Difficult Numbers

Phillip and I are both having difficulty remembering our new cell phone numbers – our own numbers as well as each other’s.  I suppose it’s a good thing we aren’t single and cruising the club scene.

Our previous cell phone number was easy to remember. Two of the seven numbers repeated, and one of the repeated numbers showed up a third time. This is not the case with either of our new numbers – just two strings of seven forgetful digits. (I’m leaving out the area code, because we both know our area code.) One of us came up with the idea of spelling a word or phrase with the key pad.  That won’t work with my phone.  Two of the numbers have no alphabet assignments. Maybe it’ll work with Phillip’s number. I haven’t tried it yet. We thought about seeing if the pattern of key pushes makes an interesting pattern – again, it hasn’t worked with my number, and I haven’t tried it with Phillip’s.

It’s a good thing with have a Contacts list and Speed Dial. (Those two things are, of course, also the source of the problem.)

Next Year’s Trip May Be Bigger

My family’s Thanksgiving dinner was quite a bit smaller, due to understandable circumstances. My parents brought up an interesting idea: They would like to share our next trip to the ocean with us. Phillip and I are both quite excited about this idea. There is a question, though: I am sure my parents meant they want to go to the ocean with us. Phillip is sure my parents meant they want to go to the ocean at the same time we do.

Meanwhile, the winners of the Lego contest have been announced, and I did not get even an Honorable Mention. I thought my entry was very good – better than some, not as good as others – but I knew I was a bit of a long shot. This was the first Lego contest I had entered. I can’t help feeling a little disappointed.

OMG WE R TXTNG

Phillip had already left for work this morning when I had the idea to buy tickets for Smash Putt this Friday. Since I wasn’t sure if Phillip’s phone was on, I sent him a text message: “Smash Putt Friday?” A few moments later, a reply came: “Sure”. I bought our tickets online, and sent Phillip a message letting him know. Soon, we were having a text conversation at seven o’clock in the morning. We have given over to the dark side.

I’m kidding about the dark side comment, slightly.  Texting was actually an efficient way to have the conversation. If Phillip’s cell phone was not on, or if I was running out of time for getting ready for work, we could have continued the exchange later. Plus, we used fewer phone minutes than a verbal conversation would have used.

When these phones first entered our lives, Phillip and I agreed that we dislike “text speak”. True to that agreement this morning, although we didn’t use complete sentences in our messages, we used complete words.

A Thanksgiving Greeting

Patient checks in for her appointment with a belligerent attitude that I mistake for hostility over the fact that she’s very late for her appointment. The doctor agrees to see her, and I check the patient in.

About an hour later, a nurse comes out to talk to me about something. I learn that the patient is very drunk (I missed that detail when I checked her in) and as a result, very hostile. The nurse tells me that the patient has made several nonspecific threats to the nursing staff. The staff in the back is concerned enough that no one is entering the patient’s exam room alone. The nurse warns me that the patient will be sent out to the lobby soon, and that if I feel at all threatened, I shouldn’t hesitate to call Security. It’s late in the day, and I’m the last person left at the front desk.

Patient emerges into the lobby, escorted at a distance by a Social Worker and a friend. Patient is definitely angry. She is mumbling curses – mostly variations of the word that in Battlestar Gallactia would be “frack”. As she reaches the front desk, she places the return appointment slip and says, “Mail it to me,” and continues walking. “Sure,” I respond.

Patient turns to me, smiles slightly, and says, “Thanks, Paul. Have a Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too, Maria,” I reply.

Patient continues out the door, mumbling about this “fracking place”.

I am amazed at whatever just happened. The nurse who witnessed the exchange is ever more amazed than I am.

The Right Time For Yoga

I was not in the mood for yoga today. I thought about going home from work. I thought about hanging out in a coffee shop and then going home. I know, from experience, that this is the right time for yoga. So. I went to class. It was a great class.

I enjoyed doing horizontal handstands. I enjoyed the sound meditation. (That random bell was a perfect tool for redirecting my thoughts to the here and now.)

Nowhere To Go

This morning, the bus group was discussing the sudden overnight disappearance of Broadway’s Hollywood Video. Our discussion included the NPR story (which I hadn’t heard) about the possibility of major movie studios releasing future motion pictures as online digital downloads, rather than showing them in theaters. We wondered if we are heading toward a society in which we never leave our homes, and all social interaction will be on Facebook. I wondered aloud: When Seattle finally finishes its light rail system, will anyone want to go anywhere?

The Dude Needs Leverage

Sonar has been on a mission lately to get the plastic container of almonds open. (We keep the container next to the cage, so treats are handy.) The thing is, Sonar has figured it out. He grasps the side of the cage with his back feet (hands), and pushes his front feet (hands) down on the lid of the container. Then he bite down on the edge of the lid and pulls. His method would work, I think, if only he had better leverage.

What’s Next?

Today, I may have solved the oldest mystery of the clinic I work in: Why do so many people show up in our clinic, asking for directions to other places in the medical center? (Put another way: If you’ve walked into a building, and you don’t know your way around, what would prompt you to step into an elevator and ride up to ask for directions?)

I walked into the building this morning, behind a patient, and his actions may have shown me the answer.

Here’s my theory: The medical center is built on the side of a hill, meaning that one entrance is on a higher floor than the entrance on the other side. If you enter the building on the higher side, which those of us who arrive by public transit do, and you can’t or don’t read the signs, it’s not visually apparent that the main lobby (and the information desk) is one floor down. So, you walk in, you can’t see an information desk or anyone to ask for directions, and, like the patient this morning, you follow a group of people who look like they know where they’re going. You follow the group of people into the elevator, and unsure of what floor button to push, you ride the elevator until the door opens.  You step out and look around for help. You see our reception desk. And that, I think is how people wind up at our clinic, on an upper floor, asking for directions.

Gears And Pistons

I’ve had a passing interest in the steampunk genre (especially steampunk Lego) for quite some time. Lately. that interest has been boosted by the new land in Neopets. I’ve even changed my iGoogle homepage to reflect that. I’m afraid that I’ll remain a spectator for a long time, however. I have no aptitude for mechanical engineering. It may be something I can learn, but I’m not sure I want to devote the time to it.

Life versus Writing

I’ve been busy establishing myself in a new guild.  Tied in with that has been the separation from my old guild. On top of that has been Writers’ Group today. I’ve been writing all week on a piece about our latest trip to the ocean. (I’ve been telling everyone that it was our fifth trip – it was actually our sixth.) I even took the laptop with us to Phillip’s dental appointment yesterday so I could write in the waiting room. I finally reached the end of the piece today, fifteen minutes before I had to leave for the group.  What I’m getting to is that it’s been tough to keep up with this blog.

Meanwhile, I’m getting used to life with a cell phone. I almost always have it on my belt. I brought it with me to Writers’ Group, but I kept it turned off. When the group ended, I turned my phone back on. There was a text message from Phillip: “Call me before you get home.” So, I called him, and he asked me to pick up some apple cider on my way home. I thought that worked out very nicely. I could get used to this cell phone life.