This is the email I just sent to Apria Healthcare...
I just spent an hour and a half on the phone with five different representatives trying to get to the bottom of a billing issue, which even now I'm not sure has been properly resolved.
It started with a phone call from a collection agency for a bill of $14.94. "Wait a minute," I thought. "I paid that."
So I called the fine folks at the Apria "help" center.
This was the fourth or fifth attempt my husband and I have tried to get this straightened out over the last five months. I can't begin to calculate the number of hours we have spent trying to resolve an issue that's less than $15. We have been Apria clients for well over ten years. While the products we've purchased and used have been great, the customer service is, without doubt, the worst we have ever encountered.
At the end of the last conversation I had with an Apria representative (probably in November), I asked them to send me a bill for $14.94 and I would gladly pay it. Which they did and I did. I thought the matter was over. After all, I hadn't received another bill from them. How was I to know it would end up in the Nit Pick Department? (More on that later).
Today I spoke to five representatives. Each one told me a different story.
The first person told me I had an account overage of $14.94.
The second one (Janet) said my money was tied up in the Nit Pick Department. The what department? THE most unprofessional term I've heard in a long time. She couldn't tell me why it was in the Nit Pick Department, but said she couldn't do a thing until it was finished in the Nit Pick Department. When I told her I was looking at the cancelled check (on my computer screen) I'd sent last month she wanted me to send me a copy of it to her. Clearly, Apria had received it because, again, I was looking at the cancelled check. In my opinion, it's not my fault that the check was lost (or tied up in limbo in the Nit Pick Department - again, really?); therefore, I should not have to prove that the invoice was paid. Also, if my money is in the Nit Pick Department being haggled over, or whatever it is they do in the Nit Pick Department, why was it turned over to collection? It's there, in the Nit Pick Department. Quit nit picking and use the money to settle my account.
The third person (a supervisor named Taylor) bore the brunt of my frustration. She tried to back peddle the whole Nit Pick Department thing. In my mind I was thinking, "I could bring down the whole company by letting the world know there's such a thing as a Nit Pick Department at Apria." But then I decided I'd wasted enough time on you guys. (OK, I lied.)
Taylor finally - after at least a half hour of not being able to answer my concerns in a satisfying manner - offered to write off the balance. She also told me that our insurance company hadn't paid our last claim at 100%, which I told her was strange, given the fact that they had been doing since April, when we met our out-of-pocket deductible.
I told her I'd check on our insurance website. Sure enough, the information on the website indicates that they paid the claim in full.
So...I guess I'm a glutton for punishment. I called Apria back and - silly me - asked to speak to Taylor. Oh, that's not possible, I was told. I'm guessing Taylor wasn't even in the same building/state/country. I told the representative that our insurance is on record for paying the claim in full. She said they only received a portion of it. Dear God in heaven! Did it end up in the Nit Pick Department again?
As I was navigating through the insurance website I noticed that for three months in a row (probably longer) our insurance had been billed for fairly large amounts. I asked the representative what those charges were for and she couldn't tell me. That was the fourth person.
The last person I talked to was able to answer my questions and said she saw the check for $14.94 and that she'd credit my account and everything would be at zero. I didn't have the strength to tell her that Taylor had already credited our account. We'll just leave that up to the Nit Pickers.
The one good thing that came out of this is that I learned that we officially own my husband's CPAP machine, so we will NEVER EVER have to use the services of Apria Health Care again.
And, if it ends up that we actually have a credit...give it to the Nit Pick Department.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Monday, December 21, 2015
Myrtle Mae
I can't quite put my finger on the exact year I first met Marilyn. My dad was serving as pastor for the Christian Church in Bosworth, MO and Marilyn's parents lived right across the street from the church. And they had an indoor bathroom; the church still had an outhouse. I was probably six or seven when our family first met Marilyn and her kids, Lisa and Bryan. They lived in Jefferson City, but visited Grammy and Papa often, so we'd see them at church and we became good friends.During the summer, I'd spend a week or so in Bosworth with Lisa, Bryan, Marilyn, Grammy and PaPa. Grammy would fix us pancakes and let us drink Pepsi-Cola for breakfast. Then Lisa and I would saunter on up to the pool hall to drink some more Pepsi-Cola and watch the old men play pool. It was not unlike "To Kill A Mockingbird" except that there was no Boo Radley.
One of my most vivid memories is of Lisa and I and another girl (whose name I obviously can't recall) happily washing off the day's dirt in the bathtub (remember, we were itty bitty then and could fit three in a tub). All of the sudden, there was pounding on the bathroom window...lots of it. Never have you seen three little naked girls hop out of the tub and run through the house, dripping wet. Marilyn, of course, was the culprit. She found it hilariously funny. So do I, fifty years later.
