Sorry....Wrong Number

4:00 am. The phone rang, jarring me from sleep. I ran to answer it with a sleepy "hello?" and half-expected to hear bad news. No good news comes at 4am. A craggy, old-woman voice whispered, "There's someone walking down the highway..." Great...it's that stupid old woman again. She can't seem to dial the right phone number. Our number is one digit from the local police phone number, and we hear from this old gal once in awhile.

She always speaks in a whisper. I don't know if she's trying to keep from waking someone up, or if she thinks the man walking down the highway can hear her. Again I told her she is not reaching the police department and to please dial the correct number. I hate to think how many times she called me right back with the same complaint. And why does she think it's against the law to walk down the highway at 4am?

We've gotten calls many times over the years from people thinking they've reached the police. Almost always it's something stupid that they're calling about. If that's the caliber of calls that our police get, I feel sorry for them. I don't think I'd last too long as a dispatcher. I'm afraid I'd yell, "Get over it!" one too many times when I heard their petty problems.

Our neighbor's phone number is real similar to the phone number of Daviess County Metal. He was constantly receiving calls from folks wanting to know how much something-or-other was. One day he'd had enough--a man called wanting a price on how much garage doors were. So he gave the man a price. I hope it was close to the actual figure.

I once was called by the sweetest old lady. She was trying to reach the Waltons, if I remember correctly. When I told her she had the wrong number, she started fretting. It must've been terribly hard for her to make one call, much less two. "Oh dear!" she said..."Would you call them for me?". What else could I do? I took the woman's phone number, and the name of the people she was trying to reach. I hung up and tried to call, but no one answered--and no answering machine picked up. So I called the poor old soul back and told her no one was home. She thanked me for trying, and hung up.

When I was a teenager, I got a call from a guy. I didn't recognize his voice, but he never did ask to speak to anyone. He thought he was talking to the person he wanted to talk with. After a few minutes, I realized that we didn't know each other...but I kept on talking to him. We must've talked for a half-hour and really had a good time talking. But after a while he asked me a question that I couldn't possibly answer, so I told him that he had actually called a wrong number. He was surprised, but told me that he really enjoyed talking to me. I'm amazed he never called back.

But doesn't it irritate you when someone calls you and then in a demanding voice asks, "Who is this?"? I always asked them the same question. Invariably they hang up on me.

I've gotten calls from babies too. Somehow the baby hits just the right number and gives me a call. That's always good for a laugh or two.

In this day and age, we are able to hit *69 and get the number of the person that just called us--that is, if we don't have Caller ID. I don't get enough calls to warrant having Caller ID. So sometimes I'll just *69 and write down the number so I can call them back and be equally as rude. That's always been my plan anyway. Some day I may actually do it.

You know, we haven't heard from the whispering old lady in a couple of years now. She's either passed on, or in the nursing home...or maybe the man walking down the highway stopped in and did away with her in retaliation for her calling the cops on him so often.

Where's the Ice Cream?

Something I just read on another blog reminded me of some of the funny things my kids said when they were little. Thought I'd better commit some to paper before my mind completely goes and I forget them.

When Brian was maybe around five, I was outside in the neighbor's yard visiting. Brian poked his head out the sliding glass door and yelled, "MOM...WHERE'S THE ICE CREAM?" My reply? "It's in the oven."

About a minute later, he came back to the door and yelled, "NO IT ISN'T!"

Then that reminded me of the time when C&C...aka Mark...came to our back door on Rural Street in Indy. He was about the same age. We were out playing in the snow with Mom. Well, Mark stepped almost completely out the door...and he was stark naked! He yelled, "Mom, where's my clothes????"

Carrie had a unique way of measuring the amount of food she consumed. She always asked for a "patch" of ice cream. And she loved my aunt's cole slaw. One day she said she was so full because she ate "two loads of slaw". She was a good eater, which was great after having such a picky eater (Brian). But as soon as she was full, she'd hold her plate up to be removed, and would announce, "I don't like this anymore."...what a kid.

