dropsinthewell

Jackie Wells-Fauth

All I needed was my credit card. I mostly use it for gas fillings because it’s convenient. The problem for me is that it’s also really small. And the longer we go through winter, the more coy and unreachable it becomes.

That’s what’s wrong with all plastic money for me. Those slender cards can disappear in your pocket or purse and never be seen again. Especially if they choose to disappear in MY purse or pocket.

You know how some people have a spot…a table or a chair or a counter where they tend to drop everything, and it is constantly a disorganized mess? Well, I don’t do that. I use my purse and my pockets. And when my credit card disappears in there, it’s the proverbial needle in a haystack.

I needed the card the other day and as usual, it had gone into witness protection somewhere and I couldn’t find it. I looked all through the sleeves of my purse, digging past pens, coins and appointment cards, but to no avail.

There was nothing else I could do: I had to look in my pockets. Roy is always fascinated (notice I didn’t say impressed or happy) with the amount of junk I can cram into coat pockets. After an entire winter of collection, the pockets were full enough to horrify him.

“What is all this paper trash?” he asked, running his hand through a bunch of litter I pulled from both pockets.

“Those are receipts. You are always lecturing me about getting receipts when I buy things,” I said virtuously. “So, I keep them.”

“Yes, but eventually, you are supposed to use them to reconcile your checkbook,” he said, smoothing out one crumpled ticket. “This receipt is from last October.”

“There you go, using fancy accounting words on me again,” I grumbled, and about then, I drew out two empty prescription medicine bottles.

“I know you have a good reason for those in your coat pocket,” he said (but he didn’t mean it.)

“Yes, I do. I finished up the prescription when I was out and put the bottles in my pocket…two months in a row. I just never took them out.” I added defensively, “That isn’t as bad as when I take aspirin with me. Then I rattle when I walk.”

“You probably waddle, too with all that stuff in your coat. Look at this, you actually have gloves in there.”

“I don’t use them very much, though,” I admitted. “It’s too hard to get them out—everything else falls out. Same with keys. I have them in my pocket, but it’s easier just to let someone else open doors for me.”

“Why do you have this novel in here?” he asked. “It’s right on top of the hair clip and ponytail holder in this pocket.”

“I sometimes have to wait in various places, and I like to have a book to read,” I said, “and sometimes I need to get my hair put up…when I’m on the road…you never know.”

“So, you want to read while you wait, but why is it necessary to bring War and Peace? Surely there are smaller books around.”

“I found my credit card,” I exclaimed, cutting off his inventory of my coat pockets.

“Great!  Where was it?”

“In one of those little slots in my wallet. No wonder I couldn’t find it!”

Jackie Wells-Fauth

I had everything handled, you know. I knew what the weather was going to be like every single day. And just as I was fully adjusted to what South Dakota was throwing out for this winter season, she pulled a fast one and went back to the third version of winter.

I know that when you live in South Dakota, you will take whatever winter chooses to throw at you. But on years like this one, I can kind of fool myself that I’m living in San Diego or some other year-round mild temperature spot. I will admit it; I have enjoyed the warm days and long walks not on my treadmill. Of course the dog has also enjoyed the times outside, running through dusty tracks and scaring up pheasants.

As far as I’m concerned, this could have gone on indefinitely, but in South Dakota that’s not how it works. Here we have many more than four seasons: There’s the One Day of Spring, Summer on the Equator, the Sweet Fall and the Evil Fall, Winter Part 1, Winter Part 2, Faking You Out That It’s Spring Winter and End of Winter—April Fools!

And End of Winter—April Fools is where we are now. I had all my winter things put away. I had transferred the junk I always carry in my pockets from my winter jacket to my spring jacket, my boots were stored, shovels were shelved and even the fans were set out.

Of course, this winter has not been very typical for South Dakota. We have had warm, dry, record-setting weather all winter to the point where my father the farmer would have said, “Gonna be a dry summer if we don’t get some snow pretty soon.”