We moved from Marshall to Jeff City in the early 70's and our friendship grew even stronger. We went to the same church and, oftentimes, our families seamlessly melded into one big, loud bunch. During my dad's career in politics, Marilyn was a driving force, running us kids to various campaign events, making sure we had our red, white, and blue shirts and foam boater hats in place. She was tireless. She later worked for dad in the treasurer's office and I spent many a weekend at the Parrish home on Indian Meadow Drive, when mom and dad were away for a political event.
Everyone called Marilyn by her first name...kids, too. However, my parents were old school. It wasn't cool to call an elder by their first name. So we came up with Myrtle (or Myrtle Mae). Eventually I got old enough to call her Marilyn, but occasionally I'd slip up and call her Myrtle.
The Parrish house was THE house to congregate. Every kid on the block seemed to gravitate to Marilyn. She was funny, energetic and always up for anything. She was the Cool Mom. On more than one occasion she allowed me, Lisa, Bryan and my brother to skip church so we could watch an old black and white Marx Brothers or Abbott and Costello movie on Saturday night or Sunday morning. It was important to laugh, she'd say.
I have so many wonderful memories of Marilyn. One of the best (and, now, funniest) is the day all of us kids were loaded into her car and she's driving us in downtown JC. All of the sudden she slammed on the brakes and yelled, "There's Squeaky! Look!" And right then I got my first (and, I think, only) look at a "lady of the evening." How many other moms do you know that would do that?
That's what was so great about Marilyn. There was no class structure in her world. Everyone was equal and everyone had a story to tell. Maybe it was because she lost her husband so early (1967) that she determined to get the most out of life. She had plenty of obstacles, but chose to see the good side of humanity and used those challenges to grow as a person.
And, she was about as loyal a person as I've ever seen. She was the first person I'd ever heard describe themself as "a yellow dog Democrat" - meaning she'd vote for a yellow dog before she'd vote for a Republican. She spent the majority of her adult career working in the Missouri capitol. She knew EVERYONE. And everyone knew her. She had a smile that lit up the room and a laugh to match it. Anyone who's heard that laugh is smiling right now.
When I heard Ron answer the phone on Saturday and say, "Hey, Lisa" followed by, "No, no," I knew that Marilyn was gone. It's still hard for me to believe that she's not still here. We just got a Christmas card from her and my folks just talked to her a week ago.
Marilyn lived her life on her terms. She was fiercely independent and, some might say, stubborn as a mule. Does that surprise you? All Democrats are mules.
Marilyn - my second mom - I love you. I miss you. I remember you.
With love...
Monday, December 14, 2015
Nutso Techno
There are times when I am absolutely fascinated by technology. And there are times when I'm terrified of it. Let me give you some examples.
There's this little cider mill a couple of miles from my parents' home. Open only for a few months during the fall, this quaint operation has been dishing out hot, cinnamon-y donuts for quite a few years. They sell other stuff, but let's face it...it's the donuts that people stand in line for. While you're waiting - if you're lucky enough to be with another person to hold your place in line - you can wander over to this little window and watch the donuts being made.
Some nice, older woman spoons the batter into a hopper and - through an amazing feat of technology - two perfect donuts are plopped into super hot grease about every two seconds. They float along for maybe fifteen seconds and then - another amazing feat of technology - they get flipped over and drift happily for another fifteen seconds. The result? A perfectly golden sphere of deliciousness.
I could watch it for hours and hours. Not kidding. After a few hours I'd be Zen perfect.
Not long ago I watched an intriguing show about the "real" King Tut. How can they call it the "real" King Tut. Why, because of technology, of course.
They used super elaborate methods and equipment to test the death mask (the famous one with all that gold) and determined that the front piece and back piece were not one solid piece, but two, joined together by ancient duct tape. Not really. I think they used rivets. Whatever.
I have a degree in history (I might have mentioned that before). I should be interested in this kind of stuff. And I am, up to a point. But when they're spending lots and lots of money and high falutin' microscopes and other equipment I can't remember, I have to ask myself:
Shouldn't this time and money be spent on something else? Like curing cancer? I know too many people battling all types of cancer. Bad, nasty, life-ending stuff. King Tut is dead. And has been for a really long time. These people need answers. Yesterday. We know enough about King Tut. (I beg forgiveness for any Egypytologists reading this).
So...I was excited to see advertisements for the new series, "Breakthrough." Six well-known directors taking aim at some of our world's leading breakthroughs in science. I was intrigued.
The first one scared the crap out of me. It was about Ebola and the awful, painful death that is almost always inevitable. And how catastrophic it has been - and can be - in a pandemic situation. In a matter of weeks.
