Stranger Things Have Happened

If you’ve ever received a gift card, you know that there are two approaches to spending it. You can tuck it away in your pocket for a rainy day, a sunny day, a windy day, or for a day when you just really need some retail therapy or else you’re going to rip someone’s head off. Or, you can collect your gift card, put your car in drive, and head straight to the mall to stop the card from burning that hole in your wallet.

I felt this way on Wednesday; however, I didn’t have a gift card. Well, I had one for Crabtree & Evelyn, but it didn’t burn a hole in the pocket the way the ones from Sephora usually did. I was always eager to buy a lipstick but could wait endlessly for scented soap.

After becoming a permanent employee at my company on Monday, I had a personal day. I was a contract employee for the prior seven months, so I had no paid holidays or vacation. If I took a day off, I didn’t get paid or I had to make the hours up in order to be paid; thus, this is why I spent time at work on the weekends, err, having fun when I wasn’t working hard.

Anyway, after meeting a big deadline on Wednesday, I heaved a sigh of relief, and then I felt a stabbing pain in the Law & Order portion of my brain. It was that damn personal day saying, “Take tomorrow off, chillax, and dwell in being paid for watching a few episodes of Law & Order!” I tried hard not to listen to my personal day, but when it said, “It might be nice to clean the house, because I noticed that your dust kitties now have dust bunnies the size of your kitties,” I began to think, “Hey, it might be nice to have a day to chillax and vacuumax.”

I wanted to take the day off, but I decided to debate it with me, myself, and I for the next 30 minutes. Should I save the day for a trip? Since I had no accrued vacation time, I figured that I would not be eligible for any trip outside of my town for the next six months. Should I save the day for an emergency? I had five six days, so at least I was covered for medical emergencies though not for the ones where I locked myself out of the house or had a car that didn’t start.

After much consideration, I brought up my web browser and logged onto the company’s time off system. As I clicked the links to request my personal day, I felt somewhat like a little kid in a candy store or what it feels like for Iz in the Zhu Zhu pet aisle of Toys R’ Us. Feeling like it couldn’t get any better than this, I then looked at my vacation balance and laughed out loud.

I had 17 days of vacation. The funny thing was that when I arrived back at this company last June, after being laid off over a year before by them, they didn’t have to reactivate my e-mail account, because they never deactivated it. When I started Outlook, I received the 432 messages sent to me while I was laid off; it now appeared that while I was accruing e-mail during my unemployment, I was also accruing vacation time!

Forget about staying around town. On Thursday, I’d be heading to Aruba! Okay, I’m a pretty honest person, so instead opening another browser window and navigating to Orbitz, I e-mailed the Human Resources representative and said, “While I’d like to have 17 vacation days, I don’t think that’s correct.”

After successfully inputting my request for my personal day, I sat back in my chair while visions of Law & Order danced in my head to the sounds of the vacuum cleaner. Every now and then, I enjoyed being home alone. I thought that since school had been cancelled for a few days due to snow on the roofs, the kids would definitely be back in school tomorrow; I spoke too soon.

Just then my Blackberry began to blink. I read an email message announcing that Iz’s school would be closed yet again. Okay, I could deal with that as her after-school program was open for the day. When I arrived in the door after leaving work, Nathan said, “Mom, I’ve got no school again tomorrow.” Okay, so home alone had now become home with my 17-year-old; I could deal with that.

When I got up the next morning, I carted Iz off to a friend’s house for the day; she seemed very pleased to go, and I thanked her friend’s father about ten times for inviting her over. I went home and heard the gun fire coming from Nathan’s X-box in his bedroom, I knew it was not going to be a chillax kind of day.

I regrouped and decided that this was a day to get things accomplished. I’d let Nathan do the chillaxing for me. Actually, I was beginning to think that Nathan’s middle name was “Chillax” when it wasn’t “Elliott.”

I Want to Make My Dog Street Legal

I unburied my “Things to Do” list from under the pile on my desk. I made a few needed phone calls, and as I did, I sorted out the pile. I then filled out the town census, and when I got to the bottom, I realized that Monty, my dog, needed his license, which meant a trip to the Town Hall.

I must admit that I had been remiss about Monty’s license. Actually, when I went down to check his current license on his collar, which was not so current, I saw that Monty had not been street legal since 2008.

While he was not one of those dogs who roamed the neighborhood freely, I felt that I should really make him legal. Of course, while walking him, I had never been pulled over by the police demanding to see his license. And, if Monty was going to get arrested for anything, it would be for “Disturbing the Peace” with his incessant barking!