Well, he would be pleased that we are in End of Winter—April Fools season now. It is wet, icy and very bright. For myself, I look out at the snow and think, “April showers, God, it’s April showers! A little rain wouldn’t have hurt anything.”

When you get snow in End of Winter—April Fools season it means shoveling. And since, thankfully, the snow is nearly liquid and very heavy, shoveling is hard work. And all the while I’m shoveling, I’m thinking, “If I let this go for a day, it would melt on its own.” It is in the soul of a South Dakotan to shovel, though, even during End of Winter—April Fools season.

I’m looking forward to One Day of Spring season before we hit Summer on the Equator, but from the looks of it, that will be a little bit longer in arriving. In the meantime, I’m slopping my way through icy slush and wondering how I got the mud mess on the back of my trousers. I’m trying to figure out how to convince the dog to wipe her feet and I’m watching the flocks of birds hovering in the tops of the trees while their food fields are covered with snow. And that scene reminds me of an old Alfred Hitchcock movie that still haunts my dreams!

I’ve scraped the latest snow off my deck and now it sits in a wet pool on the ground below, and I can almost hear the lawn sucking it down. I didn’t need hat or mittens to work out there and by the time I got back in the house, I was covered with sweat, all over the inside of the winter coat I had just dry-cleaned for the season. I forgot there is a season between Faking You Out That It’s Spring season and the One Day of Spring season, so now I have to do all those end of the winter things all over again.

I’m kind of thinking I’m going to set up the lawn furniture and grill and have a picnic tonight; you know, get a jump on that One Day of Spring Season—it’s always so short. I’m encouraged by the warming temperatures, but then again, I’ve lived long enough in South Dakota to know that there’s no telling about End of the Winter—April’s Fools season. Everyone needs to stay alert and not put those shovels away yet.

Jackie Wells-Fauth

Now, you’ve heard me whine about technology in the past. Probably louder whines come from any of the people who must deal with me on a technological level. But I have decided that this is too bad. People will have to accept me with all of my technological deficiencies.

My daughter spent a few days with me recently and while I used to call these family visits, I’ve decided I should just call them what they are: service calls from my IT person.

I was working with my e-mail (my lifeline for any work I do) when I received notice that I would have to undertake a procedure to make the email more secure. Oh lord! I immediately shot back a panicked notice to the tech person who had alerted me to this problem: Do I HAVE to do this???

Something in my grunting and profuse sweating set off the alarm bells in my daughter. Without asking me too many questions, she contacted the tech people (who obviously had no idea the low level of tech they were dealing with) and when she was done, the new level of security was no problem. The only difficulty I had left was the extra “app” I had managed to load on my phone that it turns out I didn’t need. I still have it because I hated to admit to her how completely I had screwed up, and I have no idea how to “unload” it. (I don’t think that’s the right reference.)

Moving right along, she noticed that I have a brand-new DVD player (it’s not a VCR player, but I frequently call it that). She asked if I was enjoying using it and I said, “I don’t know. There’s something wrong with my cable service and I can’t switch from the cable channels to the DVD player setup and back again. I’m going to call them and get them down here to straighten that out.”

While I was ranting and raving on that topic, she began randomly switching from cable to the DVD player and back to the cable. “How are you doing that?” I demanded, forgetting that I should probably be grateful that I hadn’t called a cable guy down to my house for a simple switch of a button on the remote.

“It’s simple,” she explained more patiently than she should have, “You were just pushing the wrong button. This one will handle it for you.”

She looked awfully smug for a woman who once depended on me for food, clean pants and support while she learned to walk. Could it be that this is payback for my ineptitude at dealing with those things?

Technology experts surround me: they are called “anyone younger than me.” I break into a cold sweat if I have to go online to do anything—I can barely deal with business over the telephone. Some people zip onto the online programs, do whatever they need to, effortlessly and zoom on to something else. Me? It took my two-year-old grandson to show me that there was an outside button to get in the trunk of my car!

