Went to the dentist Monday, as previously noted, when it was officially hotter than a $2 pistol firing uphill (109F/42.7C). I have downloaded playlists to my cell phone, and listen to them through ear buds when I must endure the scraping of teeth with metal objects that is inevitable when getting one’s teeth cleaned. I find the sound/sensation quite nerve-curdling. The music blocks out some of the noise. It was a Club des Belugas playlist and quite diverting.
Way back last year when the Greyola took pickup damage to his starboard doors and I had to have him repaired, I had made the remark to one of the mechanics that one of these days I needed to get the manual down and figure out how to connect my cell phone to the car via bluetooth. With the maddening alacrity of the young, he proceeded to take my phone and connect the two in a matter of minutes, et voilá. My phone now automatically bluetooths itself to the sound system in my car when I turn the key and I can answer it from the steering wheel. I knew there must also be a way to play playlists through the car’s sound system and had idly toyed with the idea of figuring that out at some point. Well, I was still listening to my Club des Belugas tunes as I got into the car, but when I turned on the key to start it, my sound cut out, and the car radio/CD player/etc. read “Press Media.” I pressed the media button and, mirabile dictu, I had Club des Belugas on the sound system in my car. Apparently, wonders have not yet ceased. The Belugas and I clubbed home by way of our friendly neighborhood Taco Villa where I picked up a set of crunchy tacos and a bean burrito.
Now, I have to say that as the family’s designated trained chimpanzee*, I am possessed of a modicum of tech smarts and am demonstrably capable of reading and following directions. I feel confident that I could have figured out how to connect my cell to my car via Bluetooth, etc., by myself, but doing so was very low on my list of priorities. (Of course, the easiest way to get something done is to get somebody else to do it for you!)
Tuesday was much cooler than Monday. I had hoped to stay in out of it. However, about 2:30, I got a call from my mom. Her telephone number of ancient memory had been restored to its ancestral wire, and she and her friends had resumed phoning each other. But, just when normalcy seemed to have beeen established once more, she got a voice mail. She got quite exercised about it. She was adamant she did not want voice mail, but wanted her answering machine back (which she already knew how to operate). A goodly bit of gnashing of teeth and ruing of the day was also involved. Her cordless phone has voicemail settings but you were advised to call the phone company (you have to program in the voicemail access number for your particular carrier). I drove over and called the phone company for her to see what needed to be done to drag her kicking and screaming into the 21st century. (AT&T takes their tech support from the Phillipines. Even when my mom was not hearing impaired, she had trouble with foreign accents, like Boston, Canada and the San Fernando Valley. Brits and anyone speaking English as a second language might as well be speaking Swahili.) We learned, to her immense relief, that voicemail could be deactivated, thus allowing her messages to continue to go to her answering machine. I got the tech support lady to do that, and there was great joy in Mudville. I later was able to play her voice mails for her. She had three. One from an actual caller, and two from herself calling her land line from her cell phone to try to circumvent voicemail and get her answering machine.
Wednesday, I thought I might go out, but early in the day, the toilet in the en suite off the master bedroom malfunctioned — the lever attached to the handle that pulls the chain that lifts the flap and starts the flush cycle when you press the handle down broke off the handle. One could flush the toilet if one removed the top off the tank and fished around in the water for the chain to lift the flap with, but this is highly unsatisfactory as a long-term solution. The plumber was summoned, eventually got there and easily replaced the assembly, and that crisis is also resolved.
The missing ankle weights and hand weights are still at large. I’m durned if I know where they are. I will spring for another pair of ankle weights because I need them as part of my rehab process, but mark my words, three days after the new ones arrive, I’ll find the old ones. In a place I’ve looked six times already. (They’ll be in Plainview.**)
*If something is so simple a trained chimpanzee could do it, I am the one who gets to explain it to my mom. **Whenever you lose something, you inevitably wind up finding it in Plainview.
The Owl Underground 