I then left to do some errands. After I went to the dry cleaners, the grocery store, and the veterinarian’s to pick up Monty’s proof-of-not-being-rabid certificate, I headed to the Town Hall. It had been some time since I ventured to the back where they kept track of important things like births, deaths, and dogs.

When I approached the counter, I saw the Assistant Town Clerk sitting behind her desk. In this day of computers, I was amazed to see how many piles of paper were on and around her desk in boxes. Had technology not made it to town government yet?

I said, “Excuse me, but I need to make my dog street legal.” Of course, I was trying to be humorous, but she didn’t laugh. To recover seriousness, I quickly said, “Oh, I forgot the form at home, so I’ll need another to fill out.” She got up and said, “Okay, just a minute,” as she plucked a form off of her desk and headed toward the copying machine.

I had dealt with this woman once a year from 2000 to 2007, and she always struck me as a gruff and serious person. When she arrived at the copy machine and saw a book on top of it, she exclaimed, “Oh, look, I was already doing something and I forgot about it.” She laughed to herself; I think this was the first time I saw her laugh.

She photocopied the street legal dog form, and she brought it over to me. As if facing a priest in a confessional, I almost blurted out, “I haven’t made him street legal in a few years,” but it struck me that if she didn’t remember what she was doing ten minutes ago that she probably didn’t care that Monty had roamed the yard occasionally as a delinquent member of canine society for the last three years.

Pen in hand she asked, “Dog’s name?” I said, “Montgomery.” I don’t know why I felt compelled to give Monty’s full name; it was not as if we were filling out his passport application. When she asked his breed, I just said “Corgi” instead of his regal title, which was Pembroke Welsh Corgi; thankfully, I didn’t want to stupidly babble “But, you know, he’s not really from Wales. He came from Arizona!”

Then, being me, and not liking vacant verbal space, I offered, “It’s been so hard for him in the snow lately,” thinking she might know a Corgi is a very vertically-challenged canine. Right away, she said, “Oh, it’s been hard for my dog, too. He’s a dachshund-lab mix, so he’s low to the ground. He’s old, too.” I asked, “How old?” She answered, “Fourteen.”

I said, “He must be really cute.” Uncharacteristically, or so I thought, she said, “Oh, he is. Wait a minute. I think I have a picture.” She dropped the pen on the application, rounded her desk, and then rifled through a drawer saying, “I know I have one somewhere.” It’s truly interesting when you thought a person was one way, you talk to them for a bit, and then you realize they’re totally something else and much like you are.

She walked back and said, ‘Here he is, but this is old. Bless her soul, that’s my mother-in-law with him.” I assumed that her mother-in-law had passed away a while ago. I looked at the small black lab on legs exactly like Monty’s; I laughed and said, “He’s so cute!”

She smiled and then she offered, “And, I have three cats, too.” I said, “So do I!” She then went onto explain how every one of her pets was acquired.

The dog was a birthday present for her son after a divorce, a kitten was for a daughter’s birthday, another kitten was found in the woods that they just had to take in, and the last kitten was a Valentine’s Day present to her daughter from a neighbor. I asked, “Do you still talk to that neighbor?” She laughed and said, “Yes, but I did tell her nicely that there should be no more kittens for presents.”

After she filled out the form, she passed me Monty’s tag. We kept talking about our animals until the conversation reached a natural conclusion; if our children bring home pets from college, the pets can stay but the children must leave! I realized then that I hadn’t given her the $6 for the license yet.

I pushed it toward her, and she said, “Thanks.” She then hesitated as if she was rather sad our engaging conversation had ended. I knew I had my entire 2010 “Things to Do” list to do on this one day in 2011, so I then said, “Bye. It was so nice talking to you.”

After my trip to the Town Hall, I headed home. When I walked in the front door, I was greet by X-box gunfire and Monty who was barking. I walked into the kitchen and took Monty’s collar off. I said, “You’re going to be legal now!”

Monty didn’t look too thrilled at the prospect. After all, it was just other dog day for him in which he would bark endlessly at anything that moved or made a sound, including Plume who was chasing a lady bug that flitted across the panes of the bay window. I got the pliers out of the basement, probably one of the few times I actually touch such a tool, and I took off Monty’s now vintage 2007 tag and put on the 2011 tag.

I fastened his collar back on. Monty sat there, and I exclaimed, “There!” Monty was still having issues seeing the joy in being street legal, but rallied when the mailman dropped the mail in the slot of the front door and raced down the hallway to growl at the mail that had dropped on the floor.