I find some kindred spirits among those my own age, but I also find some older people who can actually handle all that technology and age as well. In my jealousy, I refer to them as turncoats. The least they could do is act like they can’t use technology; then I would feel better.

I keep reminding myself that these young tech wizards grew up with computers while my first experience with a computer was the giant one filling a room at college. They gave me a bunch of cards, which, after I punched the appropriate holes in them…caused the computer to spit out a piece of paper with a short, wavy line on it. This was indeed, the sum total of my technology skills and they haven’t increased much since then!

As for the technology it took to secure my email, I assure you it’s now in place and all of you tech types who got that done have my undying gratitude and my confession that I have no idea how you did it! And the caution that this is not likely to change! Sorry!

Jackie Wells-Fauth

I was in the grocery store the other day, picking up a few of the items I knew I needed at home. Towards the end of the store, I took stock of what I had bought: I had two bottles of tea, three cartons of cottage cheese, a bag of chips, bananas and strawberries, a loaf of bread and three different kinds of soup. There was scarcely enough room for the eggs and orange juice that I picked up last. I thought perhaps I should check my list, but of course, I hadn’t brought it with me. That is how I run to the store for one thing and come out with 20.

It isn’t just the grocery store where I do this. The other day, I popped in at the variety store for a spray bottle. I came out with two gallons of vinegar, a couple of packages of dishwasher soap, a bottle of aspirin and two birthday cards. I even managed to remember the spray bottle, but that isn’t always what happens.

I recently needed a new pair of sneakers. I went to the shoe store and looked over all the sneakers. I found a pair of shoes that I thought were lovely and bought them. Couldn’t wait to get home and show them to Roy.

“What do you think of these shoes?” I asked, modeling them proudly.

“Very nice, but where are the sneakers you went to buy?” he asked.

I thought about it for a moment, then picked up my coat and purse.

“Where are you going now?” he asked.

“Back to the shoe store,” I didn’t need to explain any further. Once again, I bought what I didn’t intend to and as frequently happens, I forgot the thing I was shopping for.

I have a hard time going into a store and not coming out with something I think I absolutely need. I am particularly affected by this disease when it comes to books. I always promise myself I will only buy one…or maybe two, and I find myself coming out with another bagful. It’s so much fun!

When I come home with another shelf of books, I am very defensive. “It could be worse, you know,” I tell Roy as I squeeze another book onto the shelf.

“And how is that?” he responds.

“Well, I don’t collect antiques, which could be expensive, and I don’t drink or smoke or spend all night in bars,” I pointed out.

“Compared to ten books at a time, it might be cheaper if you take up drinking,” was his rather surprising response.

I once went to a craft store (one of my favorite types of stores) and came out of the building without anything. I noticed Roy, waiting in the car, take out his phone and take a picture.

“What are you doing?” I was already frustrated by not finding what I wanted.

“I’m just taking a picture of you coming out of a craft store without anything,” he responded. “I need proof cause otherwise no one will believe it.”

I’d be more upset if he wasn’t right about my spending habits. But by far the worst is definitely the grocery store, which brings me back to my latest spending spree. I brought home all the bags and began unloading them.

“I thought you just went to the store for butter,” Roy said.

I hesitated for a moment and then got my coat and purse and headed out. Maybe this time, with a little luck, I’ll only buy five things and one of them will be butter!

Jackie Wells-Fauth

I have to admit that I am not the best-informed sports fan you would ever encounter. What I know about most sports is that I don’t know much about them. But over the years as a teacher, I learned to pay attention because what’s important to the students is eventually going to be important to the teacher.

While I have watched most football games through my fingers, praying that the guy at the bottom of the pile stood up—usually because he was set to perform with my drama team, and wrestling always makes me twist my program, coat, gloves, whatever I have, into knots just trying to watch, I pride myself on having figured out high school volleyball and basketball—sort of.

