Posts Categorized: Peace

In the Backyard

Summer’s truly here; the air conditioner’s been running regularly for a couple of weeks. I’ve done quite a bit of work in the yard, trying to get things done before the heat sets in. Things look pretty good. Of course, a garden is “a thing of beauty and a job forever,” which is a quote I have on a little plaque that sits on my garden bench.

Before we went to Tennessee in April, I carefully rearranged the potted plants on the patio into spaces around the yard, trying to be sure that they got the appropriate amount of sun or shade they each needed, and were placed where the sprinkler system would keep them hydrated. We were away almost two weeks, and when we pulled into the driveway, home again at last, I was taken aback at how awful the lawn looked. I went straight to the system’s controls in the garage and discovered, to my horror, that, while I had set the timer correctly, I had not actually turned the system on. EEEKKKK.

The patio plants all looked pretty poorly. The lavender looked dead (and it was). But, with some care, everything else came back fine.

 

 

I’m excited to see the big, fat berries on the holly bush.

There will be pretty red berries for Christmas!

 

And, the crape myrtle tree has lost a branch!!

 

 

 

 

But the most interesting, and a little bewildering, thing that I discovered in my yard this spring—

I was out in the yard a couple of weeks ago, and, as I rounded the corner from the back yard to the side where the ferns grow, I looked down and saw . . . yes, a hot dog. I looked at it long and hard. It’s a hot dog.

I’ve not ever seen a dog, or dogs, roaming around the neighborhood. Every now and then I see a cat (or rather, what’s left of a bird in the yard). But, really, do cats eat hot dogs? Maybe. Anyway, I left it where it was and went on with my yardwork. Then, I went inside for some lunch.

 

 

When I went back outside, to work some more, I checked on the hot dog. As you can clearly see, the space was empty. Really? The hot dog noshing dog/cat/whatever was waiting, quietly, observantly, cautiously for me to leave. Then they returned and retrieved their lunch? Seriously? Do squirrels do that sort of thing? (And really, I wouldn’t put anything past a squirrel.)

 

 

Anyway, no other aberrant food items have been deposited in the yard, at least none that I’ve noticed. Rain poured down last Sunday; if I had a gully, it would have been washed out. I hope it’s not the last of the good rainfalls.

 

 

Shout praises to the Lord, everyone on this earth. Be joyful and sing as you come in to worship the Lord!You know the Lord is God!

He created us, and we belong to him; we are his people, the sheep in his pasture.

Be thankful and praise the Lord as you enter his temple. The Lord is good! His love and faithfulness will last forever.

Psalm 100 (Contemporary English Version)

And the Photo Is, Of Course, Just Awful

A few weeks ago, I got a letter from the Texas Department of Public Safety, explaining to me that I was not eligible to renew my Texas Driver License online. Apparently, twelve years is the limit, and after that, folks have to show up in person to update their photo, signature, and fingerprints. The letter also explained that, to “enhance security, reduce the risk of identity theft or fraud, and protect the integrity of the issuance process,” I would need to verify my “social security number, identity, citizenship, and residency,” by bringing the appropriate documents with me.

The letter said: “In addition to a DL or ID, you may be required to provide other documents to verify your identiy, SSN, citizenship, and residency.

The following are some example documents you could bring as proof.

  1. For identity, your unexpired passport or birth certificate is recommended.
  2. For SSN, your social security card is preferred but a DD-214 or college/university transcript is acceptable.
  3. For residency, your Texas vehicle registration or vehicle title are examples of acceptable documents.

So, I started gathering documents. First, I knew exactly where my Passport was. I went to the drawer and, Ta-Dah! There it was. All safe and secure…and expired. I dug out my birth certificate. My social security card wasn’t in the first place that I looked, but it was in the second. And, I couldn’t find the vehicle registration or title, but I took my vehicle insurance card, which has my name, address, and the VIN numbers of the cars. And, I also took my voter registration card.

I clipped everything together (well, not the expired Passport), with my old Driver License (DL) on the top. I put them in a big envelope, to be sure I didn’t lose one of them on the way. I put them in my purse, along with a book to read while I waited. And went off to the Texas Department of Public Safety.

