the "fax"of life (part two)

Every day I send faxes. I fax letters to doctors, reports to social workers, releases to teachers and prescriptions to pharmacies. This is a smooth, uninterupted process in my day. The old reliable xerox springs to life at the touch of my hand and those documents go spinning through cyberspace to land in the hands of the desired recipients! It's a miracle of modern technology-most of the time.

Last week, Thursday, was a particularly busy day for faxes. It seemed that I'd just get one sent and someone else was calling for documentation. I had just about tidied up all the paperwork for the day when one last call for a prescription came in. I thought to meself, "I'll get this sent and be on my way home." It should have taken less than thirty seconds.

After the third "fail" I decided to call the pharmasist and check if, in fact, the document had arrived because sometimes that happens. It hadn't... and the guy on th eother end of the phone had no explanation. "Try again," he urged, "I've been getting faxes all day."

So I tried again - FIVE more times. Each time the machine made the sounds of a smoothly running fax and everytime it would shoot out the printout reporting FAILED.

After all these attempts, I was getting really frustrated. It was now definitely after hours. The office was dead quiet. I was hungry and dehydrated. And "fax wars" was NOT how I had planned to spend my evening.

The pharmasist and I had powered down, rebooted, unplugged, etc. etc. etc our respective machines; idividually and simultaneously to no avail.

"My machine must just not want to talk to yours," I sighed into the phone.

"Yeah, they're just not speaking the same language. What kind do you have?" the pharmasist on the other end asked gently.

"I'm using a xerox," I replied testily. "I've been using this same xerox for ten years. It's old but it's absolutely top of the line and very reliable."

"I've got a brand new Brother. It must be a newer, better, faster technology. It must not recognize your old work horse," he laughed into the phone.

This was not funny. If it had been a pharmacy down the street, I would have driven the fax over hours ago. But this pharmacy was about an hour and a half drive out of town and the prescription was a "triplicate" meaning it had to be recorded "hard copy". I couldn't just give a verbal order. This was NOT FUNNY at all.

Suddenly, I realized that Dr. Rampling had a fax machine right on the other side of my filing cabinet! And I knew his was a newer, cheaper, fussier BROTHER! All this time, all I had to do was walk 10 paces, try the other machine and then we would know for sure that it was the pharmacy's faulty machine that was consuming all my down time. "I'm going to try again from the other machine," I told my buddy on the other end. " I'll send it with Dr. Rampling's brother," I yelled into the phone, amazed with my own brilliance. "I'll call you right back!"

When I redialed, Jim picked up the phone halfway through the first ring. "It's here", he shouted gleefully in my ear.

Relieved, I also raised my voice in joy, "From now on I'll just send it with

DR. RAMPLING'S BROTHER!"

Dr. Rampling, who had been quietly doing paperwork in his office - as he often does later in the evening - literally vaulted through the door with a note scribbled on his prescription pad. "I have no brother!" He was gesturing wildly, pointing at the note, shaking his head, urging me to get off the phone.

I was in such a state of pure joy and relief, I waved him away, finished up with Jim and headed back to his office.

He was quite frantic as he exclaimed, "Lorri, I have no brother! If they're cold calling you, trying to get you to send money or whatever with my brother, it's fraud. DON'T DO IT!!"

Now it was my turn to laugh outloud. I led Dr. Rampling to the reception area and showed him the name on his fax machine. Emblazened across the front, in navy blue was the word BROTHER

He got the strangest look on his face and then he also laughed outloud. We said, "Good night" and I was still chuckling as I stepped in the elevator to head home.

i miss the fashion police

I could always count on the Fashion Police to help me get dressed in the morning. It's been so hard since they all got married and moved out. Every morning I choose my outfit and then silently wonder if the girls would approve.....

This morning I had done a pretty good job of getting myself put together except for my shoes. I just stalled. It's been a long, cold winter so pretty much every morning I knew I would wear the black boots or the other black boots. But this morning promised warmer weather and sunshine so I thought I could branch out from the boots; but what to choose? I was having such a hard time deciding.

In the past I would put on a couple of different shoes and then just ask the Fashion Police which one? Problem solved in thirty seconds or less, guaranteed.

But with the girls all gone, I was left to my own devices and so I thought I'd wear the shoes around the house this morning just to see which one looked best. As Wally was busy getting dressed he glanced at my outfit and muttered something about how I should remember to put on matching shoes. I was busy getting lunches ready and in a hurry to get out the door myself so I made a mental note to change my shoes and carried on getting the dishes done.