All I can say, after watching that first episode, is that there are a lot of SUPER brilliant minds out there and we should be thanking God that they are alive and using their brains to help develop a cost-effective treatment and strategy for eradicating this scary disease.
Then... Paris happened. And San Bernardino. And you realize that it doesn't take a disease to claim lives. It takes a mind that has ceased to be rational.
And technology.
I often wonder what we'd do without the World Wide Web.
I really think we'd be safer. And more ignorant.
Which is worse?
There's this little cider mill a couple of miles from my parents' home. Open only for a few months during the fall, this quaint operation has been dishing out hot, cinnamon-y donuts for quite a few years. They sell other stuff, but let's face it...it's the donuts that people stand in line for. While you're waiting - if you're lucky enough to be with another person to hold your place in line - you can wander over to this little window and watch the donuts being made.
Some nice, older woman spoons the batter into a hopper and - through an amazing feat of technology - two perfect donuts are plopped into super hot grease about every two seconds. They float along for maybe fifteen seconds and then - another amazing feat of technology - they get flipped over and drift happily for another fifteen seconds. The result? A perfectly golden sphere of deliciousness.
I could watch it for hours and hours. Not kidding. After a few hours I'd be Zen perfect.
Not long ago I watched an intriguing show about the "real" King Tut. How can they call it the "real" King Tut. Why, because of technology, of course.
They used super elaborate methods and equipment to test the death mask (the famous one with all that gold) and determined that the front piece and back piece were not one solid piece, but two, joined together by ancient duct tape. Not really. I think they used rivets. Whatever.
I have a degree in history (I might have mentioned that before). I should be interested in this kind of stuff. And I am, up to a point. But when they're spending lots and lots of money and high falutin' microscopes and other equipment I can't remember, I have to ask myself:
Shouldn't this time and money be spent on something else? Like curing cancer? I know too many people battling all types of cancer. Bad, nasty, life-ending stuff. King Tut is dead. And has been for a really long time. These people need answers. Yesterday. We know enough about King Tut. (I beg forgiveness for any Egypytologists reading this).
So...I was excited to see advertisements for the new series, "Breakthrough." Six well-known directors taking aim at some of our world's leading breakthroughs in science. I was intrigued.
The first one scared the crap out of me. It was about Ebola and the awful, painful death that is almost always inevitable. And how catastrophic it has been - and can be - in a pandemic situation. In a matter of weeks.
All I can say, after watching that first episode, is that there are a lot of SUPER brilliant minds out there and we should be thanking God that they are alive and using their brains to help develop a cost-effective treatment and strategy for eradicating this scary disease.
Then... Paris happened. And San Bernardino. And you realize that it doesn't take a disease to claim lives. It takes a mind that has ceased to be rational.
And technology.
I often wonder what we'd do without the World Wide Web.
I really think we'd be safer. And more ignorant.
Which is worse?
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Let's Get Real
I think we're losing our grip on reality. Reality TV, that is.
I remember when the trend started moving towards this genre of entertainment (if you can call it that). Some network executive realized that paying TV stars a million bucks an episode wasn't cost effective and opted instead for an option that was heavy on drama/shock and light on talent.
Enter "The Real World," "The Osbornes," "Survivor" and on and on and on.
I liked "The Real World." I liked "The Osbornes." And even to this day I watch "Survivor" and "Amazing Race" and a handful of other reality shows.
Here's the deal. Some of them have become more surreal than real. They've been scripted and edited to death. Loved the first season of "Duck Dynasty." Uncle Si was too good to be true. You can't script that kind of humor. But slowly and surely, the themes seemed to be contrived, even rehearsed. Sad, really, because they are an interesting bunch of people. They don't need outside intervention to make them appealing.
One of our favorites is "Alaska, The Last Frontier." It's about the homesteading Kilcher family. Four generations have worked the land, raised cattle, planted vegetables, bred chickens, kept bees and borne kids. While I sense a bit of scripting, for the most part it's just a peek into what it takes to live off the land in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
Another one we watch is "Life Below Thirty," another series set in Alaska. Incidentally, there are quite a few shows about Alaska...it's like it was just discovered or something. People. It's as old as I am. Well, maybe a little longer. Been around for awhile.
Anyway, back to the tundra. These folks live in frigidly cold places and are forever talking about the pickles they'd be in if they fell through the ice or couldn't make a fire. I'm like, "Yeah, but there's a camera crew right next to you." Pretty sure if someone fell through the ice, there'd be at least one or two hands to haul them out. Or hand them a lighter or one of those fire starter logs.