I got there pretty early, 8:30 or so, and the place was already filled. There were maybe 30 people, sitting in rows of chairs, waiting for their turn. It turns out that lots of stuff happens at the DPS. There was a check-in computer at the door with a list of possible reasons I might be there. Look for a Criminal Record, Schedule a Road Test (for getting a DL), Getting Forms, Reporting a Crime, and Renewing a DL. I punched my choice, and a slip of paper came out with a number (3027). And the computer said to go to the “Form Area.”

I had to ask a polite young man where the “Form Area” was, and and he pointed to a circular organizer with forms in it (that was right next to us). There was a very small sign on top that actually did say “Forms.” So, I got my DL form and began to fill it out. While I was working, a voice over the loudspeaker said, “Number 3026,” and gave a counter number. And I thought, “Hmmmm. Possibly I’m taking too long.” And, indeed, a couple of minutes later, they called my number and the space where I should go.

“I’m not quite done,” I said to the young woman there. “Oh, that’s OK,” she said. I pulled my nicely clipped together documents from the envelope, and she took my old DL, and began to punch keys on her computer while I finished up the form. Then, she looked at the form, verified a couple of things, then asked me to look into the eye test box and read line 5. Then I had to put my thumbs on a box which was supposed to capture my thumbprints. I had to try several times, but finally, we got me all printed. Then, she said, “Stand in front of the blue screen.” And she took my photo.

She printed out my temporary DL and handed it to me. And that was that. She didn’t ask for anything else I had brought. I’m sorry I didn’t time it. I don’t think it was ten minutes from the time I walked in the door until I walked out.

I’m assuming that, when she put my information into the computer, it showed that I was a resident of Texas/McLennan County/Waco, that my driving record was clean, and that I did not have a Criminal Record or any Outstanding Warrants against me. So, I guess I’m good for another twelve years. As long as I stay out of trouble.

 

Pay attention to advice and accept correction, so you can live sensibly.

Proverbs 19:20 (Contemporary English Version)

When the boys were growing up, I often said to them, as they were leaving the house, “Make good decisions.” I don’t know if my words, echoing in their ears, made a difference, but they have grown up to be very nice men. So I’m going to take at least part of the credit. And, actually, I sometimes say it to them even now, just in case they were thinking of making a bad decision. If you ask them, they might say that I said it to them every single time they left the house. And, sometimes, when they were walking around inside the house. (You just never know when a really bad idea might come creeping into one’s brain.)

And, a habit of making good decisions might just smooth one’s way through some transactions, like getting a new Driver License, without any hassle.

 

 

It’s Remote

First of all, when we were in West Virginia, I put down my glasses (which are just readers, available at all sorts of stores). Someplace. On some table at some restaurant. Some shelf in a gift shop. Some counter at some museum. When I searched for them to be able to read something, they were nowhere to be found. My cousin said she had a pair of readers that were 2.50 that I could borrow. I used them the next day and they were just right. When we stopped to get gas that afternoon, I went inside the store that big gas stations have these days, and, sure enough, located a rack of glasses. I found a pair of 2.50’s and bought them. They were perfect. That was about two weeks ago.

Today, they broke. I guess that $9.95 is not quite enough to pay for a pair of reading glasses that one expects to last for any length of time.

 

So, this evening, I’m struggling along with a pair of real, prescription glasses that I got several years ago. They are bi-focals, and I really, really tried hard for several weeks. I just could not get the hang of them; whenever I looked toward the ground, to go down stairs or step off a curb, or up a curb,  things were out of focus. I finally gave up and went back to the “readers.” I will say, though, that when you purchase your reading glasses at the dollar store, you are getting your money’s worth. Or, apparently, at the gas station, also.

This evening, then, to be able to see somewhat, I rustled up the old prescription glasses and that’s what I have on now. I also have a headache.

That’s just an explanation in case there are typos and bad punctuation, I am trying to hurry through this.

