Our family is no stranger to miscommunications.  When our son was just a little tyke, we had a giant one when we enrolled him in pre-school.  He loved the first day or two and made a best friend right away (they stayed best friends all through school, too.)  But when we told him, happily, that he would be attending every day, he grew quiet, and then tearful. 

               The next day, he balked at getting into the car.  This was an unusual behavior for him, and he cried quietly all the way to the preschool.  My husband was stunned and felt a little out-of-depth at this.  When I picked him up, he was quiet.  He said he had fun, but pleaded not to go back the next day.

               Finally, we sat down with him after dinner and asked why he didn’t like it anymore.  He confessed he liked it a lot, but didn’t want to go “every day.” Then he added, “You don’t go to work every day!  I want to be home with you!”

               Duh.  “Every day” does not include weekends, but we didn’t think to mention that.  When we explained it was only the days we worked, he was suddenly all smiles again. 

               Many years later, my husband and I were contemplating retirement.  We were driving along one day and I asked him what he wanted to do with his upcoming new, non-scheduled time. He replied that he’d like to use his creativity more.

               I immediately went to a dozen places in my head.  He is very creative in both music and art, so I imagined him joining a men’s choir, or perhaps taking art classes.  Maybe he’d even open a little studio.  We could create one over our garage just for him!

               I took out my pad and pen from my purse and began writing notes furiously. Glancing over, he asked what I was doing.

               Replying that I was making a list of materials for a studio over the garage, he looked puzzled. “What for?” he asked.  I said, “Well for your retirement.”

               “Oh,” he laughed.  “I don’t need a studio for it, just my head!  I want to put my organizational skills to work in some way.”

               Hmmm.  Organizing to me is a left-brain activity, not a right-brain one.  But to each his own!

               These days, we don’t have many verbal miscommunications.  We do, however, have many with our technological devices.  Almost daily in fact!

               Just yesterday, I opened my phone to see two texts that had come in.  I read the second one first and answered it, also asking a question. Then I read the first one, and it had the answer to my question in it!  So I responded quickly and apologized for responding without reading the first text.

               “What first text?” came back her reply. 

               So I put on my glasses and reviewed my texting.  Sure enough, two different people had sent me texts.  Geez Louise!

               But this morning, my husband had the biggest one yet (though I’m sure there will be more on both our parts). I was out running errands and asked him to text me the number of our accountant.  So he said to his phone, “Okay, Google” to ask them to look up the number.

               While he was doing that, our photo device on the counter responded as well – “looking up accountant.”  His phone and the photo device were both looking up the number and dialing.

               Well, who knew our photo holder could make phone calls?  Apparently many people know that, but we aren’t among them!  My husband didn’t know how to tell the photo machine to quit dialing without canceling the call on his phone.

               It took a while, but he finally texted me the number.  And now we know that more of our technology is listening to us than we imagined.  I’m not sure that’s comforting!

I had the occasion a little while ago of returning to a high school – not my high school – but one locally, at which I enjoyed their production of a spring musical. 
               But returning to a high school after so many years was both familiar and strange.  I knew, of course, that “times had changed.” Our own son was in high school several years (okay, many years) ago, and I had an inkling from those days that times were, indeed quite different.  And it goes beyond the fact that our son did not have to walk to school barefoot, in the snow, and uphill both ways. A critical difference between our son’s high school experience and mine was in math classes.  In my days, we were punished severely if we were caught using a calculator, slide rule, compass, or even our toes in a math class.  Heaven forbid we tried to use those things during a test!

               By the time our son reached high school, calculators were required equipment to bring to class.  And these babies weren’t the three dollar ones, either.  They had to do trigonometry and calculus and – for the price – they should have prepared dinner, too!

               So I knew that times had changed.  But I wasn’t prepared for the many differences the ensuing years had wrought.

               The first difference I noted was in the water fountains.  Sure, we had water fountains in my day.  I’m not that old!  We even had indoor plumbing!  The water fountains in the entryway to the high school we were in last week had an additional spout, with a sign indicating that this was the location you could use to fill your water bottle.    Water bottle? That’s another thing that we would have been prohibited from bringing to school!

               The second thing I noticed were multiple posters around the hallways, each advertising in big letters the number for various hotlines.  These hotlines covered issues including suicidal thoughts, depression, anxiety, and other mental health disorders.

               I was saddened by this, but also encouraged, that we are aware that teenagers suffer from these types of maladies and need support.  In my day, if you had any of these issues, likely you were silent.  If you dared raise a concern, you were told to “cheer up,” “buck up,” or “it will get better.”  Certainly we weren’t offered validation and places to get real help.  It wasn’t the intent to ignore these issues or dismiss us as people – don’t get me wrong. Folks just didn’t realize the seriousness at that time. So, this is a tremendous improvement.

               The last thing I discovered was an over-the-door shoe bag in the women’s rest room. It included feminine hygiene products of varying types in each little shoe holder.  Free!  This is a great stride forward for young ladies in school! 

               Yep, I was pretty impressed with the changes overall.  Some things don’t change, of course. I enjoyed the National Honor Society bulletin board “NEWS” that had absolutely nothing on it but a pretty covering of black paper.  Perhaps it was an artistic statement?