The older I get, however, the harder it is to be comfortable sitting on those hard plastic bleachers and so I have worked to become more at ease with little creature comforts.

I learned how important it was to get there early, so you could get a seat at the top and lean against the wall. Those are the prized seats, so they are difficult to get and as the years have gone on, I find my knees don’t care for the climb to the top, anyway.

Then came the innovation of stadium seats. At first, they were simply a canvas bag with a seat and a back—that was helpful. However, I discovered that a quick shift to the side in response to the game would frequently find me upended on the outraged feet of the person behind me as my seat slid off the slippery plastic bleacher. Besides, a bit of canvas between me and the hard, plastic bench was not much of an improvement.

Now I have a fancy, padded seat so I have no contact with the plastic bench and it is pretty good at staying in place and holding up my back, so I don’t need to crawl to the top of the bleachers anymore. That was handy, since I always have to crawl back down for the bathroom and the concession stand.

Watching the games has been a path of discovery for me. The people sitting around me probably get sick of my company since every time a ref blows the whistle, I immediately begin parroting, “Why did they do that? What did they do? What’s going on?” I never could understand the niceties of the rules of the sports, and I have not developed a good relationship with the officials of the games because—well, they are obviously picking on my team!

And that brings me to the giant sewing bag I always carry with me. It has multiple purposes. First, I really like to sew plastic canvas. It’s relatively simple—so I can manage it, and it is just plain fun to do.

Second, because I like plastic canvas, I am frequently working on projects for my drama department as “mementos”. I can spend a lot of the time I am at a game working on those projects and thus, I am doing what the experts say is “multi-tasking.”

And now for the real reason I carry sewing with me to the games. In the past, athletes and students in the stands have politely intimated that I am a little…loud when I am watching the games and having the sewing in my hands tends to keep me calmer…and more polite.

I left the bag at home during a recent basketball contest and found myself making suggestions to the refs—at the top of my lungs. Just minor stuff, like, “Hey ref, are we watching the same game or did your new glasses prescription not get here yet?” Or, “Oh, are you SURE you want to call a foul on the other team? It’s the first time you’ve done it all night!”

So, the sewing is excellent for multiple reasons, but most importantly, it helps me to avoid getting a technical foul on the home team!

All of my teams have completed their seasons, and track is “fast” approaching, so I can probably retire the sewing bag and the stadium seat pretty soon. But it has been a wonderful season, and I would like to thank the athletes of Wolsey-Wessington and Miller for a fine and highly satisfying time—I will have my stadium seat and sewing bag stored and ready for next year!

Jackie Wells-Fauth

I recently had a gentleman ask me a question about my columns that made me stop and think. “Are all those things you write about true?”

The plain answer is that everything I write about is stimulated by something I see, hear, smell, touch or taste during the week. Do I embellish the story for entertainment value? I’d have to say yes—so what I write about is “based on a true story,” as they say in the movies. And, like the movies, I spice it up to make it as entertaining as possible.

I was a very uncertain child, but I learned early that I could tell a story like no other. While sometimes I write fiction for my own entertainment and I have for years written fanciful plays and reader’s theater scripts for my students, most of what I write about here has truth to it.

When I was young, however, I used those story-telling techniques to explain the things I experienced and that happened around me. And if I could find the humor in it, other people were entertained. I had an aunt who told me, “Search for the joy. Things that are not much fun will happen, but if you can find humor, you will find the joy.”

She was right. And to this day, when I slam my fingers in a door or burn the steaks on the grill, or drop a bucket of paint on the steps, I immediately begin thinking, “How can I make this funny and maybe entertain someone else with it?”

I have discovered that this is better mental therapy than hours on a psychiatrist’s couch. There’s something about telling the story of what happened when I washed the red towel with the underwear, so now it’s all pink, that takes away a lot of the sting—for me; Roy didn’t much care for the pink underwear!

