thoughts

Lessons 101, Modesty

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I came home to my voicemail light blinking. I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter and checked for my messages. There were two. One, just a telemarketer doing its thing and the other, worthy of my attention.

I wrote down the particulars on a corner of a white envelope I found on a pile of the day’s mail and dialed the number a few seconds later.

“Welcome to Bugs Bunny, can I help you?”, that was a woman’s voice at the end of the line.

“Hello, how are you? Someone called me from your office but I can’t remember who it was. I think…”.

I was taken off guard. I thought I was dialing a direct number and not a switchboard. I hoped to reach “the person” and not the receptionist. I immediately sensed that something was completely amiss as soon as she said…

“Do you have a name?”

“No. Perhaps Melanie?” I replied!

“There is no such person as Melanie here. Do you have another name?”. By now, I realized that I did not have the person’s name, I had not written it down.

“I don’t but I know it was a lady. I can’t remember her name. Is there anyway you can find out who the person was, please?”

“No, I can’t. I am sorry but the person you indicated, doesn’t work here. I can’t help you!”.

Why did I get the impression that I was being rushed?!

“Oh ok, thank you.” I said.

I put down the phone and accessed the voicemail again, crossing my fingers, hoping I had not deleted the data but it was not to be.

I “screamed” for a “dislike” button right about now as soon as I realized that in a bit of luck, I was living a nightmare. I had indeed deleted the message and there was nothing I could do about it.

Devastated but not dissuaded, call it for what it was worth, desperate, I called her back, hoping I could persuade her to assist me. I asked her if she wouldn’t mind to read up the names of the ladies who work there aloud to see if any would jolt my memory but she refused.

“Mam, I know I called you before but I really need your help. Can you do me a favor please, can you read out the names of the ladies who work there to see if I could recognize the name?”, I asked!

“No, I can’t. I WORK ON THE SWITCH BOARD!”.

And?… I thought to myself. What does it have anything to do with helping someone? Can someone please explain it to me?

“Can you please try?”, I attempted again. She was probably a little annoyed with me by now but I had nothing to lose, so I tried.

“No, I can’t because I am too busy! Listen, there are 30 people who work here, and…”

“Mme, can you do me a favor, please? Can you please don’t say “I am too busy” to anybody specially when the person is just trying to obtain an information? No one is ever  “busy” for another.”

One should always create time, being that a second or millisecond, especially if you work in customer service. I must confess, I was a little peeved right about now but decided to remain calm.

“Ok mam…”, her voice unruffled now, “I understand. I can take your name and number, and pass it around. Perhaps, someone will recall calling you.”

“Yeah, I mean, it doesn’t take much…”,

“Mme, can I have your name and phone number please?”. I hastily gave her the coordinates but call me cynic, that will never happen. Remember, a little modesty can take you long ways.

“Thank you for your help!”, I said and hung up the phone.

What Is The Hoopla About The Time Cover?

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I honestly don’t get what the whole hoopla is all about “Are you Mom Enough?”?! Is it because the mother is cute, sexy and attractive or the child is looking elsewhere while seductively sucking on his mother’s breast or the pleasantly sexual overtone pose it appears to propagate that is driving everyone bananas?

To each his own!

I mean, if the mother wants to nurse her almost four years old grown child who should have teeth by now, (I hope he does, otherwise we will need to call the ghostbusters), goes potty by himself, no longer wears diapers, (that would have been a whole other story if he still wears them), asks for water, milk or juice, bites on a loaf of bread, plays with Superman and not Fisher-Price go baby go poppity pop musical din toys, coloring book, puts his own shoes, dresses himself and perhaps have a few choice words for his mother, more power to her. Better yet, God bless her!

I am not an expert but am of the opinion that the click on my mousse is making a peculiar sound, the screw on my table is a little lose somewhere but somehow, she is sound.

Who am I to judge?!

Attachment parenting?! Last I heard, the method is also be used as birth control. I don’t know. I have no answers. Perhaps, Alexis Bellino from the Real Housewives of Orange County has it. Perhaps, she can explain it in layman’s terms, a language some of us can understand.

Knock knock are you there? Yes, you… husband, boyfriend, partner? I mean, we aren’t in the candy story anymore, so, aren’t you… do I say more? Never mind, at least I hoped… you were a couple!

The truth of the matter is that the subject hit too close for some and for this reason alone, it is not cool! C’mon, talk about it but no pictures please. Talk about it but don’t make the cover of a magazine. Talk about it but mom please, use something to cover your breast. I really don’t need to see your son sucking on your… amusement park! Then again, like Bobby Brown said, pardon me Whitney, it is her prerogative!

The Big Tree, “The Senator”!

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I confessed, I cringed the day my friend invited us to go see a tree. I rolled my eyes and found it hilarious. Me, going to see a tree? I see trees everyday, everywhere. That’s unheard of! The fact that it was even being proposed, was hysterical.

It was hot and muggy, sweltering kind of summer day! A day I yearned for a cool room and not the outdoors. I pictured myself indoors in an air conditioning room and not out gazing at any tree, let alone a big tree.

“What tree?” I asked and I quietly remarked, “Lord, what’s so special about the tree?”