"You should wear the dark shoes," he reminded me as he was leaving the house.

I once drove to the high school in my slippers to drop off a lunch. I've worn my apron to church a couple of times but that's always a quick fix. (just take off the apron and leave it in the car)

This morning was little more complicated.

I'm sure you all get the picture; cruising down the highway towards Lethbridge, slowing up through Welling where the speed limit changes, glancing down at the spedometer, realizing I was still wearing the mismatched shoes. Of course I was a little late getting to work but I was well dressed-

I miss the Fashion Police!

Charles Dickens Beauty Secrets

I say I don't care and that I'm prepared to age and the world can just love me the way I am. I've earned these wrinkles and I like my "sparkly" hairs and I'm proud of my "curves". But deep down I do care and I can often be seen scouring magazines and the internet for beauty tips. Who knew that the best tip ever would come from Charles Dickens?

"Cheerfullness and contentment are great beautifiers and are famous preservers of youthful looks"

Thanks for the inspiriation. I love you, Chuck!

"We'll Always Have Paris"

Wally bought Cammie the red Toyota Camry in the spring of 1994. She was a relatively new and very shiny addition to our family as we settled in Bountiful, Utah. Born in the USA early in the 1993 product year, I doubt she could have ever imagined what life would bring her.

After spending a few years in Utah-airconditioning blasting in the summers, plowing snow on I-15 in the winters and up and down those hills everyday- Cammie was loaded up and moved to Magrath, Alberta, Canada! There she learned about REAL cold and endured the wind, rain and hail that comes with life in southern Alberta.

It was a busy life Magrath, heading to work in Lethbridge every day and then rushing around to soccer, football, basketball, etc all over the province. Sara etched her name on the driver's side rear fender. A few kids drove her here and there when Dad wasn't looking. Cammie even made a few trips back to Utah to visit. Just when we thought things might be winding down for Cammie, Angela needed a car.

So Cammie went to live with Angela, the university student, in Lethbridge. Soon Dylan joined the family and they were off and running again - travelling around southern Alberta and visiting friends here and there.

When Dylan was accepted into the Master's program at Carleton University in Ottawa, Cammie was loaded down once again and set off for a cross country tour. Living in Ottawa was definitely a challenge. Outside parking, ice storms, and snow to cover the roof regularly. Then there were the weekly trips to Montreal once Angela started her Master's program at Concordia.

The trips to Montreal were treacherous and there was the "accident" which resulted in a few days at the body shop. Then Sara moved to Ottawa and Cammie changed hands again. There were a few more ice storms, snowstorms, trips to the body shop; not to mention the trips to New York, Toronto and various points throughout the east. It was interesting and exciting.

This past week it became apparent that Cammie was just not needed anymore. Sara's moved back west. Angie and Dylan don't need two cars. After 18 years it was time to sell Cammie.

The deed is done and Cammie is on a boat headed for Morroco. Can there be a better place for a good old car to retire?

"Here's lookin' at you, Cam; We'll always have Southern Alberta."

"I've Been Looking for That!"

Friday night Wally and I went out for dinner with Roger and Trudy. I love eating out and we went to a really nice restaurant which icidentally, is owned and operated by a friend of theirs.

Dinner was fantastic! Besides good company, the food was superb. I had salmon and Wally, Roger and Trudy tucked into the best spicy lamb meatballs and pasta. Just as we were all finishing up, Roger got the strangest look on his face and then he put his finger in the side of his mouth and SURPRISE!...he extracted a nut from between his teeth. Not a peanut or a hazel nut or any kind of edible nut but the kind of NUT that screws on a bolt.

We were twittering nervously about this discovery as the chef approached our table. "How is everything this evening?"

All eyes were on Roger as we waited to see what he would say.

"Dinner was really nice and the meatballs were some of your best until I found this......", Roger replied tentatively as he displayed the nut gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.

The chef's jaw dropped and his eyes were as big a saucers as he exclaimed, "I've been looking for that! Where did you find it?"

Seriously? I can think of a lot of things that a chef might say when a piece of the kitchen equipment is discovered in the food and that doesn't even make the list! haha

The upside? Free dessert and the chef was able to reassemble his grinder right away.

signs of spring?

I know I live in a frozen wasteland but every once in a while there is a glimmer that we might get relief. There are odd little signs of spring popping up, giving us hope. Today I noticed three.

1. That stupid bird was singing again this morning.

2. The gophers have popped out of their holes. They are everywhere! And they haven't got their street smarts yet. I counted 27 squashed on the highway from Lethbridge to Magrath tonight. Gross; but a sure sign of spring.