Remotes–

I’m talking about cars. When David’s car refused to leave the driveway, due to extreme old age, a few years ago, he got a new car. A new-to-us pre-owned car, that was only a year or so old. It’s a nice car with heated seats and electric seat controls (up/down, back/forth, reclining/upright). He drove it all the time, unless I was going to Fort Worth to get Peter, since I lobbied for the idea that the newer car should be the one on the highway. And, as soon as we got to town, he would move the car seat over to my car.

Until summer. I lobbied then for using his car for Peter’s and my adventures around town, particularly the zoo. We got a Grandparent Pass for the zoo, which opens up at 9:00 a.m. I said I needed his car for trips to the zoo because I could start the car remotely. One of the best features of a remote start is that, whatever climate control you’ve had the car set at, that’s what will come on when the car’s started. In August, it’s pretty warm, but not horrid until noonish or so. Peter and I would arrive at the zoo parking lot at 10 minutes or so before 9:00, in the hopes that we could get one of the very few parking spaces with some shade. We’d park, get out the stroller (Peter was two, and still content to ride through the zoo), get sun-screened, and be rolling up to the zoo entrance at 9:00. We’d be back at the little cafe at the zoo entrance at 11:00 or so, have a grilled cheese sandwich, and leave.

“If we’re in your car,” I said to David, “then I can start it remotely right when we leave. By time we get to the car, it won’t be really cool, but it won’t be so scorching hot.” (Even if there was shade when we got there, in those intervening hours, most of the shade had moved on.)

It was a hard argument to refute, so I got to drive Peter around in the “good” car. After we got that car paid off, we got another new car for me to drive. It’s not quite as nice (I have to move my seat manually) and it’s smaller. But, it was a brand-new car. With a remote start feature.

I find that really helpful. I can start the car and have it be at least a little bit cool (or warm) when I get to it. But, more importantly, I can find the car. It’s white (actually pearl), and looks very much like every other white/pearl car in the parking lots of the grocery store, the drug store, Target, Wal-Mart. I do know the letters on the license plate, which also helps. The problem, sometimes, is that I have driven up and down several rows at some of these places, looking for a nice, empty spot for the car. So, by time I shop for an hour or so, I’ve long forgotten exactly where I ended up parking the car.

Both car keys look exactly the same. I know which one is which by the *other* keys that are on each end, which does not at all keep me from sometimes using the wrong key/remote to start/open a car.

I have, on more than one occasion, walked confidently up to a white/pearl car, pointed my remote and punched, and the car did not start. Of course, it might be that I’m punching the buttons on David’s key, instead of mine. Or, more likely, I’m pointing and punching at the wrong car. Hmmmm. After checking the license, or, really, just the car itself, for example, is there a car seat in the back of the car I’m punching at? No? Then, it’s not my  car, which does have a car seat in the back.

Once, in the Target parking lot, I aimed my key at a car, several spaces away from me, as I walked toward it. Off in the next row over, I heard a car start. And, yes indeed, that one was my car. It’s so helpful.

 

Hearing and seeing are gifts from the Lord.

Proverbs 20:12 (Contemporary English Version)

 

 

 

Although the exact date is in dispute, it is generally agreed upon that the first pair of corrective eyeglasses was invented in Italy sometime between 1268 and 1300. These were basically two reading stones (magnifying glasses) connected with a hinge balanced on the bridge of the nose. (Google)

Miraculous.

 

Travelogue, Part 2

Years and years ago, when Kevin was in elementary school, he misplaced a cassette tape we had borrowed from the library. It was overdue, and, believe it or not, at that time our library did not charge late fees. But, we did need to find it. While he was at school one day, I meticulously went through his room, searching for the missing tape. He had some shelves along one wall, with bins that held various toys and games and supplies. He had a bookshelf, a chest of drawers, and a desk. I went through every single one of the spaces, searching for the tape. I did finally find it, in (and I am not making this up) the last place there was to look. He had a chair desk with a shelf underneath the seat, and that’s where the tape was. But, before I got there, as I searched all the other places, in every single space I pawed through, I found:

In every single space!!