I have some guidelines for my writing. I can put what Roy’s already thinking anyway into actual words and that doesn’t bother me. However, I don’t always have to convert his thoughts, he expresses himself very well. For a long time, though, he locked himself into the bathroom to read my column, but years of experience have lessened the stress for him.  Or maybe he’s just resigned himself to his fate!

 Even my grandsons come in for their share. The eldest was reading a column about something he and I had done together, and he looked up a time or two, puzzled, and said, “I don’t think I said it quite like that.” Too bad, kid, your thoughts and actions are fodder for your grandmother’s humor. I go a little easier on my daughters, because someday I will need them to take care of me!

I never write about students. As a teacher, I felt it was not right to use their words and actions in such a way. There should be a level of privacy, and I have tried, over the years, to respect that. They have enough to deal with in putting up with my scripts.

When I started writing for the public, I determined that I was not going to write about politics or religion. It isn’t that I have no opinions on those things, but they are my opinions and, in most cases, not terribly humorous. Besides, I figure the news is scary enough most days, I don’t need to carry it over here when my purpose is to entertain.

And that is my purpose. If I can use something happening in my week as a humorous anecdote and someone who may not be having that great a day, reads it and gets a smile or a scoff or even a laugh, then I am satisfied that I have done what I intended.

I have been writing steadily on a weekly basis since I was 34 years old. To give you a context, my youngest daughter being born was one of the first things I wrote about, and she’s been married and on her own for more than ten years. I’ve written for the Mobridge Tribune, the Aberdeen American News and the Miller Press. I also put this article on a weekly blog. I’m not sure I would know how to function without getting up on Monday morning and thinking, “What shall I write about this week?”

And that brings me to a question I get asked often, “How do you come up with subjects?” I admit to people watching and eavesdropping on conversations in public places. People are fun and fascinating, and they give me great ideas. I carry a notebook all the time to write down those great ideas, because when I tell you I have a terrible memory, I’m not kidding—unfortunately, it has always been so! Suffice it to say, I am seldom without an idea for a column!

Everybody has a gift, and I believe God intends us to use them for any good purpose we can. My gift is the ability to tell a story. And in order to make it more entertaining for people, I definitely spice it up. However, you may be sure that what I am writing is always “based on a true story!”

Jackie Wells-Fauth

When I was a child—back in the cave days—Twister was a popular game. You can still find Twister today, but whenever I see those brightly colored dots and their evil little spinning dial, I break out into a cold sweat.

Obviously, Twister brings back some very bad memories. For those who have never had the privilege, Twister is a game where you are instructed to put various appendages of the body on various colored dots on a floor mat, according to the sadistic instructions on the spinning dial. Of course, the real problem is that you have others on the same mat trying to do the same thing. Hence, the name “Twister.”

Even as a child, when I was at my most limber, I could not manage that game. “Put your left foot on a yellow dot,” came the instructions. I was, at that point, hovering over the other side of the mat (of course), like a drunken crab who had flipped clumsily over on its back. I had another person’s elbow in my eye and a knee shoved in the middle of my back (I prayed the knee wasn’t mine).

Left foot on yellow, huh? Giving a mighty heave, I picked up one foot, shoved it in someone’s mouth to get them out of my way and slapped the foot on a dot. “There,” I declared triumphantly, “left foot on yellow.”

“That’s your right foot and it’s on green,” I was quickly informed.

“Maybe I’m color-blind and I don’t know my right from my left (that at least is true, ask Roy)” I snapped back. “You should make allowances for my handicaps.”

It was at this point that the inverted crab lost all sense of balance and fell to the mat, taking everyone with me. It’s a fact that I didn’t get asked to play Twister very often and this was okay with me. The few times I did play still give me nightmares.

I know I’m taking a long time to get to my point. It is not “never play Twister.” However, I have been painfully reminded of Twister by a little experience optimistically known as “stretching exercises.” With advancing age, I have learned that exercise is more and more necessary. As a very wise physical therapist told me, “You either use it, or you lose it.”