Here's my biggest astonishment...Drugs, Inc. I'm not sure this technically qualifies as a reality show, but it's real. Or is it? Ron likes to watch this on occasion so I acquiesce because he watches a lot of Food Network with me. What I do not understand is this. They are showing people making meth, cutting cocaine, making heroine balls...all highly illegal things. Are the producers not responsible for alerting the authorities to this stuff?
They film cops and DEA agents conducting raids - usually resulting in nothing. Shouldn't those cameramen be saying, "Hey, I think I might know where you could find some real thugs and massive amounts of drugs. Follow me."
Same thing with Moonshiners. The drug folks cover up their faces with all manner of scary masks. The moonshiners? They don't give a rip. They're mighty proud of their stills and hiding places and they don't mind showing their faces on TV. The law enforcement guys have a heckuva time finding stills hidden deep in the woods. Again...cameramen, producers? Do you not have a moral responsibility to help apprehend these criminals?
I don't get it.
Maybe it's just me. But I'm thinking the REAL in reality TV has gone 'round the bend, never to be seen again.
Oh well. Move on. Surely there's something in the works that will prove to be even more fantastic than anything we could ever dream of!
Can't wait.
I remember when the trend started moving towards this genre of entertainment (if you can call it that). Some network executive realized that paying TV stars a million bucks an episode wasn't cost effective and opted instead for an option that was heavy on drama/shock and light on talent.
Enter "The Real World," "The Osbornes," "Survivor" and on and on and on.
I liked "The Real World." I liked "The Osbornes." And even to this day I watch "Survivor" and "Amazing Race" and a handful of other reality shows.
Here's the deal. Some of them have become more surreal than real. They've been scripted and edited to death. Loved the first season of "Duck Dynasty." Uncle Si was too good to be true. You can't script that kind of humor. But slowly and surely, the themes seemed to be contrived, even rehearsed. Sad, really, because they are an interesting bunch of people. They don't need outside intervention to make them appealing.
One of our favorites is "Alaska, The Last Frontier." It's about the homesteading Kilcher family. Four generations have worked the land, raised cattle, planted vegetables, bred chickens, kept bees and borne kids. While I sense a bit of scripting, for the most part it's just a peek into what it takes to live off the land in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
Another one we watch is "Life Below Thirty," another series set in Alaska. Incidentally, there are quite a few shows about Alaska...it's like it was just discovered or something. People. It's as old as I am. Well, maybe a little longer. Been around for awhile.
Anyway, back to the tundra. These folks live in frigidly cold places and are forever talking about the pickles they'd be in if they fell through the ice or couldn't make a fire. I'm like, "Yeah, but there's a camera crew right next to you." Pretty sure if someone fell through the ice, there'd be at least one or two hands to haul them out. Or hand them a lighter or one of those fire starter logs.
Here's my biggest astonishment...Drugs, Inc. I'm not sure this technically qualifies as a reality show, but it's real. Or is it? Ron likes to watch this on occasion so I acquiesce because he watches a lot of Food Network with me. What I do not understand is this. They are showing people making meth, cutting cocaine, making heroine balls...all highly illegal things. Are the producers not responsible for alerting the authorities to this stuff?
They film cops and DEA agents conducting raids - usually resulting in nothing. Shouldn't those cameramen be saying, "Hey, I think I might know where you could find some real thugs and massive amounts of drugs. Follow me."
Same thing with Moonshiners. The drug folks cover up their faces with all manner of scary masks. The moonshiners? They don't give a rip. They're mighty proud of their stills and hiding places and they don't mind showing their faces on TV. The law enforcement guys have a heckuva time finding stills hidden deep in the woods. Again...cameramen, producers? Do you not have a moral responsibility to help apprehend these criminals?
I don't get it.
Maybe it's just me. But I'm thinking the REAL in reality TV has gone 'round the bend, never to be seen again.
Oh well. Move on. Surely there's something in the works that will prove to be even more fantastic than anything we could ever dream of!
Can't wait.
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Don't Change the Chanel
My favorite new show this fall is "Scream Queens." I am, strictly speaking, not a fan of horror movies. Unless it involves the hi jinks of Abbott & Costello. Or the Bowery Boys. (I am seriously dating myself here...I feel compelled to clarify that I saw those movies on TV, not when they originally premiered on the big screen.)
I was only able to watch one season of "American Horror Story" and a couple of seasons of "True Blood." Too much mayhem and blood and creepy stuff for me. So when Kate and Tyler told me that I HAD to watch "Scream Queens," I acquiesced (caved) and said I'd watch one episode, just to get them off my back.
Oh.my.gosh. It is so inappropriately funny I can't stand it. I cannot believe some of the phrases that are allowed to be uttered on prime time television. It's "Mean Girls" + "Clueless" + "Glee" + "American Horror" + "Porky's" + "Animal House." It all adds up to a highly campy, over-the-top murder mystery, with never-ending plot twists and turns and extremely clever/cutting dialogue.
Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, who are the geniuses behind "Glee," "American Horror," and "Nip Tuck," have taken elements of their past triumphs and blended them into a crazy hour of smack downs, faux fur fashion shows, oddball and stereotyped characters/ It's magic in HD. Another show (a la "Glee") during which no societal group is spared, lampooning left, right and center.
And can we talk about cultural relevance? Quite regularly, the writers reference on-trend topics that are HILARIOUS. On the episode, "Chaneloween," I immediately knew what they were parodying; my kids didn't. How hip am I? I will be reminding them of that moment for years to come. Or until I forget that it happened.
I think one of the reasons I find it so funny is because it is SO over the top. Dialed down a notch or two it would be tasteless and one or two toes over the line as offensive. There are quite a few sexual innuendos, but they're done in such an unabashed, unapologetic way that's you can't help but laugh.
It doesn't hurt that Jamie Lee Curtis is one of the leads in the show. She's a "Scream Queen" in her own right and she's great. Emma Roberts is perfect as Chanel, and her minions, Chanel #s One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six include Abigail Breslin and Lea Michele and Ariana Grande. Add in an always funny Niecy Nash and Nick Jonas and it's a surprisingly well blended cast.
My favorite character, however, is Chad Radwell (Glen Powell). He's a member of the Dickie Dollar Scholars fraternity and he is a swell compilation of several fraternity boys I knew in college. Prepped out to the max, fabulously rich and completely ego-centric. I can't wait to hear what's going to come out of his mouth, once he's removed his permanently placed silver spoon.
Yes. It's mindless TV. But I don't care. Plus, how am I ever going to find out who the Red Devil Killer is if I don't keep watching?
I was only able to watch one season of "American Horror Story" and a couple of seasons of "True Blood." Too much mayhem and blood and creepy stuff for me. So when Kate and Tyler told me that I HAD to watch "Scream Queens," I acquiesced (caved) and said I'd watch one episode, just to get them off my back.
Oh.my.gosh. It is so inappropriately funny I can't stand it. I cannot believe some of the phrases that are allowed to be uttered on prime time television. It's "Mean Girls" + "Clueless" + "Glee" + "American Horror" + "Porky's" + "Animal House." It all adds up to a highly campy, over-the-top murder mystery, with never-ending plot twists and turns and extremely clever/cutting dialogue.
Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, who are the geniuses behind "Glee," "American Horror," and "Nip Tuck," have taken elements of their past triumphs and blended them into a crazy hour of smack downs, faux fur fashion shows, oddball and stereotyped characters/ It's magic in HD. Another show (a la "Glee") during which no societal group is spared, lampooning left, right and center.
And can we talk about cultural relevance? Quite regularly, the writers reference on-trend topics that are HILARIOUS. On the episode, "Chaneloween," I immediately knew what they were parodying; my kids didn't. How hip am I? I will be reminding them of that moment for years to come. Or until I forget that it happened.
I think one of the reasons I find it so funny is because it is SO over the top. Dialed down a notch or two it would be tasteless and one or two toes over the line as offensive. There are quite a few sexual innuendos, but they're done in such an unabashed, unapologetic way that's you can't help but laugh.
It doesn't hurt that Jamie Lee Curtis is one of the leads in the show. She's a "Scream Queen" in her own right and she's great. Emma Roberts is perfect as Chanel, and her minions, Chanel #s One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six include Abigail Breslin and Lea Michele and Ariana Grande. Add in an always funny Niecy Nash and Nick Jonas and it's a surprisingly well blended cast.
My favorite character, however, is Chad Radwell (Glen Powell). He's a member of the Dickie Dollar Scholars fraternity and he is a swell compilation of several fraternity boys I knew in college. Prepped out to the max, fabulously rich and completely ego-centric. I can't wait to hear what's going to come out of his mouth, once he's removed his permanently placed silver spoon.
Yes. It's mindless TV. But I don't care. Plus, how am I ever going to find out who the Red Devil Killer is if I don't keep watching?
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Going Royal
If we're friends on Face Book, and assuming you read every single one of my posts (!), you would know this about me: I don't really care for sports, not having played any when I was young. Unless you count kick the can.
However, I graduated from a sports frenzied high school. Our Jefferson City Jays football team was amazing, winning a couple of state championships in a row. I think. I'm sure I'll be reminded if my memory is faulty. Well, that's already been established in myriad situations. But I'm talking specifically about that state championship thing.
Later on in life, I used to get very irritated when I was on staff at a church and we had to consider the city's sporting schedules before making plans to undertake anything that required a lot of folks.