 

I had a very similar experience while we were in Tennessee. David’s mom (who celebrated her 95th birthday while we were there), is in a rehab center now. I spent a couple of days working in her bedroom, straightening up and cleaning up the space. She had several purses. Actually, twenty-five of them; I counted. I went through every one, making sure she hadn’t accidentally left cash or credit cards in them (or who knows what). They were basically empty. Nothing valuable. But in every purse (every one of them) I found:

In every single one!

It was a little deja-vuish, reminding me of the search from years before.

I also found these interesting items in my mother-in-law’s room:

If you’re not old enough to recognize them, here’s how those things were used:

Then, for fun, I got to go to North Carolina to have lunch with friends in Black Mountain, and go to the Appalachian Folk Art Center in Asheville. And then, for more fun, David and I went to West Virginia to visit my cousin, Nancy.

We went to the Monocacy National Battlefield, in Frederick, Maryland, which was interesting, and a place we were unfamiliar with.

 

 

Kevin took me to task last week for including the fact that, when we left town, there were baby birds in a nest in the garage, and, upon returning, we didn’t immediately check on them. You’ll be relieved (or, absolutely unconcerned) to know that there was a completely empty (no carcasses) and clean nest up there. Apparently, the parent birds did a lovely job of sidling in the space at the bottom of the garage door with food for their kids, and shepherding them through their childhoods until they were ready to fly away.

 

 

 

 

Live under the protection
    of God Most High
    and stay in the shadow
    of God All-Powerful.
 Then you will say to the Lord,
“You are my fortress,
    my place of safety;
    you are my God,
    and I trust you.”

Psalm 91: 1,2 (Contemporary English Version)

Traveling is great! Seeing family and friends and visiting new places are invigorating! Now, I’m about ready to rest in my (physical) place of safety for a while.

I Really Never Know What to Do at Times Like This

Here’s what happened to me last weekend. The doorbell rang and there was a man I didn’t know standing on the porch. He explained that he was the son of a lady up in the next block. “You know, the one with the little dogs.”

“I don’t really know anyone in the next block,” I said. And he told me his story.

He was visiting his mother (up in the next block), and she’d left the house on some errand, and he needed to go get his daughter in Waxahachie  (a real town in Texas, up near Dallas-you can look it up).

“I lost track of the time,” he went on. “When I realized I was running late, I picked up my keys and rushed out the door and pulled it shut. It locked behind me before I realized that I hadn’t picked up my wallet or my phone. So I don’t have any cash or credit cards or ID, and I can’t call anybody. I need gas for the trip. Can you help me out? I need about $25.00.”

Hmmmmmm.

I understand that, because I am an honest person, I’m inclined to think that other folks are honest, too. And sometimes I’m right, and sometimes I’m wrong. Really wrong.

So now, what to do? What to do?

I’m sure I looked skeptical.

He pointed to the car parked across the street.

“That’s my car. I can give you my license number. I sure hope you can help.” (Insert sad-looking but hopeful face here.)

Of course, later, I thought of all the questions I should have asked.

Do you live here in Waco? I can call a friend for you.

Has your mother lived here a long time? Did you grow up in that house?

What’s your mother’s house number?

How many miles is it from here to Waxahachie?

Can you spell Waxahachie?

 

I’m am also aware that it is exactly the sort of thing that I might do.

So I gave him $25.00.

“I’ll bring you the money, when I get back into town,” he said, oh so earnestly.

I waited a few seconds. then I said, “You know, why don’t you just pay it forward.”

“Oh, no!” he said. “I’ll bring it back. I’ll put it in an envelope and put it in your mailbox.’

“No,” I said again. “You just go ahead and pay if forward.”

So I’ll never know, will I, if he’s an honest man or not. I’m willing to choose to think the best.

 

Give to the one who asks you, and don’t turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

Matthew 5:42

 

I will admit to checking the curb the next morning, to see if there was some sort of graffiti that might signify “gullible lady lives here.” The curb was clean.