It’s while doing some of these stretching exercises that I am unpleasantly echoing those childhood days of making myself into a pretzel. I am trying to use muscles that I wasn’t even aware that I possessed, and I have discovered that I am much too old to do the inverted crab without a great deal to drink and a long stay in the hospital!

I was attempting to do one of the more complicated feats one evening when Roy came into the room.

“What in the world are you trying to do to that broomstick?” was his obvious question.

“I’m doing an exercise for my hips,” I answered, struggling to hold the broomstick in place, “you just wrap one leg around the broomstick and twist the other way. I found this one on Facebook.”

“I suggest you put the broomstick back on the broom and stop consulting Facebook for your general exercise health,” was his recommendation. I took his advice but only because I tripped myself up on the broomstick and fell on the floor. Now, I have a few bruised muscles as well!

I keep trying, though. It’s got to be easier to touch your hand to the space between your shoulder blades, than it was to put my left foot on yellow, am I right? Except as my face gets red from the effort and my fingertips are nowhere near my shoulder blades, I begin to suspect that I’m no better at this than I was at that cursed game.

Very well, I decided to strengthen my core on my treadmill. Anyone can walk, right? However, it seemed I needed to speed it up (I heard about this on Facebook). The difference between one speed and the next was rather more than I expected and forced me to exert myself–a lot. After an eternity at the higher speed, I checked the time—I had been walking at the higher speed for exactly a minute and a half. But it was a core-strengthening minute and a half, I comforted myself.

“So, how long did you make it on your treadmill,” Roy asked as I staggered into the room.

“Oh, only 15 minutes or so,” I lied casually, while gasping for breath. “I expect I will get better as I go along.”

Or maybe I should just go back to Twister.

Jackie Wells-Fauth

It’s not a matter of getting old. Of course, I know I’m not old. I’m sure I’m not! I do all the things I can to try and salvage what is left of my body after years of neglect and I do brain teasers and crosswords and read copiously to keep up with my…what’s that term? Oh yes! My mental health, that’s what I’m keeping up!

So, as you can see, I am not old. That’s why it’s so curious (that took a minute—I had to look up how to spell that one) that so many things occur that might give a person the idea that I might just be headed around the proverbial bend from middle age into some sort of, possibly—older age; that’s the expression I’m looking for!

Where was I? Oh yes, those pesky, unpleasant little things that might be aging me. There’s not a person in the world who hasn’t walked in a room and asked herself (himself) “Why did I come in here again?” Unfortunately, I have graduated to doing it several times for the same item.

“You’ve come in here and left three times already,” Roy said one evening, “What are you doing?”

“I wish I knew,” I answered in exasperation, “I hate when that hap—MY PHONE!” I suddenly screamed, causing Roy to flinch back in shock, “I came in here to get my phone, I remember!”

“Except your phone is in the bedroom, remember? That’s where you put it,” he replied.

“I think you put it there, and you’re just trying to gaslight me,” I said as I headed for the bedroom.

“Whatever makes you feel good,” he replied.

I stomped into the bedroom and stopped abruptly at the door. “What did I come in here for?”

It’s even worse when I involve Roy in my “age-itis”. The other day, I took the refrigerator shelves apart to give them a good cleaning.

“Can you help me put them back?” I asked Roy. “It’s hard for me to reach down to the bottom shelf.” (Not because I’m old!)

I positioned the bottom shelf for him, and he struggled for five minutes, and it just wouldn’t snap into place.

“I can’t make it fit this way,” he complained, “are you sure this is how it goes in?”

“Of course it is,” I replied, “I just took it out, do you think I wouldn’t remember…oh, wait a minute.” I turned my head to look at it upside down (hard to do when you are old.) “Maybe it does go in the other way.”

He flipped the shelf around, slipped it into place and snapped it down. Then he just sat there and looked at me.