And then there are the players' salaries. Massive amounts of hungry people could be fed, homeless be sheltered, diseases researched and cured with the billions paid to sports personnel. I haven't done the math because I only have ten fingers and ten toes. I think I'd even blow up my solar powered calculator attempting that equation.
And, can we talk about the tedium that sports watching entails? I think soccer is the worst culprit (sorry soccer fans and players...I still love YOU). When a score is 1-0 after ninety minutes that really just amounts to a lot of running around, kicking a ball, sometimes headbutting (why are no helmets involved) and quite a lot of flopping. I'll bet you're surprised that I know that term. Now THAT'S a reason to watch soccer...so I can yell, "He's TOTALLY flopping!"
Lastly, but probably most importantly...I can't handle close games. I can tune into the last few minutes of a basketball game and get completely tied up in knots if it's a three or four point game. I blame Brian Presberry for that. He made some crazy last second shot and our Jays won by one point against our arch nemesis, Columbia Hickman. I think I had already graduated because I can see it perfectly in my mind and I wasn't sitting with the million other Jayettes...I was across the gym. That doesn't really matter, except to point out that my brain stores ridiculous things that I need to get rid of to make room for things that matter now. Like why I got up and went into the kitchen. (That happened this morning. And, sadly, it's not the first time).
So that's why I don't care for sports.
But...something happened to me last month I haven't been able to decipher yet. I didn't watch one single baseball game the entire regular season. I heard from time to time that the Royals were doing well and I was like, "Oh, yea. That's good." I don't even think I watched any of the games against Houston. But by the time Toronto rolled into town I found myself oddly attracted to it. I watched all the games. Stayed up way late and considered asking my doctor for a prescription for nitroglycerin.
By the time the World Series rolled around I knew the batting lineup. What's up with that? By the end of the first game I knew which Mets players and pitchers were gonna give us trouble. "Us?" Somewhere between Toronto and the Mets I became a fanatic.
My kids were giving me funny looks. Ron just kept rolling his eyes. I would sit alone in our lower level (Ron won't let me call it a basement) and whoop and clap by myself. Kate and I would text like mad, emogi-ing hand clapping and thumbs up and smiley faces with tongues hanging out.
It was a bit ridiculous. Ok, more than a bit.
The last game, when it was tied in the ninth, I went upstairs to wake Ron up and watched the rest of it in our bedroom. The weirdest thing happened. It happens when I talk to the kids and we're watching the same thing...there's like a three or four second delay in what they're watching and what I see. Our windows were open and I could hear people cheering before I saw what was happening on the television. So...I knew they Royals had won before I saw it. I remember whispering "They did it! They did it!" before the final strike was thrown.
The next day I watched everything I could about the Royals' hard fought victory. I even watched a replay of the last three innings...and I still got nervous, even though I knew how it would end.
I debated back and forth about going to the parade. Tyler and Ron had to work and Kate doesn't love big crowds, so I stayed home and watched it all unfold on TV. It wasn't until the images started hitting Face Book that I was able to fully comprehend the magnitude of it all.
Amazing. Just amazing.
If I had to use one word to describe how I felt it would be...
Joy.
Those Boys in Blue played with pure joy. They love the game. They love each other. They have families who love and support them. They know each others' skill sets; combined they're a force to be reckoned with. They have freedom to play the best game they can, not dictated by an ego-driven manager. But it's the joy that spills over, like the Gatorade Salvy loves to splash around, that makes them so likable and fun to watch.
And the fans! Straight up beer-drinking, high fiving, Moose-calling, joy-filled men, women and children of all ages. They love their Royals and their Royals love them right back.
If wishes do come true...I'd keep this team intact for another 100 years. Or until their knees/arms give out.
I guess that makes me a fan, too. And I kind of like it.
When's Spring Training start? PLAY BALL!
However, I graduated from a sports frenzied high school. Our Jefferson City Jays football team was amazing, winning a couple of state championships in a row. I think. I'm sure I'll be reminded if my memory is faulty. Well, that's already been established in myriad situations. But I'm talking specifically about that state championship thing.
Later on in life, I used to get very irritated when I was on staff at a church and we had to consider the city's sporting schedules before making plans to undertake anything that required a lot of folks.
And then there are the players' salaries. Massive amounts of hungry people could be fed, homeless be sheltered, diseases researched and cured with the billions paid to sports personnel. I haven't done the math because I only have ten fingers and ten toes. I think I'd even blow up my solar powered calculator attempting that equation.
And, can we talk about the tedium that sports watching entails? I think soccer is the worst culprit (sorry soccer fans and players...I still love YOU). When a score is 1-0 after ninety minutes that really just amounts to a lot of running around, kicking a ball, sometimes headbutting (why are no helmets involved) and quite a lot of flopping. I'll bet you're surprised that I know that term. Now THAT'S a reason to watch soccer...so I can yell, "He's TOTALLY flopping!"
