Comcast Outrage

You read that right. Comcast outrage. And outage too. It's been 13 days since we lost our cable service. And I am NOT happy about it.

We were away for a few days earlier in the month. When we got home, nothing. Snow, static. No signal. Luckily we have an external antenna (remember those?) so we could hook up one set for local stations.

I called Comcast on Tuesday, August 13. A recorded voice said there was an outage in our area (well, like, du-uh) and that service would be restored at 11:22 am on Thursday, August 15. No fooling. A precise time. 11:22 came and went. I called again and every day since.

On Friday, Aug. 16, a customer service rep called me. He said there was an outage in my area. Again, like, du-uh. When I asked what the problem was, he said there was a break in the fiber-optic cable. When will it be fixed? We don't know. Why not? This is his answer: "Aren't most people in your area summer people?"

That's what's caused my outrage. Yes, many are summer people, but Comcast doesn't offer a "summer" rate. It offers a full-priced subscription for an entire year. Comcast hasn't had any difficulty cashing my checks. This "customer service" rep implied that we didn't count, but he did say we'd get a credit for lost service. I don't want a credit. I want the service, crappy as it is, that I'm paying for.  He told me to keep checking the www.comcast.com website to keep on top of the problem. Guess what: there's an outage in my area. What am I, stupid or something?

Right now, I'm looking for any alternative, including staying with my antenna and buying more for my other sets. With service like this, I wonder how Comcast stays in business.

Nature on the Rampage

In recent weeks, nature has been on the rampage. Floods. Fires. Tornadoes. Tropical storms. All over the world. I don't know if this is global warming or not. Probably is, but too many don't or won't believe that humans have a role in putting too much pollution into ecosystems. We have a role in seeking a solution, one person at a time.

We are all at fault. We drive our cars when we could take public transportation or walk. We produce too much trash per capita and lament when it has to be trucked or barged out of state when local landfills are overflowing. We create electricity using fossil fuels instead of renewable fuel sources.

The fire season in the U.S. started early this year. Tens of thousands of acres burned, too many houses destroyed, firefighters and civilians dead. It happens every year. When I lived in Southern California, fires were part of life. My canyon didn't burn while I was there, but friends in Malibu Canyon lost property twice. I have dreadful memories of racing down toward the Pacific Ocean on horseback, bareback, leading six terrified horses behind me, just as the fire crested the ridge. We got out safely and met up with other riders and evacuated horses on the sands. We should expect fires out there because nature designed the hills of Southern California to burn. Overpopulation in danger areas, drought, high temperatures, Santa Ana winds--not easy to find a solution, but it will take all of us.

Floods have devastated parts of the central U.S. when the Mississippi flooded. The Army Corps of Engineers manages the river through a series of levies and dikes. Control measures worked to minimize flooding this year. Not so in Canada and India. Calgary is under brown flood waters. Property is destroyed, but few people drowned. Not so in India where a storm slammed against the Himalayas and dumped and dumped and dumped water on hillsides. Flooding today has taken over 1000 lives. We all grieve for those lost and their families who remain. We may not be able to do much about floods. Maybe we can control them better, but who thinks to build levies where you've never had disastrous flooding before, as seems the case in Calgary.

Air pollution, ah, there's something we can do something about. We can drive less. Yes, even you can cluster your trips. You can buy more gas-efficient cars. If you live in a city, try walking or using public transportation. We can encourage our government to invest in alternative energy. Every household that gets its electricity from alternative sources is one more not burning fossil fuels. We can turn off lights. I mean, the coffee pot doesn't give a hoot about what's on television. It isn't watching. Turn off the TV. Unplug your power strips when you go on vacation. You can't imagine how much electricity all your power chargers drain every day.

Recycle. Try to put at least 40% of your trash in recycle bins. If your community doesn't recycle, lobby for it to change its practice. Since we don't systematically process methane from land fills, we mess up the environment twofold. We could reuse methane for fuel across the country. We could recycle. We can compost garbage.

We are to blame. So we need to suck it up and fix the problem, one person at a time. I challenge you to pick one way to help nature and get started.

Remembering Those Who Serve

My war was Vietnam. It became a formative backdrop when I was growing up. It launched me into a lifetime of service and protests.

Even though Memorial Day 2013 is behind us, I still remember those who went to war, fell in action or came home wounded in visible and invisible ways. My high school graduating class was hit hard. 1964. The draft cranked up and took boys almost right out of classrooms. About 40% were drafted. I don't know how many didn't return. I don't want to know, I guess, because I've never looked at the honor rolls on Classmate.com.

My college graduating class was hit hard too. 1968. We still had the draft, although we also had protests rising everywhere. More were educated about options for not going to 'Nam. Some went to Canada. Some kept their student deferments. Some pretended to be gay. And others went because they didn't have options. Again, some returned; others didn't.

I protested. Marched. Stood silently in support of our wounded and dead servicemen. And I wept for my own loss. My best friend, a man I planned to marry, never made it back. He was ROTC in college. Med school on scholarships. Probably didn't have to go, but accepted his call to duty. His mother took his baby in. No, not mine. I went to grad school, waiting and praying for his return.

I was in grad school in Japan when I learned he was missing in action. For months, we had no further word. His mother sickened and could no longer care for his little girl. I wasn't his wife, so I couldn't take the child. We lost her to an adoption. I'm sure she grew up in a happy home. I just wish it had been ours. Nineteen months later, we were told he was dead. His mother collapsed and never recovered. She died within weeks of learning of her son's fate.

I pulled every string I had to get the truth of his death. After all, he was an orthopedic surgeon who didn't go out to the field. Until this one time. He went to a triage center to help stabilize the wounded before they were airlifted out. He caught the last chopper. It was went down with no survivors. The military knew what happened within hours of the incident.

Hours. We learned months later. I finally badgered an officer who told me the truth. His chopper was in Cambodia when we weren't officially in Cambodia. The firefight was there. The wounded were there. My friend died there.

When Memorial Day and Veteran's Day roll around, I think of my friend, his patients, his family, his child. I think of those who served and who still serve.

Thank you one and all for serving. Thank you one and all for preserving our way of life. Thank you all for being my heroes.

Stuff

Yes, stuff. Have you ever realized how much we define ourselves by our stuff? We all have too much of it. And it's like getting rid of a dear friend to cull it from our lives. For some, stuff is a physical manifestation of the stuff in our heads. Cluttered minds and cluttered living spaces make it difficult to live a calm life.

I got to looking at the stuff I've collected over the years. Even though I purged huge truck loads when Terry and I moved to the lake, we still have too much. And this is after implementing a one-in-two-out rule.

Let's take a look the story my closets tell. If I buy a new shirt, two leave the closet. That's all well and good to keep hanger proliferation under control. My house has seven closets for two people. Six are in guest bedrooms, but each of those closets has outside hooks for guest clothes. That mean, each "guest" closet is full of stuff we don't wear.

How do I know we don't wear it? Easy. At the beginning of each year, I turn all hangers around so the hooks point outwards. If we don't worn an item in the next twelve months, I have a visual aid. But that hasn't always led to filling trash bags for the dump or boxes for Goodwill.

I culled a guest closet a couple of weeks ago. What was in it, you ask? Clothes, every expensive clothes, that no longer fit either of us. Yes, Terry and I have put on a few pounds since we worked in the corporate world. Our life style no longer requires us to wear suits and ties, dresses and blazers, all the time. Since some of these (honestly, a lot of these) items no longer fit, I took the largess to Goodwill. Terry's suits and dress slacks were generally two sizes too small. Mine were worse. I hate to admit it, but I had pants and skirts that were three sizes smaller than I am today.

I had to face a fact: I will never be small enough to wear my skin-tight, size eight black leather pants again. With a huge gulp and a tiny whimper, they went in the box. As did silk trousers. As did wool slacks that I can't wear at the lake, because they are too heavy. Out went various jackets I no longer need. Maybe someone else can use them.

I felt healthier for accepting that I'm no longer a size eight. I also felt emotionally lighter for getting rid of almost an entire closet of business clothes.

I looked around at the rest of the house. I need to de-stuff more of it, but that will come later. And will result in a different post. For now, I am at peace with a leaner closet. More closets remain, but they'll be easier now that the first one has survived a purge.

Does your stuff tell a story about your family's history? Did you consciously collect your stuff? Or did it seem to appear in bits and pieces over the years?

So tell me. What do you need to get rid of in your life?