3. All the houses that were for sale before Christmas but removed the signs when the snow got too deep have signs up again! Yay! Everyone knows real estate picks up in the spring!

Let the greening of the landscape begin. I'm ready.

USPS Prevails!

The other night I got a message in the middle of the night from Sara; "We're being evacuated because of a tsunami warning. Pray that everything will be ok."

"That goofy Sara..." I thought as I read the message. She had been sending me "tsunami" messages for the last two weeks as she had endured rain on her little island of Oahu. Here I was freezing my butt off in the dead of winter and she was complaining about warm island rain!

I had planned to get up early the next morning to drive to Babb, MT to put a new phone in the mail for Sara. Since the robbery she had been relying on Ben's phone to communicate and his phone was mostly with him so she'd been a bit out of touch. She was anxious to get the new phone and I was anxious for her to have it. I really had missed her random mid day texts.

Imagine m surprise when I rolled out of bed at 6:30 Friday morning and the headline news on my computer was EARTHQUAKE IN JAPAN!! Now I'm not very good at geography but because I've been to Hawaii and seen all the Japanese brides on the beach, I concluded that Japan must be close to Hawaii. And earthquakes cause tsunamis and Sara wasn't kidding. baha!!

I clicked CNN on my computer and watched the waves hit the shores of Waikiki. A little relieved by the seemingly tame tsunami pounding the Hawaiian shore, I got ready to head off to Babb.

I reached the Babb post office in less than 40 minutes and was right on schedule for getting my list of errands done for this Friday morning. The events in Japan weighed heavily on my mind. I wasn't so worried about my Sara and her Ben anymore but my heart ached for the people of Japan.

I chatted with the postal clerk for a few minutes about the events of the morning and then in a lame attempt to make light of a heavy situation I quipped, " Well, my daughter has been evacuated. I hope the post office isn't swept away. I really want her to get this phone."

Steve stood a little more erect behind the counter and he got the most serious look on his face. "There's NOTHING to worry about Ma'am!" he exclaimed emphatically. "The US postal service is very reliable. Even if the post office is damaged or washed away, the postal service will set up alternate locations for people to collect their mail. The mail always gets through. She'll have this phone by Tuesday at the latest."

I thanked Steve politely, bid him a good day and waited unitl I was outside before I shook my head and laughed out loud.

Thank goodness for the US Postal Service. In this crazy world we need one thing that we can really count on.

Post Script: Sara sent me a text message MONDAY afternoon from her new phone. Amen. ...and God bless the USPS!

what was i thinking?!

This winter has been particularly cold and dark.

I have had a hard time getting warm at night, in spite of my electric mattress heater being set on MAX. When I finally am able to sleep comfortably, I have been having a hard time making myself get out of bed and walk around in the cold, dark world in the morning.

Yup! morning in my bathroom reminds me of a meat locker....

So the other morning as I was snuggled under the covers, cuddling with my favorite guy something just didn't seem right. I gave my head a little shake and tried to pull myself out of the deep fog of sleep. At first I thought it was just a bad dream but then I realized the noise was coming from outside my bedroom window and it was WAKING ME UP!

I wasn't ready to wake up and I was quite irritated by the noise and grumpd to myself, "Stupid Bird! Shut up, you stupid bird!"

Suddenly I was wide awake! What was I thinking? If there was a bird singing outside my window, chances are it was NOT 40 degrees below 0 outside. Birds don't sing when it's 40 below; birds don't sing at all in the cold, dark winter. The birds leave town!

There actually might be a light at the end of this cold, dark tunnel.

Sing on! little bird. I'm glad you're back!

"mom"isms

I am a mom! I've been a mom for so long, I can't remember when I wasn't. There was a time when I wanted to be SUPERMOM.

I'm pretty much over that phase. I have both feet planted firmly on the ground and I can see very clearly that I'm just a plain old fashioned mother; I love my kids (and the kids they've married). I wish for their happiness and success everyday.

Best of all, I love giving FREE ADVICE. I can't do much about what really goes on in their lives. I usually can't kiss it better or make it all go away but I can ADVISE!

This past week has been hectic when I think about all the advice I've been doling out. And the surprising thing I realized was that practically every tidbit of wisdom had somethng to do with the head.

1. Don't lose your head.

2. Keep your head down and do what you need to do.

3. Gotta keep your head up to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

4. Use your head.

and finally; when Sara and Ben were evacuated because of the tsunami....

5. Keep your head above water, guys!

I LOVE my job!

regarding my confession

I am having a little fun reflecting on my own silliness these days. With all the children grown and on their own, I have had time to take a look at myself and basically I like what I see. Occasionally, I will have one of those "ah ha" moments and realize that I've been struggling with an issue for a long time. Some of those moments have happened in the last few weeks as I realized that I have always been a worrier; I often have too much good advice to share; and I'm basically lazy and disorganized. I have good intentions but just never quite get the big projects started (or finished for that matter). I also cut my own hair, nibble hangnails, scratch at scabs, and definitely can't leave a zit to run its full course. I have been trying to lose 10 pounds for 20YEARS!

My only recourse for these behaviors over the years has been to try and save my daughters the pains associated with these goofy things. The fact is I KNOW that alot of the goofy things I do or say are just that - GOOFY and I know I'd feel better if I could break these bad habits.

So over the years, as I recognized my own silliness in my own children, I did my best to discourage them from following in my crazy footsteps. "Don't cut your own hair" "Quit nibbling your nails" "Leave that alone" "EATHEALTHY" "exercise" "don't touch your face" "Just get started on that." "Finish what you start" and so on and so on and so on......

So this one's for my girls; I did the best I could and about the only thing I can say at this point as I've confessed and you've been disappointed is

I think I know we're all doing the best we can and I'm REALLY sorry about my contribution to your DNA.

I'm a mom. I love my kids. I love my life and I love how easy it is to just carry on, let things go

and eventually "get over it!"

my confession

I have been seeing the same hair stylist for a number of years now. His name is Joe and he is a big, burly guy with hands as big a frying pans and a personality to match. When I first went to see him, I was impressed with his confidence.

He has been doing hair now for over 40 years and he is GOOD! If I say I want a cut- he cuts my hair. If I ask him to do amazing things with color, he can do it. The bottles he uses to spray stuff on my hair are crushed flat because he holds them in his fist and uses his thumb to pump. Joe is probably an aggressive hairdresser; something I appreciate. I was always put off by skinny girls who were afraid to cut more than a centimeter at a time (in case I didn't like it). I'm almost fifty. If there's one thing I've learned is that even the worst haircut ever only needs about two weeks.

But here's the thing. I have fine hair; wispy and soft as the day I sprouted it. And when my bangs get too long I can't stand it. They flop in my face and get in the way. I think my bangs can even give me a headache when they are too long.

This is my confession: Over the years, I have often cut my own bangs between haircuts. It started when the skinny girls would never cut my bangs any shorter. I'd be in the chair and I'd say, "Could you cut the bangs a litle shorter, please?" Invariably the reply would be something to the effect that it wouldn't look good any shorter or I wouldn't really like them any shorter. So I'd walk out with my bangs too long and I KNEW even before I was out of the salon that I would have to cut them myself.

When I started seeing Joe I asked him to cut them a little shorter. He said if he cut them shorter they'd be TOO SHORT. The first few times, he was ok with it and he cut them too short for me. (because he's NOT afraid to cut) But when I started asking him to cut my bangs too short as a matter of the haircut: "just a little off the back and please cut my bangs too short", he put his foot down.

"I won't cut them too short but if they get too long before your next haircut, just walk in and I'll trim them; I promise."

Well that's entirely too easy and my life is too hectic and it would get to the point where I would say to myself I had to drop by the salon for Joe to trim my bangs but I would never really get there and then my bangs would be too long and then:

I WOULD CUT MY OWN HAIR!

At first I tried to play it dumb when Joe would ask if I'd cut my own hair..."uh, I can't remember."

Then I lied..."I had someone else trim it for me."

When he persisted in harassing me about it, I would explain..." I HAD to; it was an emergency and I couldn't come see you."

Finally, it got to where he'd simply ask "WHEN did you last cut your own hair?"

I thought things were going well, that Joe and I understood each other and that he had come to accept that I cut my own hair every once in a while. But the last time I went to see Joe he announced, " I won't do your hair anymore if you keep cutting it yourself." That's all he said and I panicked. I wasn't ready to start all over again with another hairdresser and I knew deep down I'd never find anyone as confident or talented as Joe.

So last week Wednesday when I got out of the shower and pulled out my special purchase "tweezerman" haircutting scissors I struggled with how I might explain it to Joe this time. And I couldn't think of anything he'd believe so I dried my hair, got dressed for work and drove over to the salon.

I walked in... Joe dropped everything he was doing and he cut my bangs! Go figure.