Lastly, but probably most importantly...I can't handle close games. I can tune into the last few minutes of a basketball game and get completely tied up in knots if it's a three or four point game. I blame Brian Presberry for that. He made some crazy last second shot and our Jays won by one point against our arch nemesis, Columbia Hickman. I think I had already graduated because I can see it perfectly in my mind and I wasn't sitting with the million other Jayettes...I was across the gym. That doesn't really matter, except to point out that my brain stores ridiculous things that I need to get rid of to make room for things that matter now. Like why I got up and went into the kitchen. (That happened this morning. And, sadly, it's not the first time).
So that's why I don't care for sports.
But...something happened to me last month I haven't been able to decipher yet. I didn't watch one single baseball game the entire regular season. I heard from time to time that the Royals were doing well and I was like, "Oh, yea. That's good." I don't even think I watched any of the games against Houston. But by the time Toronto rolled into town I found myself oddly attracted to it. I watched all the games. Stayed up way late and considered asking my doctor for a prescription for nitroglycerin.
By the time the World Series rolled around I knew the batting lineup. What's up with that? By the end of the first game I knew which Mets players and pitchers were gonna give us trouble. "Us?" Somewhere between Toronto and the Mets I became a fanatic.
My kids were giving me funny looks. Ron just kept rolling his eyes. I would sit alone in our lower level (Ron won't let me call it a basement) and whoop and clap by myself. Kate and I would text like mad, emogi-ing hand clapping and thumbs up and smiley faces with tongues hanging out.
It was a bit ridiculous. Ok, more than a bit.
The last game, when it was tied in the ninth, I went upstairs to wake Ron up and watched the rest of it in our bedroom. The weirdest thing happened. It happens when I talk to the kids and we're watching the same thing...there's like a three or four second delay in what they're watching and what I see. Our windows were open and I could hear people cheering before I saw what was happening on the television. So...I knew they Royals had won before I saw it. I remember whispering "They did it! They did it!" before the final strike was thrown.
The next day I watched everything I could about the Royals' hard fought victory. I even watched a replay of the last three innings...and I still got nervous, even though I knew how it would end.
I debated back and forth about going to the parade. Tyler and Ron had to work and Kate doesn't love big crowds, so I stayed home and watched it all unfold on TV. It wasn't until the images started hitting Face Book that I was able to fully comprehend the magnitude of it all.
Amazing. Just amazing.
If I had to use one word to describe how I felt it would be...
Joy.
Those Boys in Blue played with pure joy. They love the game. They love each other. They have families who love and support them. They know each others' skill sets; combined they're a force to be reckoned with. They have freedom to play the best game they can, not dictated by an ego-driven manager. But it's the joy that spills over, like the Gatorade Salvy loves to splash around, that makes them so likable and fun to watch.
And the fans! Straight up beer-drinking, high fiving, Moose-calling, joy-filled men, women and children of all ages. They love their Royals and their Royals love them right back.
If wishes do come true...I'd keep this team intact for another 100 years. Or until their knees/arms give out.
I guess that makes me a fan, too. And I kind of like it.
When's Spring Training start? PLAY BALL!
Monday, November 16, 2015
Bloom, Dammit!
Although folks would be hard pressed to catch a glimpse of it now, there was a day when I was SUPER into entertaining and puttin' on the dog. Southern Living and Martha Stewart Living provided my daily devotionals and, at times, I was able to channel Martha just by clicking my heels together three times and repeating "Use only the VERY BEST vanilla."
Southern Living has the best recipes out there, if case you're wondering. Never made a bad dish from that magazine. MS Living was chock full of ridiculous decor ideas that looked beautiful but required surgeon-esque skills and loads of specialty items. I didn't even attempt those crafty things because I'd read the directions and my eyes would start to glaze over.
I did, one holiday season, buy a crap ton of glitter and made dozens of ornaments and candles with the stuff (Word to the Wise: don't do the candles...the glitter caught on fire. I probably did it wrong). When we decorate at Christmas, there are still traces of that sparkly endeavor in every box we unpack.
It slowly became...a problem.
I had butter molds of butterflies and acorns and unicorns (not really). I combed the Colonial Williamsburg catalog for faux magnolia leaves and King Charles bedspreads. I created holiday menus and printed them out...mainly so I'd keep on track, but - truth be told - also so I could practice my taste tantalizing verbiage skills...fresh hot yeast rolls, with sweet cream butter and assorted jams. Homemade pumpkin spice with freshly whipped sweetened cream...
Very hoity toity.