“Isn’t the refrigerator looking good? I worked hard on it this afternoon,” I said. He was not distracted.

“You’re sure it was this afternoon?”

Even the dog (Roy’s dog) has joined the chorus of reminding me how old I am. The other day, I was jamming to the 70s on the radio, really dancing up a storm. Well, as much of a storm as I can create with bad knees, cranky ankles and poor balance. But I was having fun.

I twirled around once and happened to catch a look at the dog. She was sitting quietly, watching me, judging me. She looked so sorry for me that I could almost hear her say, “Your dancing days are over, Jammin’ Jackie. Hang it up and find your cane.”

So, maybe I am older than I think, but I don’t think I’m any older than I was when I graduated from high school. I think I should still be able to remember everything I did back then. That’s why I do the brain teasers and the crosswords and read copiously. It’s so that I will always…what was my point again?

Jackie Wells-Fauth

It was the last pill in my prescription bottle and I was in a hurry to get on the road in my oh-so-busy life. I had decided I could wait until tomorrow to renew the prescription, because I still had that one pill. I took it in my hand as I headed down the steps for the car because, of course, it must be taken with food. I had decided that instead of just grabbing some toast at home to take the pill with, I would grab a doughnut on the way.

The problem was—what to do with the pill while I drove to the doughnut store? No problem; I simply laid it on the top of my coffee mug. It would be fine there on the lid of the coffee container for a few minutes. Except as soon as I took off, the pill slid through the opening in the coffee mug lid and sank to the murky bottom of the cup!

My last pill…no more for another day until I could get back and get a refill. Now what? Yes, indeed, you guessed it.  I sucked down that whole giant cup of coffee so I could get at the grainy remains of the pill at the bottom. Causing me to then need to stop in the nearest town on the road to relieve myself of the swiftly drunk coffee!

It seemed like such a good idea at the time. And it ended as all things do that I try because “it’s a good idea at the time;”  in disaster.  I was forced to lick the final granules of my final pill from the bottom of a very deep coffee mug!

I once backed my brand new husband’s fancy car into a stop sign. It seemed like a good idea at the time to keep backing up so I could see what I’d hit, thus putting a scratch all along the car and eventually flattening the stop sign. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I suspect that the only reason I remained married after that was because my husband didn’t want to go through the expense of hiring a divorce lawyer (or a defense attorney) that early in the relationship!

I could avoid these kinds of problems—large and small—if I just thought it through a little better, but I have a tendency to make snap decisions and then repent at leisure, wondering what in the world made me think that was a good idea. Of course, it always seems like a good idea at the time and it always ends up dissolved in the bottom of my coffee mug!

It is an impulse that actually runs in my family. My sister once crawled under a grainery and then couldn’t get out because, of all things, her head got stuck! I scoffed for months, wondering what made her think that was a good idea. Then, mid-summer, I ran barefoot through a mud puddle to prove that I could avoid stepping on whatever broken glass was sticking out of the center of the pool. I couldn’t. After that, I understood my sister better and I understood as I was getting a foot full of stitches that we both tended to think something was a good idea at the time when it really wasn’t!

I also plan good ideas that don’t work out that well. I have yet in my life to plan a surprise party where the surprise didn’t end up being on me. The worst was when I decided to give Roy a surprise fortieth birthday party. We were planning on quite a few people and we were going to hold it in my sister’s garage.

I spent all of two days preparing food, which wasn’t easy when Roy came home at night. I had two young girls at home and keeping them quiet was also a chore. But, up until the final afternoon, I had managed to plan a surprise party. It seemed like a good idea at the time….

I was in mid-afternoon cooking mode. I had banana, strawberries, peaches, pears and every other kind of fruit possible for a salad chopped up and spilling over the counters. I was browning mounds and mounds of hamburger for barbeques. I had chips and buns stacked on the counter ready to be stashed away before Roy got home. But I had two hours, plenty of time.