“It is not any tree, it is the “Big Tree”, “The Senator”, she said.

“Big Tree…”, I muttered

“Have you ever heard about Sequoias over in California? It is from the same family and it has been around for years, more then three thousand years”. She added.

Oh God, I am about to go see a tree that has been around for three thousand years. It better be good. It better possess supernatural powers. I hoped it used its branches as a magic wand and cure me from the insane trip I was about to venture into. Why? Why? Why?… “What did I do to deserve this? This better be good!”, I murmured to myself.

My ignorant self paused for a second and reflected. Perhaps, I was freaking out and being a tutee for no reason. She said three thousand years, like in three plus zeros, zeros, zeros, like in more then one million ninety nine five thousand days and the thing was still alive, right?! I mean, it wouldn’t take a fool long enough to realize that it was significant! I caved in.

Curiosity suddenly took over and sucked me in with its tentacles. The need to learn. To know. To educate was persuasive. They became strong antidotes then my desire to stay at home in a cool room. I was going to see The Tree, its leaves, branches, trunks and roots. I wished it told stories and had pictures to share.

I still had the word “tree” pinned in my forehead as we drove to the park. The trip was uneventful, akin to me taking the next train home. I pondered about my misguided thoughts, misjudging its relevance as I fail to put its historical context into perspective, tumbling miserably at the unscripted interpretation of judging a book by its cover. I reminded myself that there was something more then met the eyes then a stuck up plant with handsome stems. The problem was that I conjectured it to be an ordinary tree as soon as I heard the word, tree. So, any chance of me making the trip memorable was slim to none.

I needed to rid off my judgment blinders.

I did not snap any pictures but hoped the tree told stories. I walked around dissecting it, hoping to find what, I don’t know but something to reassure me that all was alright, to prove me wrong. Just as fast I walked in, just as fast I retreated to my unguarded thought, back to my gutless fetal position! I was more obsessed with the bugs that were eating me alive, trying to fend them off then the event itself. So, the thought of going back to my air conditioning room, was once again alluring and became apparent as I did not intend to spend longer then 5 seconds gazing at the tree.

Fast forward to a few years later. I was visiting, this time with a few friends, when my friend suggested that we go see the Big Tree once again. Wait, hold your horses body! No need for high blood pressure here. I did not even cringe this time. I was excited, jumping up and down like a kid in a candy store. I was the first up and ready to go; perhaps, the weather had something to do with it.

It was winter, a cold, rainy, ugly day. A day anyone with any sense would not hesitate but suggest to stay home, lay in bed and count the stars. A gray winter coat kind of a day but it didn’t matter, we had an agenda and marching on, we did.

We arrived at the place and I could not help but notice that there was barely a car. The place was deserted, not even a soul. Maybe, people were hiding in the bushes ready to scream “Surprise!” to us. Why does it sound familiar?!

We had the whole place to ourselves and as we began walking through the trail, I began paying more attention to her particulars as her presence came into view. Mind you she could be a he as far as I was concerned but made it easy for myself and preferred to refer to her as she, stood alone. Tall, elegant, manicured, surrounded by bushes sitting in the middle of nowhere. Her height, her size, her history side by side dragging along.

I stood there fixated, observing, waiting for her to tell me stories. What she saw in the years past. What she heard. What it felt like being around all these years and live to tell about it? Who kissed her. Who kissed who. Who came by. What time they came. How long they stayed if they told her stories at all. I wanted her to describe the weather back in the stone ages, the temperature back in January 1875, the news, what was trending, if any at all? I questioned her about fashion, what it was like, what made her gorgeous? I mean, what kind girl would I be if I had not pinned the most sough-after question somewhere in the middle of my questionnaire? Did they walk, did they drive, did they bike? What cars folks drove back then, which color, which make? There were so many questions traveling through my brain that it overloaded my thoughts but there no answers. She didn’t say a word. She stood numb, quiet, like an elegant statuette, a green tour Eiffel. I guess her pride superseded her.

She stood erected, piercing, gazing at yesterday and tomorrow, majestic. I, on the other hand, tensed, curious, anxious. I hungered for her to burst from her shell, park her shyness, pull her diary, freak out and tell us straight, to go away and leave her alone. But no, she just stood there, motionless, like a tree that she was refusing to surrender, to share historical events that she had experienced and many can only read.

Yeah, it could only be! I woke up from my dream just in time and reminded myself that she was only a tree and not a being. An old tree without diapers or dentures, gray hair, arthritis or osteoporosis. An old tree that refused to die and defied the odds and was around for all well earned three thousand and four hundred years, oh Lord that’s a lot burgers, until some nuttiness did her in. Yes, someone did her in. http://www.wesh.com/hometest/30562154/detail.html

One early morning, there were no answers but questions. There were not stories but a story as she came to on January 16 inflicted by a regular who went to the site to use drugs and lit it her on fire. Today, The Senator sits in ruins, naked, smoldered, flustered by her demise. Tragic but it finally registered with me that I had been to places, glanced up at the wardrobes, spoken languages, danced to the drums of many who came to pay her a visit. I had a ball and was in awe that I had witnessed history. RIP Big Tree!