No Internet Connection? However Will I Manage?

So the worst thing imaginable happened today. My internet was out. All. Day. Long. (Well, not quite. Most all day. Okay, maybe something like six hours so far. I tend to exaggerate when cataclysmic events occur.)

 

But, seriously. This is one of my worst nightmares. Sitting here with no TV to watch. No emails to read. No games to play on my phone. No Social Media to peruse. And, worst of all – no checking Amazon to see if they sell White Duct tape. (Don’t ask.)

 

But, OMG – it’s like we’ve descended into the Ice Age around here.

 

Actually, that’s not true since it hit 90-something degrees today. I’d be accurate and tell you more precisely today’s high temperature – but I don’t have Internet, so I can’t check my phone, my Apple watch OR ask Alexis. (Who just tells me she’s having trouble connecting and then shuts up and goes dark on me.)

 

I can’t remember the last time there was such an extended period of time without the Internet. Sure, there are the occasional storms that temporarily knock out the electricity and my WiFi. Once the power comes back on, I have to fiddle with the TV remote a few times checking connectivity, but it usually comes back on without incident.

 

So far I’ve gotten three text messages from AT&T telling me they’re “hard at work” restoring my Internet. When the first message popped up saying there was an Internet outage in my area and they expect to get it back on by 11:00 PM, I was a little nonplussed.

 

Usually they under-promise and over-deliver – so I figured we’d be back online in no time. Well, it is now six hours later and still nuthin’.

 

Maggie's either bored...or hot!

So I had to resort to other means of entertainment today. Like catching up on my laundry. And taking Maggie on extra walks. Which, frankly, I don’t think she much appreciated. It was hot out there.

 

I even read a book and wrote a letter.

 

Go me!

 

Actually, reading a book and writing a letter aren’t all that unusual. I write at least one letter a month, which is a definite slowdown from my younger years. I don’t want to shock anyone or anything by writing too much or too often.

 

And I’ve been a voracious reader since I was a kid, although I was off my game a bit after my mom and then Vince died. For some reason, it was hard for me to concentrate on the written page and I’d frequently finish a chapter having no clue what I’d just read.

 

But, since I’m back in book club with my old neighborhood, I’ve been reading a lot more. And, lately, I’ve also been reading a series of books written by a guy who lives in Northern Michigan (They’re the Ray Elkin series by Aaron Stander, if you were wondering). My cousin loaned me four of the books in the series and I told her last September that I’d read them and bring them back when I head up north at the end of June. That gave me ten whole months to read four measly books. I could do that in my sleep.

 

Yeah, not so much.

 

I ran across those four books on the shelf in my spare room and realized that the end of June was fast approaching and I’d either better get busy reading – or bring them back unread. Since I at least try to finish tasks that I commit to, I started a bit of a reading marathon the other week and finished the first four. Now I’m on the sixth book in the series. Guess I like them. They’re an easy read and keep me entertained.

 

Which, again, is a good thing since I Have. No. Internet.

 

Sheesh. You would think I spent my whole life “connected,” which I most assuredly have not since I predate Google by…several decades. (See? Here again, I’d check to find out when Google arrived on the scene…but I can’t.)

 

I do remember in the early 80s getting some sort of Intranet thing at Ross Labs and marveling at being able to send messages to friends on other floors in the building. I thought that was some SciFi kind of magic and was eagerly awaiting the next technological invention.

 

On the other hand, I do worry sometimes that, for some of us, our lives are SO connected that if we were to be globally hacked, we would be in such big trouble. Like me. Everything I do and everything I have is online. Passwords. Phone numbers. Directions.

 

I don’t even own a paper map anymore. And, with my sense of direction (or lack thereof), how would I get anywhere?

 

The other day I went to the bank to withdraw some cash. I rarely go to the bank to do, well, banking anymore – but I needed some actual bills for a couple of graduation gifts. Only I couldn’t remember my account number. Or my PIN. I knew the teller would be able to take my ID and look it up, but I was trying to be efficient and look it up on my banking app so I could write it down on the withdrawal slip. Except that I didn’t know where to find my full Account number – usually only the last four digits are displayed and you have to clickety-click somewhere to get the full number.

 

So the 20-something Teller showed the old lady Customer how to work her phone and get her account number. This was helpful at the time, but I’m not positive I will remember if and when there is a next time.