Then the dog got loose and I had to go find her. I had a major blowout with the electric fryer, so it slowed the browning of hamburger to one not too large skillet. I cut my fingers on the fruit and had to clean myself up and then pick out any blood-stained fruit. And lastly, I piled the buns in their cartons on the floor by the back door to get them out swiftly and the dog sat on one.

Before I knew it, Roy walked in the door, his mouth dropping open at the heaps of food, decorations everywhere,  the cake which had just been delivered, and me, covered in bandaids and berating the dog.

“It’s your 40^th birthday,” I snarled at him, “Surprise.”

So probably, putting a pill on top of my coffee mug and watching it slide in and dissolve, isn’t the worst idea I’ve had, it’s just the latest experience where I thought something was a good idea at the time.

Jackie Wells-Fauth

I have come to the conclusion that I am watching too much television. This is because along with the constant barrage of commercials about the latest miracle drug that will make you young again, I have become tired of what I like to call the “app” commercials.

“You no longer have to wait for payday, you can have up to $500 today!” promises the voice on the television. “Just type in a few words on this app and you, too, can be in debt forever!”

Okay, maybe they don’t say the last part, but they do make it pretty easy to get yourself in a pile of debt, especially if you can use their app!

Of course the next commercial will be one in which you can use an app to apply for help getting you out of your massive debt. As long as you have a “smart phone”, you can do just about anything.

We took a driving vacation the last two years and both times, we encountered parking lots which required you to use your cell phone to get into their app. You simply took a picture of a design on the billboard that looked like something on Star Trek. If you could make your phone do that, you got into an app which recorded your car license and payment option so that you could park in the parking lot. Gone are parking attendants;  we now have an app!

It frequently worries me what will happen if our phones fail us. These things can do everything from get you on an airplane to paying bills, to shopping for just about anything. Frequently it’s hard to remember that their stated purpose is to call people. We are a long way from the machine hanging on the wall that did nothing more than ring and connect us with one other person! Phone lines went down occasionally in the old days and we just coped. Today, a loss of our phones would stop our lives cold.

As long as everything is being done with an app, I have a few suggestions for some apps that they should add. After all, there doesn’t seem to be much that these smart phones can’t do if they have the proper app.

I would like an app that would do the cooking at my house. I don’t even want it to clean up afterwards, I just want to be able to scan some code on the stove with my phone and have the meal appear, done with much more skill than I have. I would even be willing to add some of those videos from Youtube on how to fix the perfect meal.

Laundry is another thing I’d like to see an app for. Most washing machines today are computers anyway, why couldn’t we have an app that would not only load the washer and dryer, but would also decipher all of those options on the controls. An app would be able to talk to the machine and tell it what to do far better than I can anymore! I’m being told as I write this, that there is such an app—you can actually handle the laundry while you are enjoying an evening out—paid for by an app, of course!

I was grousing about paying my bills and keeping track of expenses the other day. “Why doesn’t anyone come up with an app for that?” I asked no one in particular, but the television answered.

“Are you tired of paying for things you don’t use? Do you want to cease the worry over late fees for bills you forget to pay?”

“Yes!” I answered, forgetting that the television can’t really hold a conversation with me. “That is exactly my problem. What can I do, that doesn’t involve me doing the actual work?”

“Just try our system,” the television continued. “It will keep track of all your bills, pay things on time and get rid of anything you don’t need.”

“Sounds a little mind-controlling, but I’m desperate. Who do I call?” I say, taking out paper and pencil to write down the number.

“Just use our app for paying bills and keeping track of your subscriptions. Never pay for a thing you don’t need again. Hold your phone up to the symbol on the corner of your television screen—you know, the one that looks like a Martian is trying to make contact– and you will have our app.”

I might have known. Another app I can get to make my life “easier”. Which makes me wonder: Is there an app out there to handle all of these apps? That’s the one I really need!