Be sure to visit her other sites.
Day-By-Day.org (Profile)
HourtoHour.org (Honest Sobriety)
PocketSponsor.com (24/7 Recovery Support)
YoungSoberFree.com (Young Adults in Recovery)
SoberCoachingYourTeen.com (Parental Advocacy)
WalkSoftlyandCarryaBigBook.com (Sloganeering)
HourtoHour.org (Honest Sobriety)
PocketSponsor.com (24/7 Recovery Support)
YoungSoberFree.com (Young Adults in Recovery)
SoberCoachingYourTeen.com (Parental Advocacy)
WalkSoftlyandCarryaBigBook.com (Sloganeering)
I checked out a
book on CD from the library so our four hour trip to Fairbanks would
speed along for Dad, whose bones and muscles complain loudly after 20
minutes crunched in a car. I collected Pop at eight in the morning so
we'd be there by one. He compacted his six foot four frame into the
front seat and looked suspiciously at all the flashing lights on the
dashboard of my new Traverse.
Here's your coffee, I tapped his cup nestled in the tray between us
"Hey, fancy" he said, a built in table!" We headed out of town and he added, "I thought we had only one station in Tok—what channel is this? I would like to listen to it—"
"Dad, this is built-in XM, your 1975 Chevy isn't going to have it—"
"I get FM" he answered defensively, "but I thought we only had one station in Tok." I reached over and punched a button—then another and another—demonstrating the variety. "I have several hundred stations Pop, it's XM"
"X-men?" he asked.
Oh boy—I guess he hasn't been introduced to XM yet. My brother had only recently introduced him to Dish network with their 200 plus channels. Fortunately, cable in the lower 48 had prepared Pops for that. Not unlike the other sourdoughs in town though, he resisted "new-fangled gadgets" such as cell phones. In the end, when Chris slapped it in his hand and I speed-dialed his most useful numbers—he decided he liked talking to his bud, Mike Maxy in the North Pole with only the push of a button. And to his credit, Pops only attempted to change channels on the Dish network with his cell once or twice before he got the hang of it.
I popped in the library's CD and our book began. "Wow," Pop remarked, "you have a built in table and built in boom box! Where's the TV?" he joked.
"Yeah," I said. "It's pretty cool." I didn't bother to explain that actually I could watch TV from my laptop, if I set it up. Dad had just transferred his skills from a typewriter to my old Windows 98 computer. He considered it a worthy accomplishment if he could retrieve his last article, click the print button and take it to the Mukluk. I once told him that it would be easier for the editor if he sent his column by email but he informed me, "I deliver my column in person because Beth looks forward to my hugs." This is code for 'I couldn't figure out how to deliver my column by email if the Mukluk were the New York Times!'
Four hours later as we approached Fairbanks, Dad panicked—"I don't know how to get there—"
"Not to worry," I reached up to the rear view mirror and hit the OnStar button.
"Hello Ms Marshall, can I help you with some directions today?" Dad jumped and glowered at the mirror. "Who's that?" he asked.
"It's OnStar, Pop." I asked for the VA clinic directions. A voice informed us they were sending directions to the vehicle.
"On Star Trek...danged gadgets" he mumbled. Dad's misgivings now included the rear view mirror as well as the dashboard. He listened in awe as the vehicle guided us on base.
"Are you going to come in or wait here?" I asked exiting to get our pass. "I..I.., well I'll wait here," he stammered. I think he was afraid to leave the Traverse for fear it would up and drive away on its own.
At his appointment, the doctor asked Dad why he didn't bring his x-rays from Providence. Dad explained that no one had given him any x-rays. When the Doc explained it would have been on a CD--Dad looked at him blankly, "CD?"
"Like the book Pop—on a disk."
"I know what a CD is," he snapped. "Just didn't know x-rays were on it." He was getting really irritated with the onslaught of talking cars, X-men radio, and x-rays on disk.
On the way home, we stopped at Wal-Mart. I put him on one of these motorized carts because of his hip pain, which he had seen before, thank God! Pop whizzed around the isles chasing kids and honking at pretty ladies—getting back to his old self, until I steered him toward check out. He applied the breaks and a high squeaky skid ensued. "What's this?
"Checkout," I answered as I scanned our turkey.
"Where's the checker?" his eyes darted around suspecting security might apprehend us.
"Honestly Pop, you have got to get to town more often. Welcome to the 21st century."
"Honey, the only time I come to town is in an airlift from the Tok clinic or with your brother in his 1985 Ford—I only see the inside of hospitals, junk yards that Chris does business with and Taco Bell!" he shook his head.
We listened to the rest of the CD going home. Dad didn't say much. At home, he maneuvered his way out of the front seat and leaned toward the OnStar button, "I like your car," he shouted so they would be sure to hear him.
I watched him walk carefully toward the door, favoring his aching hip calling to me over his shoulder, "and I think I'll look into getting that X-men channel you have. And Hon, could you take me to the Mukluk tomorrow? I have to deliver my column and give Beth a hug."
Here's your coffee, I tapped his cup nestled in the tray between us
"Hey, fancy" he said, a built in table!" We headed out of town and he added, "I thought we had only one station in Tok—what channel is this? I would like to listen to it—"
"Dad, this is built-in XM, your 1975 Chevy isn't going to have it—"
"I get FM" he answered defensively, "but I thought we only had one station in Tok." I reached over and punched a button—then another and another—demonstrating the variety. "I have several hundred stations Pop, it's XM"
"X-men?" he asked.
Oh boy—I guess he hasn't been introduced to XM yet. My brother had only recently introduced him to Dish network with their 200 plus channels. Fortunately, cable in the lower 48 had prepared Pops for that. Not unlike the other sourdoughs in town though, he resisted "new-fangled gadgets" such as cell phones. In the end, when Chris slapped it in his hand and I speed-dialed his most useful numbers—he decided he liked talking to his bud, Mike Maxy in the North Pole with only the push of a button. And to his credit, Pops only attempted to change channels on the Dish network with his cell once or twice before he got the hang of it.
I popped in the library's CD and our book began. "Wow," Pop remarked, "you have a built in table and built in boom box! Where's the TV?" he joked.
"Yeah," I said. "It's pretty cool." I didn't bother to explain that actually I could watch TV from my laptop, if I set it up. Dad had just transferred his skills from a typewriter to my old Windows 98 computer. He considered it a worthy accomplishment if he could retrieve his last article, click the print button and take it to the Mukluk. I once told him that it would be easier for the editor if he sent his column by email but he informed me, "I deliver my column in person because Beth looks forward to my hugs." This is code for 'I couldn't figure out how to deliver my column by email if the Mukluk were the New York Times!'
Four hours later as we approached Fairbanks, Dad panicked—"I don't know how to get there—"
"Not to worry," I reached up to the rear view mirror and hit the OnStar button.
"Hello Ms Marshall, can I help you with some directions today?" Dad jumped and glowered at the mirror. "Who's that?" he asked.
"It's OnStar, Pop." I asked for the VA clinic directions. A voice informed us they were sending directions to the vehicle.
"On Star Trek...danged gadgets" he mumbled. Dad's misgivings now included the rear view mirror as well as the dashboard. He listened in awe as the vehicle guided us on base.
"Are you going to come in or wait here?" I asked exiting to get our pass. "I..I.., well I'll wait here," he stammered. I think he was afraid to leave the Traverse for fear it would up and drive away on its own.
At his appointment, the doctor asked Dad why he didn't bring his x-rays from Providence. Dad explained that no one had given him any x-rays. When the Doc explained it would have been on a CD--Dad looked at him blankly, "CD?"
"Like the book Pop—on a disk."
"I know what a CD is," he snapped. "Just didn't know x-rays were on it." He was getting really irritated with the onslaught of talking cars, X-men radio, and x-rays on disk.
On the way home, we stopped at Wal-Mart. I put him on one of these motorized carts because of his hip pain, which he had seen before, thank God! Pop whizzed around the isles chasing kids and honking at pretty ladies—getting back to his old self, until I steered him toward check out. He applied the breaks and a high squeaky skid ensued. "What's this?
"Checkout," I answered as I scanned our turkey.
"Where's the checker?" his eyes darted around suspecting security might apprehend us.
"Honestly Pop, you have got to get to town more often. Welcome to the 21st century."
"Honey, the only time I come to town is in an airlift from the Tok clinic or with your brother in his 1985 Ford—I only see the inside of hospitals, junk yards that Chris does business with and Taco Bell!" he shook his head.
We listened to the rest of the CD going home. Dad didn't say much. At home, he maneuvered his way out of the front seat and leaned toward the OnStar button, "I like your car," he shouted so they would be sure to hear him.
I watched him walk carefully toward the door, favoring his aching hip calling to me over his shoulder, "and I think I'll look into getting that X-men channel you have. And Hon, could you take me to the Mukluk tomorrow? I have to deliver my column and give Beth a hug."
Dad's Tall Tales