               And the smell.  Ugh.  Sweaty children, dirty socks, chalk, and something indefinable that just screams “school.”  Maybe in the next thirty years, someone will find a way to change that odor to something…better.

Let me revisit a topic that I wrote about a while back.  Sometimes, advertising seems to take a premise a bit too far.  So far, in fact, that it doesn’t make any sense at all.  The medication adverts are the worst (in my opinion) for this taking-things-too-far phenomena. The one that gets me the most is the one for a little blue pill to help in the “romance” department.  The commercials for these always showed a couple painting, or gardening, or unloading groceries and then they share…a “look.” The next thing you know, the two of them are each ensconced in a bathtub – close enough to hold hands, and usually in a field near a pond. 

               Okay, first of all, those of us at a certain age are not exactly thinking about romance when gardening, painting, or grocery shopping.  Usually, we’re thinking of (a) how many steps we’re getting and/or (b) how soon we’ll be done and sit and have a drink.  Secondly, there’s nothing romantic about sitting in separate bathtubs, regardless of the view.  And finally, as I’ve mentioned before, where’s the water in those tubs coming from?  Or are they just sitting in the tubs fully clothed for ambiance?  Because the effort it would require to get in and out of a claw foot tub would erase any romantic thoughts I had for sure!  And for heaven’s sake, sitting in a field?  Near a pond?  Slather on the bug cream, please.  There’s romance for you!

               I was thinking about this the other day because I was sitting in an office watching their television while I waited for an appointment.  The television could have had auto repair shows running (like they do at AAA), or home remodeling shows (as my wonderful dentist does), but no, they had ads for hearing aids.  Well, to be fair, it was an ear, nose, and throat doctor’s office, so that made sense.  What did not make sense was that the volume was on very, very low.  So, if I had a hearing loss, I would have been able to see the pictures of the various products, but not hear a word about them.  Hey, here’s an idea, why not advertise for hearing aids on the radio?  I bet they do, but I wouldn’t know, because I can’t hear it!

               That made me think of all the money people spend on vanity license plates.  I get that – it’s fun to say CMPR GAL on your license plate if you love to camp.  Or 4 OSU if you’re a Buckeye fan.  Those let everyone know what you’re all about and well worth the extra ten bucks a year.  I know I’m always excited to see SCCR MOM around town. 

               What doesn’t make sense is spending that extra money every year for a personalized license plate that only makes sense to YOU.  I mean, what’s the point? Why spend the money for something that nobody understands?

               But this isn’t a new thing.  I remember watching many a commercial on television when I was growing up that showed the exciting and amazing colors you could see on color TV sets.  We didn’t have a color TV set, of course, so I was watching those ads on a big old black-and-white set.  So I had to just imagine what a color TV would be like.  I mean they must have spent a lot of money for those commercials, which aired on mostly black and white televisions.  So… again, the point? 

               On the other hand, everyone who has a television now, has a color one, right?  So I guess the advertising paid off – 60 years later!

My husband and I play a word game together nearly every day.  We do this with a television show that we watch, and take turns giving the clues while we pause the show.  Then we watch to see how the celebrities and actual contestants do, compared with our success. 

               It passes a half hour during breakfast quite nicely and we have a lot of laughs about some of the words and some of the clues – both ours and the ones on the show.

               Last week, my dearest husband had a lot of laughs – and all of them at my expense.  But, truthfully, he was justified.  I was pretty confused.

               It all started with the word “inflatable.” I was giving the clues and told him it was “pool toy, blow up.”  He guessed “inflate,” “inflates,” “inflated,” and – after my frantic head nodding – “inflation.” It was beyond me to come up with any additional ways to help him (because I didn’t think of saying “Cain’s brother”), so we didn’t get that round. I had run out of time.

When it was my turn to give clues the second time, the words were simply absurd.  First of all, I had to get him to say “expiration date.”  It took me about ten words (which is nearly all you get), but I finally got it.  The very next clue was “Radiohead.”

               Well, duh.  I don’t even know what that is.  Someone who holds a boom box on their shoulder?  A square-headed person?

               I finally came up with, “television cabeza.”

               And he got it!!

               It was his turn next, and the second word he was trying to get me to say was the word, “rodeo.”  His  clue was “Calgary Stampede.”  Hmmm. 

               I started to guess by saying, “Is that where Jesus died?”  He shook his head, with a very puzzled look on his face.

               Then he added the clue, “horses.”  It was my turn to look befuddled.

And then he said, “bulls.”

               That didn’t help me at all.  There were horses and bulls at the cross?  Where were they hiding that tidbit in Sunday School?  I think I stumped my hubby with my guesses of “Jesus,” “crucify,” and “cross.”  He finally got out “this isn’t my first ____!”

               That’s when I finally said “rodeo,” just as time was running out.  But I was confused.  So I asked him what a rodeo had to do with anything in the Bible.

               Matt explained to me that the Calgary Stampede was a rodeo and that the place where Jesus was crucified is called “Calvary.”

               “Calvary?” I echoed, puzzled.  “I thought that was the army infantry.”

               “No,” he explained patiently, “that’s “CAValry.  CALvary is the crucifixion site.”

               Normally, I’m pretty good with words and when playing word games.  But I was totally flummoxed that day and we laughed all the way through the championship round.  Which, by the way, included the word “hunch.”  I had a hunch we weren’t going to get that one, either.