There's tons more, but I suddenly got sleepy. Guess the 1/4 dose of Ambien kicked in...and it IS after midnight. Got to hit the sack.

We Remember Moments...

How many of those special little moments of your life can you recall? I'm not talking about something big like our recent trip to Italy. I'm talking about something that seemed so small at the time that it might not even be worth remembering. But that moment in time lives forever in your memory.

Some small little moments in my life...

The time a sweet nun offered me a quarter to spend at the school carnival.

"Ode" Perry sitting in his old easy chair, singing hymns while my little sister sat in his lap.

Burning popcycle papers in a hole in our concrete steps on Rural Street in Indy.

Me telling my dear Grandpa Cissell "Don't put pepper on my leg" while he fried chicken on the front porch of his house.


I witnessed such a moment when my two new granddaughters had their nails (fingers and toes) painted a beautiful, bright red. The "nail artists" were my sister and my niece. Both of the little girls loved the experience. They both sat very quietly and patiently while their nails were being done. And they did a pretty good job letting the nails dry too.

We were just finishing up a big weekend. My "adopted" son from India was visiting, and he wanted to have a big get-together to celebrate my daughter's birthday and to welcome the new nieces he now had. The girls met cousins, aunts and uncles, friends and neighbors. And they loved everyone they met. They now have a pretty good-sized family, and took it all in stride. You would've thought they'd known us all of their lives.

I'm not sure what actually started the nail-painting spree, but that's exactly how treasured memories are born--something simple, something not planned. Capturing the moment digitally is nice, but unnecessary for those that were there. You can't capture the smell of the polish, the tickle of the toes, or the feel of the soft little fingers in your hand. But who knows...sometime many years from now, just the smell of nail polish might bring this sweet memory back to life for these girls.

So don't be surprised when some tiny little hint brings back a treasured memory, or looking into the beautiful blue eyes of a teasing four-year-old reminds you of your father's blue eyes.

Again, welcome to the family girls. All of us have been waiting for you for a very long time. Thanks for bringing your sweet sunshine with you.

We love you very much.

Grandma and Grandpa

It's Only the Trunk!

I'm telling you, this sleep issue is causing problems.

Well, that's what I'm going to blame for this bonehead move. On July 20th, I went to an allergist in Bloomington. I tested positive for molds/mildew, several weeds, grasses, and trees, and corn pollen. When the doctor first came in the examining room, the nurse asked where me I get my prescriptions filled. I told her and then the doctor started drilling me on everything concerning possible allergy symptoms. She gave me a nose spray to use right then--even before she did the tests. Once the allergies were confirmed, she told me she was going to give me a prescription for Allegra. I was given a folder with my test results and some general information on allergies, and was sent on my way.

A few days later, I opened my purse (yes, I tend to only open my purse every couple of days or so), and found the nose spray. Then I remembered the allergy Rx I was supposed to get filled. I snorted a couple of sprays in each nostril and carried on with my work day. Sometime over last weekend, I opened my purse again and found the spray. I decided I better look for that prescription before I forgot again. It was nowhere--not in my purse and not in the folder. So I just thought I'd look for it later; it was a very busy weekend. I had more important things to do.

Last night I remembered the nurse asking me where I got my prescriptions filled. CLUE!!!! Today I finally remembered to call the drug store to see if the prescription had been phoned in. SUCCESS!!! They had called it in, and the drug store filled it the same day as my doctor visit. Sometimes I just need to be smacked upside of the head for something to sink in...but really, the nurse should've said "We will CALL this in".

I asked my little dog Rudy if he wanted to go to the store. (Yes, I really do ask him questions like this and he always answers.) So Rudy and I jumped in the car, hit the garage door opener and moved the PRNDL to R.

I guess I'd been better off if Rudy had been driving. Suddenly I heard a big SMACK. I looked in the rear view mirror just in time to see the garage door attempting to continue its upward journey. I put the PRNDL into D and inched forward a couple of feet. The door from the garage to the family room opened and my husband poked out his head. "Whaddya do????" came out of his pie-hole and in a most accusatory tone. I fessed up my sins and he proceeded to read me the riot act.