 

Anyway, my point is that I’m a prime example of how reliant I am on technology and the Internet these days.

 

What I intended to make. No "after" photo of
what I actually DID make.

I’m planning to meet with some friends later this week for dinner. I said I’d bring dessert, which was going to be some sort of lemon tart thing I saw on an online video. Except since we’ve been warned about this massive heat wave this week, I wasn’t sure I wanted to put any extra strain on the A/C by turning on the oven. So instead I figured I’d bring fresh fruit. And I saw this really cute tray of fruit that looked like a flower that someone posted on Pinterest. Only I can’t access it to see how they did it or what fruit they used.

 

So I can’t go to the grocery store until I have photo in hand (or more precisely, photo on my phone in hand).  Let’s hope this connectivity problem is resolved by tomorrow or else I may be tossing some grapes and strawberries on a tray and calling it a day. Sorry, ladies. My creativity was stunted by my lack of Internet access.

 

I guess it’s a good thing I can type this blog in my Word document. I just can’t post it until the Internet comes back. Nor can I upload any pictures to accompany the blog.

 

And I still can’t check Amazon to see if they sell White Duct tape. Dang. Let’s just hope in the meantime I don’t forget why I wanted to know if they make white duct tape in the first place.

 

 

The Joys (?) of Aging...

Lately, I’ve been feeling old. If I didn’t think I was old, Medicare is doing its level best to remind me.

 

Not only did I receive my Medicare card in the mail recently, but I’ve gotten so many unsolicited mailings about Supplemental insurance plans that I know we are down several trees from the process.

 

Besides that, I’ve had numerous instances where this age thing has reared its ugly head.

 

Notes from a new doctor visit: “Female appears stated age…” What?? I have always been told I look young for my age. Guess time has caught up to me. Probably this is why Botox and facelifts were invented. Not that I’d ever go that route because (a) who has that kinda cash lyin’ around? And (b) I really don’t want to look like the Joker at this point in my life.

 

No, I guess I’ll just age naturally and do my best to cover up my turkey neck.

 

Oh, but even worse than looking old? Having aging body parts fail on me.

 

Yikes!

A couple of weeks ago, I chipped a tooth while eating a sandwich. A sandwich!  In my tooth’s defense, I think there may have been a tiny piece of an infinitesimally small olive pit in there. That’ll teach me to go all fancy trying to turn a plain ham and cheese into a muffuletta sandwich.

 

I have a friend who is a mere three months older than me – and she told me she has long since stopped eating hard, crunchy foods. I don’t know what she subsists on, but it’s a sure bet she’s not snacking on granola, carrots or crunching on any toffee-coated almonds.

 

But more on my tooth problem later.

 

Something as simple as sleeping has also proven to be detrimental to my health. A couple of months ago, I went to bed feeling just fine and then woke up the next morning with my left hip and knee hurting so badly I was thinking it was time to get fitted for a walker. I spent a lot of time alternating between icing and heating my left appendage, sleeping with specialty pillows – and even boycotting the offensive bed altogether. The other bed seems to have alleviated the pain, so I’m now sleeping in my spare bedroom until my new mattress gets delivered. Maggie Minx is oh-so-confused as she trots to the old bedroom every night and looks back at me questioningly with her adorable little head tilt.

 

Also, for the past year and a half I’ve had an incredibly sore neck. Injury or stress, I don’t know. But I figured it’s a symptom of aging, so I hadn’t done much for it except to occasionally slap an ice pack on it and pop a couple Tylenol.

 

Then a few months ago it got so bad, I went to a massage therapist. And that has helped, which is great. Walking around in constant pain is not conducive to feeling young and energized.

 

But when I moved beds, I also slept on the pillow in the spare room. And – wonder of wonders – my neck wasn’t as sore in the morning. Hunh. How awesome was that? Of course, you should also know that I’ve tried every new pillow gimmick out there for relief of neck pain. The particular pillow I had on the spare room bed was one of those weird looking pillows that was supposed to help whether you were a back sleeper or a side sleeper.

 

I hadn’t thought it worked when I originally purchased it (thus, the reason it was relegated to the spare room bed), but perhaps it just needed some “seasoning” before it worked well.