But, then, after years of getting my kicks from all things fancy, I went into a self-imposed rehab. Actually, I got bariatric bypass surgery and couldn't really eat all those things anymore. So I tossed (or sold) all my butter molds, cancelled my Southern Living and Martha Stewart subscriptions and tried to develop some better habits.
Fast forward to last Saturday, when we were getting ready to come home from NOLA. I bought a couple of magazines (Southern Living and Martha Stewart Living, of course) because - horror of horrors - out plane wasn't equipped with WIFI. As I flipped through the pages of MSL, I noticed that they're still publishing Martha's monthly calendar of events. And I remembered that it always served as a huge source of "Oh my gosh, can you believe she's doing that?" moments.
Once again, it did not fail to entertain. Alongside her schedule of yoga, weight training and riding horses were her friends' and colleagues' birthdays, hair appointments, refrigerator cleanings, etc.
But...the one I love the most (and I remember seeing it on her calendar before...which leads me to believe the editors are cut-and-paste gurus) is the day she's set aside to force her forsythia and pussy willows to bloom.
Picture it. A cold, grey, concrete room with a card table, one folding chair and a naked light bulb haphazardly hung from the ceiling. Martha is in the chair. A lone stick in a clay pot is on the table.
Tension fills the air.
In a strong, direct "I will not be dismissed" voice, Martha commands, "You.WILL.Bloom."
"NOW!"
"Or I will twist you in two, you ungrateful twig of a tree."
Martha fixes her steely gaze on the naked branch. One minute passes. Two minutes. Thirty.
Finally, with a silent shudder and a spectacular clenching of its roots, a spec of yellow leaf begins to poke its head through the dormant bark.
Martha, her work completed, exits the room with a victorious stride, leaving the door open as a wide-eyed intern to timidly comes forward to finish the job.
Don't even try to tell me that's not the way she gets it done.
Southern Living has the best recipes out there, if case you're wondering. Never made a bad dish from that magazine. MS Living was chock full of ridiculous decor ideas that looked beautiful but required surgeon-esque skills and loads of specialty items. I didn't even attempt those crafty things because I'd read the directions and my eyes would start to glaze over.
I did, one holiday season, buy a crap ton of glitter and made dozens of ornaments and candles with the stuff (Word to the Wise: don't do the candles...the glitter caught on fire. I probably did it wrong). When we decorate at Christmas, there are still traces of that sparkly endeavor in every box we unpack.
It slowly became...a problem.
I had butter molds of butterflies and acorns and unicorns (not really). I combed the Colonial Williamsburg catalog for faux magnolia leaves and King Charles bedspreads. I created holiday menus and printed them out...mainly so I'd keep on track, but - truth be told - also so I could practice my taste tantalizing verbiage skills...fresh hot yeast rolls, with sweet cream butter and assorted jams. Homemade pumpkin spice with freshly whipped sweetened cream...
Very hoity toity.
But, then, after years of getting my kicks from all things fancy, I went into a self-imposed rehab. Actually, I got bariatric bypass surgery and couldn't really eat all those things anymore. So I tossed (or sold) all my butter molds, cancelled my Southern Living and Martha Stewart subscriptions and tried to develop some better habits.
Fast forward to last Saturday, when we were getting ready to come home from NOLA. I bought a couple of magazines (Southern Living and Martha Stewart Living, of course) because - horror of horrors - out plane wasn't equipped with WIFI. As I flipped through the pages of MSL, I noticed that they're still publishing Martha's monthly calendar of events. And I remembered that it always served as a huge source of "Oh my gosh, can you believe she's doing that?" moments.
Once again, it did not fail to entertain. Alongside her schedule of yoga, weight training and riding horses were her friends' and colleagues' birthdays, hair appointments, refrigerator cleanings, etc.
But...the one I love the most (and I remember seeing it on her calendar before...which leads me to believe the editors are cut-and-paste gurus) is the day she's set aside to force her forsythia and pussy willows to bloom.
Picture it. A cold, grey, concrete room with a card table, one folding chair and a naked light bulb haphazardly hung from the ceiling. Martha is in the chair. A lone stick in a clay pot is on the table.
Tension fills the air.
In a strong, direct "I will not be dismissed" voice, Martha commands, "You.WILL.Bloom."
"NOW!"
"Or I will twist you in two, you ungrateful twig of a tree."
Martha fixes her steely gaze on the naked branch. One minute passes. Two minutes. Thirty.
Finally, with a silent shudder and a spectacular clenching of its roots, a spec of yellow leaf begins to poke its head through the dormant bark.
Martha, her work completed, exits the room with a victorious stride, leaving the door open as a wide-eyed intern to timidly comes forward to finish the job.
Don't even try to tell me that's not the way she gets it done.
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