Unplugged

I had the opportunity last week to be “unplugged.”  Leaving behind my laptop and cellphone made me a little uncomfortable at first, but then an amazing thing happened: freedom!  Whoever needed to contact me - had to wait a week.  Anyone I needed to contact - had to wait a week.  My world did not fall apart.  Amazing. 

It’s an interesting time we live in now with all the various electronics available to us for communication.  Sadly though, it seems we might be losing our ability to truly communicate.  A high school student I was talking with recently told me he has friends that are afraid to talk on the phone with someone they don’t know.  They won’t answer the phone if there is an unknown number and worst of all, if they need to call someone they’ve not previously spoken with - they would rather send a text message. They feel it’s safer and more comfortable to text as they are worried about how they will come across in real life. It reminded me of the little guy hiding behind the big face in Wizard of Oz.

As the conversation with this high schooler turned toward other electronic media, we discussed the merits and drawbacks of watching TV via cable, versus watching shows on Netflix via the internet.  While I find it enjoyable to watch Netflix and not have to sit through commercials, he told me the downside to Netflix is “binge watching,” where kids start a series and don’t stop until it’s over, even if they are up all night.  He said those with cable TV have to wait a week to catch the next episode, but those with access to Netflix watch the entire season in one sitting.  He felt it was feeding too much into the “I want it now” mentality of today’s youth and the long-term affects of that just can’t be good.

What I found funny about last week’s experience was how accustomed we have become to using cell phones.  At the end of a week volunteering with a great group of people in Mexico, a bunch of us were staying Saturday night in the same hotel in San Diego.  I was away from the hotel and needed to get ahold of everyone. My cell phone battery was dead, which meant I had no access to anyone’s phone number, as they were all stored in my phone.  I panicked.  After a few minutes of running through possible scenarios on how to contact just one person in our group, it finally dawned on me I could call the hotel and have them ring their individual rooms.  I had to borrow a phone to do it, but the most traditional solution was the last thing I thought of.  I embarrassed myself that it took me so long to remember hotels have telephones in each room.

As I sat on the plane coming home the next day, everyone around me had some form of electronic device to entertain themselves, including, sadly, myself.  So much for being unplugged.

Candy Crush

I have a Kindle Fire, one of those hand-held electronic tablets that I use mostly for watching shows while exercising.  I also took it on a trip recently and played the game “Candy Crush” for the first time.  I started swiping my finger across the screen in order to rearrange colorful little candies in either rows or columns of three.  The game is a big grid with candies arranged randomly across the board. Points are racked up based on how many get lined up in matching stacks or rows.  Once they’re aligned, they explode and disappear, and the ones above them move down to fill the empty space.  It’s a fantastic learning tool that shows just how many things around us are affected by one simple choice we make.  It’s a concept I’ve tried to engrain in my son’s head for many years now.

I’m not much for electronic games, but sitting on the airplane left me with few other options.  I intended to play it until we landed, but couldn’t.  I apparently didn’t meet the expected number of points set out by the designers of the game, so it timed me out.  I was blocked from further play until I took a 30-minute break.  Brilliant, I thought.  This is marketing at its best.  Restricting access to something always creates a greater desire for the thing, so this is how they make their money, on an otherwise free game. For a mere 99 cents, I could buy more lives and keep on playing, but I chose the time-out instead.  The longer my time-out, the more lives I had access to for the next round of the game.  Another teachable point for my son, I thought, about why taking time outs are good when we need to process bad moves we’ve made.

I was all set to use this game as a vehicle to reinforce these parenting principals I embrace, so I couldn’t wait to show Kaleb these life lessons in a format I knew he’d understand.  

As he watched me play the game, he started commenting on my choices.   I was focused on one area, trying to line up three candies, but Kaleb moaned that I’d missed a better move. If I lined up four of five of the same type, I’d get more points.  Each time I made a move, Kaleb gave a running commentary on the poor choices I’d made and all the good moves I’d missed.  I hated his feedback as it sucked the joy of the game right out of me.  He was looking at the overall screen and I was just focusing in on one area, all the while failing to realize there were indeed better choices.  It was then the light bulb came on.

This past school year, Kaleb wouldn’t show me any of his schoolwork he did for other teachers.  He told me it was because he didn’t like me commenting on them.  He wanted to do things his own way.   My comments were as irritating to him, as his were to me while playing Candy Crush. 

And I thought I was the one teaching him a lesson.

College

I was raised in a household where the girls were expected to get married and have babies, and the boys expected to go to college. Higher education was never on my radar.

Working minimum wage jobs flipping burgers in high school provided pocket money but never enough income to survive.  Since I’ve always been a fast typist, I worked for a while out of high school as a keypunch operator - a job that soon went extinct as computers evolved.

Secretarial work suited me fine, was a bit more glamorous and paid better. Then one day, my boss gave me a task to do and I quickly realized there was a better way to do it, so I respectfully explained to him my great idea. He looked at me in a very unpleasing manner and responded, “I don’t pay you to think.  I pay you to do what I tell you to do!” I was crushed.  I realized then that my career as a secretary might also be short lived.

A college education was never an option, not only because it cost money I didn’t have, but because I didn’t think I was smart enough to pull it off.  But then I heard about financial aid and thought I’d give it a try.  Jimmy Carter was in the White House and lots of money was available.  Because I’d been living independently for three years and working minimal paying jobs, I qualified for every kind of aid available.  I quickly signed up for a full load of classes at the local community college.

It was a bit nerve wracking to go back to school, but one of my first days there a professor actually asked me what I thought about something.  I was shocked.  The memory of my ex-boss telling me he didn’t want to hear what I thought was still fresh in my mind. I got hooked on the concept of “higher education” right away.

I poured myself into my studies and extra-curricular activities and completed my A.A. degree in 16 months. I then was extremely fortunate to be accepted at Pomona College in Claremont, California where more than enough scholarships and financial aid paid for everything I needed, including the gas to move there. I had no idea how hard school could be, but I was motivated and made it through in two years and graduated right on schedule.  I was the first ever in my immediate and extended family to get a college education.

After graduating debt free and making more money than I could have ever dreamed possible, I made a promise to myself to somehow pay back my free education.  As much indebtedness as I felt to Pomona for treating me so well financially, I did the math and realized that a full tuition scholarship at Clatsop Community College was equivalent, at that time, to paying for 11 days at Pomona.  I figured my money was better served at a smaller school, so it was there I set up my scholarship.

The WATEC scholarship - Waited Awhile To Enter College – was so named because that’s what I had done.  I realized when a person works for a few years out of high school, they see more clearly the value of higher education, and presumably, work harder at it.

I’ve awarded a full tuition scholarship now each year for more than 30 years, as I know all too well what a difference education can make in a person’s life - whether they choose to get married and have babies, or not.

Letting Go of Fear

It happened the summer I was 15 years old.  Summer camp on the Oregon Coast was always the highlight of my year, but that year changed everything.  We were just a bunch of kids out jumping waves, holding on to a rope with lifeguards on either end, just in case, and then we got caught in a rip tide.

Most of the kids had turned back just prior to the bottom of the ocean falling out from under my feet.  They were scared we’d gone out too far, but not me. I wanted to be as tough as the boys.  The two lifeguards, plus Blaine and Brian and I were the only ones left holding the rope when it was no longer a good idea to do so.  The tide twisted it around our bodies and made it so we couldn’t tread water.  I fought hard to get untangled. 

One of the lifeguards managed to swim back in order to call for help.  I didn’t know what was going on, I only knew the ocean was pulling me far from shore.

Blaine was being held afloat by the remaining lifeguard.  He’d passed out, presumably dead. Back on shore the ambulance was waiting.  CPR and some mouth to mouth revived him.  He was lucky. 

Brain clung to me with every fiber in his being.  He wasn’t a strong swimmer and the waves were relentless.  In an effort to keep his head above water, he kept submerging mine.  I held my breath as long as I could, but when I had to breathe, I did.  I felt the water rush into my lungs and I knew it wasn’t good.  In my mind, I cried out to God, “I don’t want to die!” and with all my remaining strength, I pushed Brian off me and swam as far from him as I could.  He drowned soon thereafter. The Coast Guard recovered his body.

I have no idea how I made it to shore.  I was in and out of consciousness, but miraculously kept flopping my arms over my head in a lame attempt to swim.  When I felt the sand beneath my feet, I vomited up all the salt water I’d swallowed.  The ambulance took me to the hospital in Tillamook, where I was treated for shock and exposure.  No one understood how I survived.

The guilt of Brian’s death wore heavy on me.  I knew it wasn’t really my fault, but I also knew we would both be dead if I hadn’t done something.  Since that day, I have a tremendous respect for the ocean and water in general.

Memories of that day flood back all too often, especially when I send my now 15-year-old son off to summer camp or Boy Scout outings, because I know all too well, he may not return.  I’ve had to let go of that fear in an effort to let Kaleb have a decent childhood, but I always pray for his safety.

This past weekend, I was more than a little thankful he survived yet another river rafting trip with his scout troop. 

Birds

A mama robin recently built a nest in a rhododendron bush about two feet outside our bedroom window.  We darkened the window all but a crack so we could watch her sitting there day and night on top of three baby blue eggs, and like expectant parents, couldn’t wait for the day they hatched.  We took daily videos of their growth and the mama’s comings and goings.  We watched them eat fresh worms, sprout feathers, preen, fight with each other, and finally, fly away.  It was a sad day for us all as that nest kept us entertained for a good month, anyway.

Fortunately, the hummingbirds are now back, in force, and their antics buzzing around the yard and chasing each other away from the feeder, brings a whole new level of entertainment to our lives.  As do the mother sparrows with their babies hopping behind them waiting for food.

The other day as I was watering the garden, a hummingbird came and landed on a rock about three feet away, so I turned the hose spray to a mist and it stuck out it’s wings, twisted it’s head and body here and there and looked like it was having a wonderful spring shower.  It went on for a few minutes and tickled me to no end to watch it preen itself and get all cleaned up.  Simple pleasures.

Some of the birdhouses around our yard have active chickadee nests so we watch the parents come and go and hear the little baby chirps inside.  Each day we listen to the mourning doves cooing and at night we sometimes hear the hoots of great horned owls.

The grosbeaks and goldfinches have also returned to our feeders.  There were six bright yellow male goldfinches all at one time on the feeder this weekend. It looked like a canary pet shop out our dining room window.  Varied thrushes also come in our yard two or three at a time and a wild turkey and three of its babies are hanging out along our driveway.  Kinglets often come in big flocks to flit about from bush to bush.

This all makes me wonder if I ever even noticed birds when I was in my twenties and thirties.  Where was my focus back then?  On my career? On adventures?  On figuring out life? Why has it just been lately that I take such delight in the plethora of birds in our surroundings?  I am at a stage where what I saw the birds doing that day becomes the main topic of our dinnertime conversation.   

Don’t tell me I’m old - tell me I’ve lived long enough to appreciate all the beauty in God’s creation. It’s laughable that I now qualify for senior citizen discounts at some places, but when I put two and two together and realize that in my younger days I didn’t give much thought to the birds, I know something must be up.  Perhaps it is my age.