her a sandwich after school. For her it is not about going to the movie. It is about going out with Dad. It may be a long while before she gets to do that and today, as he drives into a new chapter of his life and we figure out what ours without him will look like, we are thanking him for being a wonderful presence in our lives for 22 years and counting.

Life Without Father

Urinalysis, check.  Ten minute physical with the flight surgeon (cost:$110), check. Form I-90 completed, check. Dave has jumped through all of the hoops Lockheed Martin required to come to work in Prescott, AZ, 1,400 miles, making us a part of the 3.5 million Americans living a “commuter marriage.”  It is hardly comforting and a sad commentary on the state of the economy and the housing crisis.

After two and a half years, since Lockheed closed Seattle Flight Service, Dave will have to be “retrained.”  He wonders if there have been improvements to their computer program they began using after they took over from the FAA.  He wonders how many people he will know there (at least two from his Bakersfield days in the 1980s) and how he will like the winters.  I wonder how we shall do without him.  I am aware that there are many, many spouses of military personnel who have to live without their partners and at least the desert Dave is going to is not in Afghanistan, but I think I am entitled to feel sorry for myself.

Dave has serviced all of our elderly vehicles (don’t ask the cost), made arrangements to stay with a friend until he can get his own place, and packed.  Like a dog going to the vet, he says he wants to take something that smells like me.  Can he smell my heart?

Last night we had our farewell dinner with the children who live nearby and one of his brothers.  Yesterday he went to see his nearly-90-year-old mother and his 92 year old father.  This afternoon we had lunch with my daughter Amy.  A 21.75 year chapter in our marriage as we both recreate our lives together, but apart, is closing not knowing when or where we will meet again.  I am sure we will be glad when this particular chapter of our lives is over, but wonder at what will be written on the intervening pages.

Last night Dave and I went on a date and had dinner alone at a restaurant. The tumult of our large household has become less pleasant than usual and with only a few days left it seemed a good idea. The merlot didn’t hurt either. Although we are products of the 1960s, in many ways our household is divided along traditional lines. Dave takes care of the yard, the vehicles, and the things that need fixing. I take care of the shopping, laundry, and most of the cooking. It just works well that way. Dave waxed a little philosophically last night over his shrimp cocktail saying that a household is like a machine and everyone is a gear. I pointed out that he was a pretty important gear and us little gears will have to take up the slack.

Dave was supposed to have taken his physical with the flight surgeon in Seattle today, but in his rush to get his ducks in a row for this move to Prescott, he missed a duck which was a form the government requires completed before the flight surgeon does the physical. They offered him an appointment in July. Personally I would have been happy with more time to get used to his going and a week or two with him at our summer home on the coast, but he tracked down another flight surgeon (actually closer to home—Tacoma) so he has another shot at it tomorrow.

His trip North was not for naught. He was able to go and see parents. His father had a pacemaker implanted this morning and his mother is going in for a tune-up over the weekend so he had his goodbyes with them. At the ages of nearly 90 and 92 he knows that it was his last visit with them for a long time, perhaps ever. This is exactly why Amy and I are not going with him. Where Dave has six brothers to see to the needs of their parents, I am a committee of one with my nearly 90 year old mother. She relies far too heavily on my regular presence in her life to keep her independent.

We discussed what to pack. He will initially be living with a friend who also works for Lockheed so just some sheets, towels, and some summer clothing will get him by. He will take his television and computer, too. We talked about writing. He claims he will. When we were courting—long distance—before computers, texting, etc, he was BAD about writing. He claimed he couldn’t think of anything to write. We will see.

Dave’s changed the oil in the truck, had a diagnostic done on my car with work to be done on it tomorrow while we go to his physical and a dental appointments. He’s trying so hard to take care of us before he goes.

Despite the fact that he still hasn’t had his physical and okay from the flight surgeon we are having a family dinner at a restaurant this evening. If we are not saying goodbye to him, we are certainly saying goodbye for several weeks to my son and his family who will be off to Brazil at the end of this month. Our house will surely be a tomb then. At that point it will be time to head to the beach.

Postscript--the KING5 news this evening claimed that there are 3.5 million married Americans living apart due to the economy and housing crisis.  It is a club I would rather not join.