"You tore up the garage door frame! Look what you did to the trunk!"...I shut off my ear drums. I didn't want to hear any more from Mr. Andretti. But I did tell him that at least I managed to knock off a couple of mud dauber nests from the garage door. (Where is a man's sense of humor at a time like this?) Well, he kept it up until I leaned up against the car door and started crying. Men can be such turds at times. Did he think I freakin' did this on purpose? Hell's patoot...my vision is going downhill, my brain is fried from no sleep, and for God's sake I'm 56 years and ready for the nursing home!

I marched into the house and tried to compose myself. I still needed to get to the drug store and pick up that prescription, and the mere thought of crying puffs up my eyes and turns them scarlet. I took a quick peek in the mirror, and thought that maybe the folks at the pharmacy would just think it was allergies.

I went back to the car where Rudy was waiting patiently to go on his ride. The husband was trying to get the garage door's metal wheel back into the track, but at least the door was fully open. I told him to move, or I'd run over him too. He moved pretty fast for an old fart--must've been the threat of bodily injury.

By the time I got back home, the door was back in place. The husband quit his bitching and decided he better be nice to me. Heck, he even said that he's come close to doing the same thing a time or two. Too late. That ploy is not going to work.

I managed to do some studying online for a project management course I'm taking, and then decided to take my phone to get a fast photo of my trunk to send to my son-in-law (who also happens to be my insurance agent). When I sent the picture, I sent it with text that read, "Garage door too slow--or car too fast". In just a couple of minutes, he called back. I found out that since I "collided" with something, this would be considered "collision". Since it's been less than three years that I've had the policy, it would raise my rates. Who wants to insure an insipid old woman anyway; especially one that backs into her half-opened garage door? The car is seven years old and is already dinged and scratched. What's a few more? I'll drive it until it's a piece of crap anyway.

For now, I think I'll use my husband's guilty conscience against him and see if he'll run down to McD's and buy us a couple of $1 hot fudge sundaes. Then I think I'll call my son-in-law to see if this falls under my homeowner's insurance. I was not the only one moving at the time. The garage door was also moving. Maybe it collided with me, making it the house's fault--not mine.

Gotta run and hit hubby up with the sundae idea.

Monitor Code = Z...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

If you're one of my two or three loyal readers, you know I am an insomniac--a life-long one. But for the past couple of months, it's gotten really bad. I can't make myself go to bed before midnight and many times it'll be 2am. Then I get up at 4 or 4:30 to go to work. The trouble is, I seem to have my days and nights mixed up now and can't function up to par until 4pm--that's quitting time.

I find myself sitting at my desk trying my hardest to stay awake. I need to find some test data, so I open up good old Toad and run a query to knock out all records in a table with a monitor code of Z. Next thing I know, I'm the one with a monitor code of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. It's a miserable situation and each day seems to last 24 hours. It's hard to think, much less write boring stuff all day long.

I had a doctor's appointment last week and he put me on Ambien. I hate sleeping pills. Every one I've tried has left me groggy the next day. But with this one, I was already groggy. So I don't know if it's a natural sleepiness or it's drug-induced. The last two nights, I've cut the pill in half. Still sleepy, even though I'm taking the pill much earlier. Last weekend I actually slept until 9:45, thanks to the little pill. I'm sleeping more than I have in years, but still find myself nearly comatose until 4pm.

A couple of weekends ago, I was trying to study the online course I'm taking in project management. After ten minutes I gave up and actually went to bed to take a nap. I never take a nap, but just felt like I really needed to listen to what Mother Nature was trying to tell me. I slept from 2pm to 7pm. Now that's a nap!