 

I try desperately not to appear to be of the Boomer generation, but sometimes my doddering “oldness” simply manifests itself. Like when confronted with payment options at the checkout line. I’m constantly reviewing whether or not the card I’m using has “tapping” abilities – or if I have to swipe or insert the card into the machine. It doesn’t help that every machine operates differently.

 

When I’m confident I can tap the card, I’ll try 2-3 times – and then the clerk will tell me their machine is glitchy and I’m better off inserting the card. Or I end up tapping it too soon or too late. Or I’m not holding the card at the precise angle for the reader to catch those all-important 16 digits. NOW I understand why my dad had so many problems paying for gas at the pump and preferred using cash.

 

So, back to my chipped tooth problem. Since it really wasn’t bad, I figured I’d just wait for an upcoming dentist’s visit to bring it up. I was scheduled to have a “porcelain onlay restoration” on one of my back teeth, which had cracked.

 

This is from either the pointy upper molar having its way with the lower one throughout the years – or the silver amalgam fillings that Dr. Kelleher put in there back in the early 70s. He evidently did such a good job, no dentist in the intervening years wanted to mess with those silver fillings. And, as a result of metal expansion and contraction, some of the molars have cracked around the fillings.

 

Sigh.

 

So I had to have the tooth fixed before more expensive words like “crowns” or ”implants” were bandied about.

 

My dentist proceeded to numb the right side of my face – and then asked me an all-important question: “What kind of music do you like?”

 

I was completely stumped because I like a lot of music. Motown, 70s, 80s, 90s? Of course. Sinatra, Dean Martin? Sure. Girl groups, boy bands, soft rock, hard rock? Yeah. Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran? Okay.

 

Depending on the song, the artist and/or my mood – I like a lot of music.

 

But he wasn’t asking me to have an in-depth discussion about musical genres, he simply wanted to know so he could ask Alexa to play something that I liked in order to distract me from the horrible whine of the drill.

 

Yeesh.

 

Before I could get my numbed-up mouth to form actual words, he went with 70s music. Ack. He, too, thinks I’m old.

 

I wanted to say, “But…some of the music from the 70s was when I was in grade school!” Yeah, I wanted to say that, but with all the dental instruments and suction thingies in my mouth, I wasn’t able to get that message across.

 

I have a college friend I speak to from time to time when we have a couple of hours to kill on the phone. It’s usually in the evening after he’s had a few cocktails, so our conversational topics can range from the fancy food he cooked that evening to his job to the state of the world in which we live. We can talk about the “olden days” at OSU, or we can talk about what happened to us yesterday.

 

I always enjoy these conversations.

 

Except lately. Because the subject matter has revolved around Medicare, Social Security, his health – or how badly he wants to retire and how carefully he’s orchestrating the final months at his job.

 

(Insert eye-rolling emoji here.)

 

The fact that he’s a year and a half older than I am boded well for me in the beginning of these chats. Last September when I was one year away from Medicare, I began to be inundated with literature in the mail on Supplemental plans for Medicare.

 

So I figured I could ride on the coattails of all his Medicare-related research to help me navigate my own journey.

 

And, in truth, our discussions DID help. But now, he’s still talking about Medicare supplemental plans and which one he is selecting. (He hasn’t had to choose one yet since he’s still getting healthcare through work.)

 

Anyway, I do my best to steer our conversation in another direction. But what do I have to talk about? My chipped tooth? My neck pain?

 

No wonder they say aging ain’t for sissies. True dat.

 

So now I’m just shuffling along in my house slippers and robe, clutching my aching back and being careful while walking Maggie so I don’t fall. I’m learning to tie silk scarves around my neck to hide the tell-tale signs of my age. (This is a challenge during the summer months since I’m still dealing with the occasional hot flash.) And I’m researching short hair styles for Medicare-eligible old ladies. Maybe it’s time for that poodle perm?

 

No. I kid. Instead, I’m researching exercises to alleviate hip and knee pain. I’m doing my best to learn new things and keep up with technology. And I’m still wearing my hair long with sparkling strands of silk in it because I like the effect.

 

But I AM careful while walking Maggie so I don’t fall. I don’t need a broken hip at my age (or any age). Let’s hope I can avoid that challenge. After all, I’m not quite Medicare-eligible.