Sometimes, Adults Have Scabby Knees, Too

If you looked closely at my knees, you could see the scars of a childhood of running (and falling), leaping from swings, and careening across sidewalks on roller skates. And falling. Once (as a kid) while bathing, I noticed a strange round mark on my big toe. I rinsed away any soap and rubbed my fingers across the mark. Oh yeah, I remembered. I had stumbled and scraped the top of my toe, which developed a big scab, which had recently, finally, fallen off.

Many years later, as an adult, I was sick and stayed home from church one evening. David had moved our small television into the bedroom, so I could be entertained while recuperating. A comedian was on, and he was talking about childhood, and how he and his friends all had scabby knees all the time, but, thankfully, as adults, they were pretty much past that. I looked down at my knees, which were scabby. I’d had several tumbles and we finally realized it happened because the rubbery portion on the heels of my (inexpensive) sandals had worn away and the  newly revealed rear edges of those heels were indeed slick. I got rid of those sandals. And my knees healed up.

Which doesn’t mean that the rest of my life has been stumble free. But, for the most part, my knees have been scab-free.

Meanwhile, the weather has warmed up and I worked in the yard. Last Christmas, the family gave me a little plastic greenhouse. They had to put it together themselves, and it was a great space to protect my more tender plants throughout the winter.

Not everything made it through the winter. Bougainvilleas are just too tender. But everything else lived! I’ve been working the last few weeks, replacing things, buying new things, getting everything in place. And getting ready to take down the little greenhouse. I don’t start lots of seed early. Maybe next year I’ll try that, but for now, I’m just happy to have my old friends back out onto the patio.

I got the instruction sheet that Kevin gave me in December, when the greenhouse was up. And I’m thinking that I’ll just start at the bottom and take things apart in the reverse order in which they went up.

I pried up the stakes that held the bottom edges to the ground. I opened up both screen doorways and removed the supports at both ends. I went to work on the edge supports and the roof supports. Now, I really do know what’s going to happen when all the supports are out. But there are some around the front and back edges that don’t appear to be removable (the printed instructions don’t seem to mention those). So I’m just trying to wrangle (and wrangle does seem like the most appropriate word) the structure down to the ground.

And I do finally get it down, sort of. I accomplish that by falling out one of the doors onto the concrete patio, along with the structure itself. Remember that scene in the movie Jurassic Park where the scientist and the boy have been up in a tree and their smashed-up car careens down on them and they slide down to the tree roots, and the kid says: “Well… we’re back… in the car again.” That’s a little how I felt. “Well, I’m back in the greenhouse again.” I’m sorry there wasn’t anyone there to take a picture of the up-ended greenhouse with my sprawled-out appendages around the edges.

 

Which brings me to:

Yes, scabby knees. Well, a scabby knee. And, just above that tiny scratch on my shin, is a pale bruise and a very tender lump.

There is also a little sore spot on the inside of my elbow.

I don’t know. Do scabby knees keep you feeling young? Or do they make your family members think about going ahead and sending you to a retirement residence where nothing dangerous can possibly happen. I doubt it. I find that I can push the “nothing dangerous can possibly happen” envelope wherever I am.

Meanwhile,

You are the one
who put me together
    inside my mother’s body,
and I praise you
    because of
the wonderful way
    you created me.
Everything you do is marvelous!
    Of this I have no doubt.

Psalm 139:13-14 (Contemporary English Version)

Putting our bodies back together may be one of God’s most amazing miraculous deeds.

Easter

The more things change …

Several months ago, April took the job of Preschool Director at their church in Fort Worth, which means that traveling to Waco on weekends is pretty much off the table. After Peter spent his spring break with us, and I returned him to Fort Worth at the end of the week, I said to David, “If we want to do any Eastery things with Peter, then he’s going to have to come back here. Next weekend.”

I talked with Kevin, who at first said, “No, we really have some things going on this weekend,” but with some additional consideration (April had a paper due on Easter Sunday, in addition to other school-related work and church preparation), they said, “Yes, it will be a great idea for Peter to come to Waco again.”

After taking him to Fort Worth the previous Friday afternoon, I went back on Thursday and picked him up after school and we arrived in Waco in time to drive through Chick-fil-A and get David a nugget meal and Peter some Waffle Fries for their dinner in the snack room at the Mayborn Museum before their traditional late-night Thursday visit.

I’m sorry not to have a photo of Peter as everyone is cleaning up the cookout area and folding up the long tables to return to the church building. He joined the men who were carrying the folded-up tables to pickup trucks. As the tables went by, held up by an adult on each end, there’s a little pair of feet, walking along in the center of the table, helping out.

David drove him back to Fort Worth Sunday afternoon. I went home and had a nap.

A couple of days ago, I went to Target and was hoping to get some post-Easter deals, but no Easter stuff was on clearance. Oh, yeah. WE had Easter egg hunts and Easter basket treats last weekend. But not everybody else.

So now, I’m resetting myself. It’s Easter this Sunday. It feels a little like I’m celebrating twice. And, it’s time to listen to some music, don’t you think?

Royal Choral Society

Mormon Tabernacle Choir

Flash mob

Flash mob in German

 

 Alleluia! For the Lord God Omnipotent reigns! (New King James Version)

Hallelujah! For the Lord our God the Almighty reigns. (New Revised Standard Version)

Praise the Lord! Our Lord God All-Powerful now rules as king. (Contemporary English Version)

Revelation 19:6

The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever! (New King James Version)

The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah and he will reign forever and ever. (New Revised Standard Version)

Now the kingdom of this world belongs to our Lord and to his Chosen One! And he will rule forever and ever! (Contemporary English Version)

Revelation 11:15

KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS (New King James Version)

King of kings and Lord of lords (New Revised Standard Version)

KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS (Contemporary English Version)

Revelation 19:16

 

 

Now, there’s really nothing else to say, is there.

 

Holidays and Traditions

Many families have all sorts of traditions that aren’t at all related to holidays. “First tooth comes out” traditions, “You’ve got your Drivers’ License” traditions, “You got a great report card” traditions. We’re always looking for a reason to celebrate, aren’t we.

And some of our most entrenched and precious traditions are built around the faith-based seasons and days in our family. For us, Christmas is loaded with them, and Easter isn’t too far behind. Dying eggs, hiding eggs, and finding eggs. New clothes, new shoes. In girl families, there might be new purses to go with the new shoes, new jewelry to compliment the new clothes, new lipstick, new eye shadow, and, well, that’s what it was like in my family when I was growing up. However, I grew up and had a boy family, which might mean a new shirt.

But I grew up with the traditional complete new outfit for Easter. We got up on Easter morning, looked for the eggs hidden in the living room, ate some chocolate, pretended to eat some reasonable breakfast, put on our new clothes, and went off to church.

And, in the next generation:

So, there should be some cookies baked, some eggs decorated, hidden, and found, there will be Worship in the Park on Sunday, and, possibly, at some point, a chocolate bunny will be involved.

 

This day belongs to the Lord!
    Let’s celebrate
    and be glad today

Psalm 118:24 (Contemporary English Version)

 

 

I’m glad to celebrate and be glad. Today, tomorrow, and all the other days.

 

 

In the Neighborhood

I’m never quite ready for spring. I haven’t gotten enough time to wear my winter clothes. I rather like the darkening later afternoon (before TIME CHANGE rears its very ugly head). It just means that summer is right around the corner, and I’m not quite ready to turn on the Air Conditioner.

I imagine many people who live in Michigan feel the same way about fall. They’re just not finished with summer. They’re not quite ready to get out their parkas. They’re not looking forward to shoveling snow. And shoveling snow. And shoveling snow.

But, spring is bearing down on me. And, truly, it’s a little difficult to be unhappy when things are looking so interesting and lovely.

Around town:

In my own neighborhood:

I, the Lord, am the one
    who sends storm clouds
and showers of rain
    to make fields produce.
So when the crops need rain,
    you should pray to me.

Zechariah 10:1 (Contemporary English Version)

So, in my neighborhood, it’s spring. There’s lots to be grateful for. Very few plants died over the winter, even through the 12° and 13° nights. I’ve already done quite a bit of plant shopping. And I’m discussing my water needs with the Almighty.

As I was driving around the neighborhood, and beyond, looking for  pre-spring photos, I took this one, too. It’s in a backyard near our house. Because we live in my childhood home, I happen to know exactly what it is and when it went in. Lots of folks may not immediately put the October 1962 date in this context, but the thing is a bomb shelter, installed in November or December 1962, when we knew we weren’t going to all be blown to nuclear smithereens, at least not right then. I was 12 at the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and I can assure you that I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO SCARED IN MY WHOLE LIFE. It was like that panic of a near miss of a traffic accident, or when you can’t find your kid in a crowd for a few minutes. But it lasted for DAYS. A few years ago, I watched a PBS special about it, probably in 2012. I almost had to turn the television off, I felt the panic so strongly that I wept, even though I did know how things turned out.

If you’re too young to remember, or just need a refresher, you can read a short version or a longer version  or a much more detailed version.

Of course, as kids, we weren’t so traumatized by the whole thing that we couldn’t find the humor in the bomb shelter. We called it “Big John,” after a popular song at the time. And even now, every time I drive by it, I still hum “Big John.”

I’m pretty sure that the family that had it installed no longer lives there. Maybe several people have lived there since then. I would love to know what they’re doing with it these days. Maybe they refreshen the supplies every now and then. And, seriously, tornado season is approaching and they may feel smugly safe, knowing Big John is on the job.

All’s Well that Ends, Finally, Well

Back in January, I talked about the microwave oven that needed to be replaced. Here’s how all that played out:

I did research with Consumer Reports to be able to make a good choice, and took that list to a store. They carried the brand that we’d chosen, but didn’t have white, which I wanted, because all the other appliances are white. (And I’m not at all in the market for replacing all the appliances in stainless steel or black, which are the current popular colors. Personally, I think white may always be available. Maybe not, but certainly for the rest of my life.)

So we ordered the style and brand we wanted; in white. “It will be delivered on February 3,” said the salesman. “Three weeks?” “Well, it has to come from the factory,” or something like that.

We returned home, and David went back to using the screwdriver to pry open the old microwave. And I went back to not using the microwave. By February 3rd, I had not heard from the store, and so I went over there, that Saturday morning, and went to the Appliance Department, with my sheaf of papers detailing our purchase.

“I haven’t heard anything about this microwave oven being delivered,” I said. “Hmmm,” said the Appliance Department guy, and punched numbers into his computer.

“Yes,” he said. “Your microwave will be delivered and installed today, between 10:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m.” It was 9:30 a.m.

“So, I should hurry on back home,” I said. He agreed. Back at home, I quickly removed all the canned goods and turntables from the cabinet above the microwave and put them in a couple of bins.

The delivery/installer guys came at 11:00. They carried in the big box and checked the number on the box with the number on my paper. All’s well. They opened up the box, took out the protective styrofoam, and began to pull the oven from the box.

 

“Stop,” I said. “Stop now and put it back in the box. I asked for white.” The microwave oven was black.

The young man in charge was dismayed. “I checked the number,” he said. “I checked it twice.” He checked it again. The number on my paper and the number on the box matched.

“Your salesman wrote down the wrong number,” he said. “That’s the wrong number on your order form.” He showed me the phone number of the store and said to call them and tell them what happened. Wrong number.

They packed up the oven and left.

I called the store. “It’s the right number,” the Appliance Department guy said. “The letters ‘WW’ after the number mean white. The kid just picked up the wrong box.”

I was skeptical, but the guy said that they would figure out the problem.

And they did. Turns out, the young man did not make a mistake. The manufacturer put the wrong oven in the box. The box said, “WW” (for white), but the oven in the box was “BB.” Black.

Someone from the company called me a couple of days later, explained what happened, and said they would indeed be sending me a nice, white microwave oven. They didn’t exactly say, but I rather assumed that, if it took 3 weeks for the wrong microwave to arrive, it would probably take 3 MORE weeks for the right microwave to arrive.

I was right. On February 21 (a few days’ shy of that three week date), I called the store. I explained that I was checking on a microwave oven’s arrival/delivery/installation date. I gave her the order number and explained what the problem had been. She said she would check, and a few moments later she said, “Yes, I see that the order went out yesterday-February 20.”

And I said, in a voice that could in no way be described as calm, “ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT THE PROBLEM OCCURRED ON FEBRUARY 3 AND THE ORDER HAS JUST GONE OUT YESTERDAY?”

“Let me check and be sure that I’m understanding what I’m seeing,” she said. Pretty quickly, she was back on the line and said, “Your microwave is scheduled to be delivered on Saturday, the 24th. We can’t give you a time yet, because we don’t exactly know how many appliances are being delivered and installed.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I stayed home on Saturday. All day. I never left the house. I didn’t even go outside. I stayed at home. In the house. All day. (You see where this is going, don’t you.) No new microwave oven came. No old microwave oven got carried away.

Sunday afternoon, I left on a planned trip to Dallas to visit a cousin. I came back Monday afternoon. I had some things to do Tuesday. And I checked the incoming phone numbers on the land line phone, and called numbers I didn’t recognize (podiatrist, retina doctor). No phone calls came in from the store. I checked the incoming calls on my cell phone. I had heard all of them come in and answered all of them. Nothing from the store.

Wednesday, I took my papers to the store. I went back to the Appliance Department and re-introduced myself to the guy there. “Yes, I remember,” he said. “Wrong color.”

“Yes,” I said. And I laid out the rest of the story.

“Hmmm,” he said, checking his computer. “Yes, I see right here,” he pointed to his computer. “We show that your oven was scheduled to be delivered on Saturday. But . . . there’s no record that a delivery was made.”
“No delivery was made,” I said. “And, as per your store’s information, I stayed home. All day. No one came.”

I went on. “And now I want to cancel this order and get my money refunded.”

“Can I get you something else,” he said.

“No.”

“Then I’ll take you to the front and we’ll get this taken care of.”

As we walked to the front, he apologized and I said that I was weary of waiting and that I had been almost seven weeks without a microwave. And he said, “Seven weeks without a microwave?!?!?!?”

And when I glared at him, he had the grace to look chagrined.

I did remind him that I knew the original problem had been the manufacturer’s. “But this last problem, that’s in the hands of your company.”

At the desk, while an employee was doing the work of creating the refund, the appliance guy said, “I’m going to send an e-mail to my supervisor.”

“Good idea,” I said.

I took my refund information, walked out to my car, drove to a different store, went in and walked to the Appliance Department. Someone showed up quickly and I said I was looking for a microwave oven, and I showed her the information from my previous search in Consumer Reports. (Not, of course, from the company we first ordered from. Not those guys. I was looking for one of the others we had identified.) The store had it. It was sitting in a box on a shelf. (We did check the indication of color, but I do understand now that we should always check the actual appliance.)

That employee needed to go and get someone else for writing up the purchase and getting the delivery and installation set up.

That was on a Wednesday. That Friday, I got a phone call from the people who do the installations. They said the microwave would be delivered the next Wednesday, between the hours of 11:00 and 12:00.

On Wednesday, the guy arrived at 11:20. He removed the old oven, installed the new one, carried the old one away, and completely cleaned up after himself.

So apparently, it’s not that hard.

 

Sleep a little. Doze a little.
    Fold your hands
    and twiddle your thumbs.
Suddenly, everything is gone,
    as though it had been taken
    by an armed robber.

Proverbs 6:10-11 (Contemporary English Version)

 

I know most folks work hard and try not to make mistakes. I think most employees want to do well for their employers and their customers. I’ve never worked in retail, but I’ve seen salespeople treated poorly, and I try to be kind. But I also think it’s a little unfair to a business not to let them know when customer service is poor. And I want to do business with stores that act as though they value my shopping with them.