I hate being this way. I've always been a morning person, but not any more. I'm worried about falling asleep while driving--even on my 20-minute drive to work. In the morning when I wake up, I stagger to my recliner while my husband brings me my cup of coffee (complete with just the right amount of creamer and sugar). The coffee no longer helps to wake me, but it sure tastes good going down. Hopefully, after a couple of weeks, the Ambien will get me on a more normal sleep cycle and I can quit taking it. Life will return to normal and my usual four or five hours of sleep a night will return. I will be able to keep my eyes open at work...unless I'm stuck in a boring meeting. My concentration will return and I'll be more productive at work and at home.



But for now, it's time to take the pill and get ready for bed in hopes of a decent night's sleep.

Stuck Between a Rock and a Hard Place

As I attempt to document the 16 new reports, it becomes painfully obvious to me that these reports have "issues". The new reports have all been copied from the first one created, and evidently each programmer assigned to each report didn't see the "hover" messages above date fields that say "Defaults to the first of the month" and "Defaults to the current date". So maybe three of the reports really do default those dates, but the rest do not. So either really do default the dates or get rid of the damned "hover" messages.

OK, I can work around that problem by checking each report and documenting whether or not it really does default the dates. I could ignore the entire situation and pretend I didn't notice the hover messages. After all, they only show up in a bright yellow box when you happen to move the cursor over the fields. But worse yet is after I run these queries, about four of them have math problems when I hit the Print button. The report generates into an Adobe Reader format, BUT on the screen with the search results, a field that shows an 'average' lists that average as 67%. That part is correct. However, on the generated report, that average shows up as 50%. Now how is that possible? I note these issues in our tracking software. The analyst then sees what he missed when he QA'd the reports. He calls the programmer. She's not happy.

This morning I ran into her in the hallway and was greeted with a "Since when are you an analyst?" statement. You know...sort of kidding, but sort of NOT kidding? OK, I admit...I'm a mere lowly tech writer. But how can I document what doesn't work or what doesn't add up? I'm a whiz with the screen capture software...I can fake a screen to make it the software look like it can save the world. But is that the right thing to do? My choices are to:
1. Fake it to look correct.
2. Document it "as it is", mistakes and all.
3. Skirt the issue and just give a generic "here's what we did"--no screen shots.
4. Bring the problem to the attention of the analyst, even though he's already passed it onto the customer to look at (and chances are, the customer doesn't test it very well either).

So maybe next time I'll do the screen shots complete with all the nice little Oracle errors that pop up, or the totally blank reports that are generated. Maybe I'll leave the simple math errors for the world to see. Wonder what they'd say to me then..."What...are you an idiot? You can't see that this thing doesn't work right? Why didn't you say something?"

...and I'll just say, "What am I???...an analyst????".

Miracle Girls

I've been lucky enough to spend two Saturdays in a row getting to know my beautiful new granddaughters. This weekend they're visiting Grandma's house for the first time. Hopefully, they'll get to meet some of their many girl cousins on my husband's side of the family. I imagine I'll hear a giggle or two.

The strange thing is to NOT hear or see siblings yelling at and fighting with each other. I've yet to hear, "She's looking at me...She's touching me", and all those other crazy things my two used to get upset about. But I think these two little girls somehow sensed that they needed to stay very close to each other. The older one is like a little mother to her little sister. She even told me that she loves her little sister more than anything else in the world. I'm amazed at their resiliency.

This weekend I plan on making some gelato, chocolate of course, for these two little miracles. I'll wait until they get there so they can see how ice cream is made. I know they'll love it. They also have two great-grandmas to meet. Last weekend the oldest asked me about my mom, then my dad. I told her about their new great-grandma, and explained that my dad died some years ago. I handed them my dad's driver's license and told them that this was their great-grandpa. Stasey said, "He still IS our great-grandpa". Hard to believe coming out of a seven-year-old. I wish Dad was still around to meet them, take them to the candy store, and tease them about little boys. He sure loved his grandbabies.

In closing, I'll just ask God for the opportunity to be as important and "teaching" as my grandmas were to me. As I've said before, I want to be as sweet as my Grandma Riley and as fiesty as my Granny Cissell. Thank you, Grandmas, for all you've done for me. Please guide me in the right path as I gladly undertake this new role in life.