Can You Hear Me Now?
Sometimes I embrace technology; sometimes I want to throw my cell phone/iPad/laptop computer right out the window. Nevertheless, overall, I know technology has improved our lives. Still, my heart sinks when my cell phone rings, and, upon answering it, I get that dreaded quiet lull indicating a computer-generated voice will pipe up. The other day when my telephone rang, my phone showed it was a call from my primary care doctor’s office. That’s never good. But that dreaded lull came on just before a cheerful computer-generated voice said, “Hello. We are trying to reach Kristine McLain. Have we reached the right number?” “Yes,” I said firmly and clearly. “Is this Kristine McLain?” said the nonhuman voice. “Yes,” I yelled again. After several more attempts, I finally convinced the computer I was who they wanted. “Our records indicate you have not had your annual mammogram,” said the voice. “Is this true?” “No,” I yelled into the phone. “If this is not true,” said the voice, “please indicate verbally when you last had your mammogram by telling us the month and year.” So I said, “December 2016.” “You said December 2015. Is this correct?” “No,” I yelled into the phone. “If this is not correct, please tell us the month and year of your last mammogram,” said the voice. “December 2016,” I repeated, loudly enough that Bill looked in from outside where he was doing yard work to see with whom I was arguing. “You said December 2015. Is this correct?” And so on, until after three identical attempts, at which time the voice said, “It appears we are having trouble communicating. We will call you at a later time,” and disconnected. I considered calling my doctor back to talk to a human, but know full well that the place at which I had my recent mammogram had sent her my results. Unfortunately, no one told the computer. This odd encounter once again reminded me that I will not drive or ride in a driverless car until technology has succeeded in inventing a workable automated phone system.
All Hat and No Cows
Yesterday afternoon, Bill and I went to Jimmy John’s for lunch (his favorite). We decided we weren’t in the mood to go back to our house, so we decided to visit a place we’ve driven by many, many times, and each time we have said we should stop just for the fun of it, but never have. You will be surprised when I tell you it was a business called Tractor Supply Co. “I went to one of these kinds of stores once a long time ago, and got a bucket,” Bill said. And apparently he was in the market for a bucket once again. It was about what you would expect. Lots of tools, lots of animal feed, the makings for chicken coops, a small display of ranch clothes, and a large selection of buckets. Bill happily chose one, after taking a bit of time to decide between the black bucket and the red bucket. Hey, I’m not going to complain. I do the same thing at a kitchen supply store. For the record, he picked black. And he told me that his rancher friends would say that we were all hat and no cows. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing, though admittedly he made me laugh.
Last year very shortly after we arrived, Maggie’s husband Mark came to our house packing his knife sharpener. He commenced that day to sharpen all of our knives, much to my delight. So I began nagging him almost upon our arrival this year to once again sharpen our knives. His heart was willing from the get-go, but circumstances never allowed it to happen. Happily, day before yesterday, he and Austin appeared at our door with the knife sharpener. Maybe 10 minutes and a lot of whirring noises later, my knives were sharp and ready to go. He’s very kind to do this for his mother-in-law and his wife’s old auntie. Of course, it might have helped some that I threatened to stab him in the heart with my dull knife if he didn’t help me out soon.
Speaking of Love
While looking for something else altogether, I stumbled upon this old photo of the McLains when they were considerably younger. My heart just melted when I looked at it, and it melts every time I look at it again. I think I mostly love how Alastair has his head on Addie’s shoulder. Today? Wouldn’t happen….
Elementary, Dear Watson
I got hooked a few years ago on the PBS mystery series Sherlock (not to be confused with CBS’s Elementary). I’m pretty sure that a lot of the reason I was so taken was because I’m quite frankly very smitten with Benedict Cumberbatch’s portrayal of the famous detective. Smitten. Who uses that word anymore? Anyway, I don’t particularly think the actor is terribly good looking in any other role in which I’ve seen him; however, as the great detective, he is simply dreamy. Dreamy. Who uses that word anymore? With the exception of one show that aired last January, PBS’s Sherlock has taken quite a break. So while I’m recording the program, I haven’t watched any of the new episodes yet. Instead, I am watching the old ones on Netflix to get caught up and back into the swing of things. And I had forgotten just how BIZARRE the show is. Bill watches bits and pieces and looks at me like what the….? I might be getting too old for the program, but then there’s Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock. Dreamy.