I Miss Morse Code

Anticipating a busy weekend, I rescheduled an appointment to have my hair cut on Saturday to Thursday. Nathan’s 18th birthday was on Saturday, so I figured that there would be a lot of movement in and out of the house, and, of course, a lot of barking. Actually, getting my hair done was kind of like getting a massage; it was something that relaxed me and rejuvenated me or at least the color of and length of my hair!

I glanced at the clock and thought I should leave not wanting to be late like I usually am. I grabbed my purse and keys and headed out to the car. I said “Bye, Nathan!,” heard nothing but gunfire from upstairs, and then said to myself, “Bye, Mom. Love you!” and laughed to myself.

When I arrived at the salon, I saw through the window that the previous appointment was still there. I walked in, and when I sat down, I realized that miraculously I had arrived 15 minutes early. An older gentleman with a beard was having his hair cut, and a younger man sat nearby and appeared to be waiting for him.

My hairdresser was talking about a legal issue she had encountered over a car accident. The two men, Charlie and Roy, were giving her their opinions. Again, not liking being verbally vacant, I said to my hairdresser, “Donna, what have you done now? Was that you that held up the bank in Fitchburg last week?”

The younger man, Charlie, howled. Donna laughed, and the older man, Roy, chuckled. Donna said, “Well, if I did rob a bank, you know I’d only take what I needed. I’d be the first robber to ask for only $1000.”

I said, “I always knew you’d be the most likely to commit a felony.” Charlie laughed again. It seemed that Charlie thought I was funny, and it was nice to hear the sound of his laughter and see him smile, thinking that I did that; it made me feel better when I needed to feel better about myself and a particular situation.

After we all wholeheartedly agreed that Donna was the least likely to even litter, the conversation turned to how nice it was to be retired. I kind of knew how that felt after being unemployed for sixteen months. Roy mentioned that he had been retired since 2005; I figured that Roy must be Charlie’s father.

Roy had retired not once but twice. He retired from the Navy in 1969 when he was 39. He had been a radio operator on a ship.

Charlie chimed in that retirement was great. I then said to Charlie, “You look too young to be retired,” and he again laughed. He quickly said, “I am!” and laughed. I cracked Charlie up and Charlie cracked himself up; I liked this guy.

Charlie then said, “I retired at 53, I’m 63 now.” He said that one day his wife amazingly said, “Why don’t you retire?” He then laughed and said that he told her “Okay, honey!”

Donna pointed to Charlie and said, “He is a very smart engineer.” At that point, Roy’s hair cut was done; he got up out of the chair, and walked over toward me. He was a very short and petite little man and reminded me of Merlin the Magician, though now with a very well coifed beard.

He pointed his arthritic finger at Charlie and then shook it at me while he said, “It’s amazing what he can do." Roy then said that he told Charlie, “I miss Morse code." Roy continued and said, "Two days later, he came over to my house with something he made, so I could practice code at my kitchen table." Of course, Roy had no need to practice it, but Charlie made sure he could if he wanted to.

Charlie smiled and looked embarrassed by the praise. Then Donna said, “Oh, and Comcast messed up my phones. Roy told me he knew someone who could fix it. Charlie came by and had my phone working in a few minutes.” Charlie’s embarrassment had subsided and now he commented like a serious engineer, “It was really a mess. They had every connected wrong.”

Roy said, “He can do anything.” Charlie said, “Oh, Roy” and was back to being embarrassed. By then, I sensed that Roy and Charlie were friends, because I didn’t know of too many children who were on a first-name basis with either one of their parents.

It was funny, because at that moment, I felt like I was in an episode of The Andy Griffith Show. I had just spent 30 minutes in Floyd’s barbershop. Roy and Charlie went to leave and we exchanged “It was nice to meet yous.”

After they left, Donna told me that Roy was Charlie’s neighbor. Roy’s wife had died a few years ago and was on his own. Charlie looked out for him and took him where he needed to go.

When I drove home later, I realized that there were still 36 things left to do on my 2010 “Things to Do” list. It was already 3pm, and I didn’t figure I was going to get all of them done by even the end of 2011; well, I guess that’s why there was 2012!

I arrived home, vacuumed, and then pulled out a load of laundry from the dryer in the basement, and headed upstairs to fold it. I figured that so my day wouldn’t be a total loss from the “to do” or “to not do” lists, I plunked my basked down on the couch, turned on the TV, and found an episode of Law & Order. It was “to doing” and “to don’t-ing” simultaneously!

Yesterday, I didn’t stay home and watch stories. I went out, got a few things done, heard new stories, and made new friends. I thought about the book my Mom got me when I was little – “Don’t Talk to Strangers.” Upon reflection, yesterday was a very good day and an even better day to talk to strangers. ♥

End blog soundtrack for Roy and for everyone else who misses Morse code: