The Journey

I Talk To Automated Voices

It just occurred to me that something I do may be fairly unique in the world at large.  It might not be, either, so if you want to weigh in on this, feel free—I’d be interested to hear what you have to say.

I talk to automated voices—you know, you’re standing at the ATM and it says, “Thank you” for whatever it says that for.  I look directly at the camera lens and say, “You’re welcome.”  When I’m checking out in the self-serve line, the machine always thanks me for shopping at Fred Meyer.  I always tell it, “You’re welcome.”  Oh, and when I call some company and they tell me how important I am to them and beg me to wait for the next available operator, I thank them, just as if it was someone telling me she was going to do something nice for me.

The other day when I did that I suddenly wondered why it is that I do it.  I didn’t come up with an answer to that question but I did realize something else.  I feel better when I do that.  When I walk away from that machine I feel almost as good as when I walk away from a person I’ve just had a positive exchange with.  I found that to be very interesting.  After all, isn’t it the person I’m talking to who causes me to feel better?  Isn’t their positive response to my words that causes me to feel more suffused with joy than before the conversation began?

Apparently not.  From my experience with automated voices, both standing in front of machines or listening to them on the phone, the experience of feeling better appears to be a direct result of my attitude rather than that of the person to whom I’m talking.  How wild is that? 

This all goes back to the concept that we create our own reality—that life is what we believe it to be.  This appears to be something I can point to and see as just one more bit of evidence that it is true.

Where else can I put this into action?  I already talk to my cat (by the way, she really does talk back some of the time).  Actually, there are lots of inanimate objects I can interact with.  Come to think of it, I always encourage my computer and printer to have good days and thank them for doing their jobs so efficiently.  When I see a particularly lovely flower I’ll say something like, “aren’t you beautiful.”

I confess: I also talk to myself.  This gets even more interesting.  I’m going to have to start paying attention to what I say to myself because if I can actually make myself feel better simply by talking nicely to myself, how cool would that be?  In the past I’ve been quite critical of myself and I have wanted to be a bit kinder.  Perhaps this is just the kick in the ass I needed for that to happen.

If you’re not already doing this, give it a try—see what happens.  After all, if it actually causes us to feel better, how awful could it be?

A Death in the Family

My husband died on Saturday.  Have I written about him?  I doubt it.  Ed and I haven't lived together since 1975 (unless you count a few weeks in 1986 when we were sharing an apartment but not a bed).  Anyway, even though we were separated and I knew we could never live together again, I still loved him and we were still in contact on a regular basis over the years. 

Ed was in prison most of the past 32 years.  He got out a couple of times but I don't think he managed to stay out for a whole year each time and then he was back in for another offense.  He was a sociopath and could explain away anything--infidelity, bank robbery, lying to me (well, lying to anyone), anything.  I never knew when the stories he told were true in the historical sense or only true in his mind but he told great stories.  He claimed to have been injured in Korea (we discovered he had only been in active military for 3 months and the Reserves for another 6).  He had one adventure after another to hear him tell it.  He grew up in the Italian-American neighborhood in Kansas City--another source of colorful stories, these involving the children of mafia bosses.

I don't know if it makes any sense or not to love someone like that--OK, I KNOW it makes no sense to love someone like that but I loved him.  He was the only man I ever truly loved and I know he loved me. 

Other than the two times I was so angry with his behavior that I didn't acknowledge him for over a year, we talked on the phone every Saturday or Sunday morning at 9:00 for years.  He called just as regular as clockwork.  When he didn't call I knew there was trouble in the prison.  They were on lock-down.  There might have been rumors of a riot or a couple of knife fights or even just receiving a couple of bus loads of new prisoners all at once (especially if they were gang members and rival gang members were at his prison).  We carried on our non-spousal relationship 15 minutes a week for years at a time.

It has been hard these last few days.  I sent an email to all my immediate family and only my father responded with anything resembling concern for how I was doing.  The rest have remained silent.  They all knew I was not going to get back together with Ed from nearly the very beginning of his incarceration, so almost 30 years ago.  I guess they assume I had no feelings for him after all these years.  I feel amazingly alone and sad.  My friends have been great!  My daughter--what can I say about her?  She's amazing.  She has tended to the arrangements and helped me do my work and kept up with all of hers as well.  She, too, has gotten virtually no support. 

When I asked my sister if she had received the email I sent two days before she said she had but was waiting to hear what arrangements had been made to respond.  That wasn't exactly the response I was hoping for but it's what I got.  Anyway, I'm sad.

The good news is that I'm grieving rather than shoving it inside to fester along with all the other events in my life I didn't want to feel at the time.  I'm being sad.  I cry sometimes, I nap when I'm tired, I don't attempt to be overly cheery on the phone (though I don't share my grief with strangers, either).  It's a hard balancing act.  If we were looked upon as a couple I would be taking several days off to lie in bed and cry or whatever it is grieving widows do. 

I'm going to go be sad, now.  I recorded the original version of Oceans 11 last night and I'll watch that in his honor--it was one of his favorite films.  I'll go find a downloadable version of My Way by Frank Sinatra and listen to it--that was his all-time favorite song.  I may even try to find the old John Wayne version of The Alamo to watch.

I'll come back with wonderful vacation stories another day.

Hyatt Regency Disaster!

(written 5/9)

The closer I get to my trip to Minnesota, the more I find myself thinking about my experience at the hotel in Chicago.  Actually, I have no idea why one has anything to do with the other but the closer I get to traveling, the more I think about the awful Hyatt Regency experience.  I don't like to hang on to cranky feelings--they do nothing but pull me down--so I do my best to let those thoughts go.  It's not working with this one! 

I've decided to get it all out and then I can just let it go and I don't have to think about it at all any more.  Is this lying to myself?  I don't know.  I wouldn't do it if I thought it was but I'm not very rational about this because I felt totally cheated.  OH, WAIT!  I just got an ah ha--actually a HUGE AH HA!!!.  It's the money!!! 

First I'll tell you the highlights of the disappointing aspects of the stay there (just the highlights, not all of it by any means).

• I had been told I was getting a 450 square foot, non-smoking room with 2 double beds.  They originally had me in a smoking room but they switched me to a non-smoking room that barely held a king-sized bed, desk, and dresser--no dining table, no occasional chair, miniature bathroom with a small shower and pedestal sink.
• I ordered the clam chowder from room service and when they brought it the clam chowder was full of tomatoes--Manhattan clam chowder.  I called them to complain that they didn't say it was that style and rather than saying they were sorry I misunderstood what the soup was, the woman on the other end of the phone said, "Well, that's what you ordered." 
• There was no free high speed Internet, either wired or wireless.  When I paid for the connection I discovered the connection worked in my room but not down where the conference was.
• There was a charge for the business center.
• There wasn't a single table in the lobby that I could use between the time I had to check out of my room and a reasonable time to take the shuttle to the airport.
• The website said there were several restaurants to choose from--that has been changed since I returned from Chicago--apparently it was out of date.  What they actually have is one over-priced cafe and a noisy bar that serves food.
• The conference center served an overpriced breakfast, lunch, and dinner for those of us who didn't want to try to get service in an undersized restaurant.  Fruit (a banana, an orange, or an apple) was $2.25.  A lukewarm, half-cooked, processed hamburger patty on a cold bun was $6.  The little bag of chips that went with it were $2.50.  A bottle of water was $2.75.  All of this was served on a paper plate and we got to stand in line to pay for it and for the first entire day we could go back into the conference room to eat in the same place we had been listening to speakers for the last 4 hours or stand.   After that they set up enough tables for 100 people (there were 1000 at the conference).
• The bed wasn't fully made the entire time I was there.  The first time I got into bed I removed the decorative pillows and a throw at the foot of the bed.  It was never put back the whole time I was there.  No, not a big thing but this is one of the things that got me thinking it was about the money.  More on that later.
• No DVD player in the TV and relatively limited television channels for viewing (I think there were about 10 channels available that didn't include sports, news, or shopping).  I was afraid to find out what it would cost to rent a movie.
• Oh, I should feel fortunate I flew in and didn't rent a car--the sign outside the entrances that parking was $28 a day!

Initially I was just upset that a hotel with such a giant reputation would nickel and dime their guests.  What finally hit me was that I thought that when I paid $200 a night for a room (that didn't include the 13% tax rate).  Actually, some of the nights the room was $239, some of them it was $199, and the few nights I was able to get at the conference rate were $179.  That's a lot of money no matter how you look at it. 

When I contrast this stay with the stay at the lovely hotel my daughter and I stayed at in Nashville, I think that may have been part of what had me upset.  In Nashville we stayed in a suite that had a huge bedroom and a living room with a sofa bed (actually, it was a very comfortable sofa bed).  There was an enormous bathroom with double sinks a big tub and a very generous closet.  There were dressers in both the living room and the bedroom with a television in each of the rooms.  The high speed wireless internet was free, there was a mini-fridge, microwave, and bar sink.  Actually, the atrium-style architecture was the same as the Hyatt with identical glass elevators.  The parking was free.  The staff was incredibly responsive and helpful.  For that we paid $100 a night!  I know Nashville isn't Chicago, that there may be a difference in the cost of hotel rates.  I am having a hard time imagining that much of a difference. 

Now, here's the dilemma.  What do I do now?  Do I tell myself that shoddy accommodations are just a fact of life and I shouldn't be upset that I paid so much for such poor service?  Is this because I am living in scarcity mode and I feel cheated because it cost so much for the room?  Hmmmm, interesting--I think many people would be comfortable knowing whether or not it makes sense to feel upset by what I experienced so I'm not sure why I don't.  This could be a good clue to some of my big issues--I just don't know what it's a clue to.  I'm going to have to keep all this in mind as I go through my growth process--no clue what it means but I'm glad I couldn't get it out of my head.  It was there for a reason other than feeling whiny about it.

Anxiety Strikes Again

I went looking for more apartments for rent in Seattle--online for now--and found some really fabulous ones.  I can do this--I really can.  I did the budget numbers and at the very bottom of what I have set as a goal for earnings each month, I can afford the move and still have a little "slush fund" money left over. 

So, why am I so anxious about this?  It makes no sense.  This is the part that feels like it keeps me nailed to this place, to my life as it is rather than my life as I know it could be.  I don't know how to get there.  Maybe today I just need to acknowledge that I feel like crap and allow the feelings instead of beating myself up over feeling like this.  We'll see.  I'll try to remember to tell you how I'm feeling tomorrow.