A.T.M. (All Telephone Manners)

By Jody Worsham, Feb. 2011

All rights reserved for Emily Post app for cell phone

A writer friend posed an interesting question. Do you talk while sitting on "the throne"? I have an equally interesting response "Do you have one of those video web phones?" because that is an entirely different roll of toilet paper.

Before, with telephones securely attached to the wall in the hall or the living room, telephone wearing apparel and manners were obvious because usually there was a parent or some family member in the same room with you while you were on the phone.

Because cell phones have become so tiny, so powerful, so technically advanced, we of the Emily Post generation find ourselves in unexplored etiquette territory. Therefore, to keep Generation X from becoming Generation XXX, I offer these rule addendums to dear Emily Post.

First, do not ask "What'cha doing" when calling a friend, given all the things that friend could be doing with a hands free cell phone clipped to the ear. You really might not want to know.

Second, with the first rule in mind, do not end a conversation with "Gotta go." That just leaves you open for all sorts of interpretations.

Third, given the total portability of our phones, do not ask the person to whom you are speaking to "Hold it" or "Hold on for a second." Given the question posed at the beginning of this piece that might not be possible.

Fourth, flushing and flashing are no longer considered proper etiquette while on the phone. Wait until the caller has hung up before you flush or drop that towel.

Fifth, when in doubt, put a black bag around your phone before answering it. You never know when that telemarketer might just have a webcam phone and is secretly taping you for that new reality show "Bare All."

I hope this has cleared up some of those troubling little questions you may have had regarding bathroom/cell phone etiquette. I'm sure in the next edition of Emily Post, there will be entire chapters devoted to cell phone, webcam, text, and virtual weddings.

Dick Tracey, Et. Al

By Jody Worsham,

All rights reserved for tin can and string.

As a child I thought Dick Tracey's wrist radio/TV was way, way, way in the future. How could you make a television set so small? Our 1950 15 inch television was set in a cabinet the size of our ice box.

Superman would be hard pressed to find a phone booth today. The caped crusader would have to duck into the nearest McDonald's or Exxon station restroom before emerging to save the world in costume. At first glance, as he's running down the street looking for a place to change, he would think aliens had already possessed us as he encountered people seemingly talking to themselves with borg-like metal objects stuck in their ears.

Batman would have it a little easier. He changes in the Bat Cave after seeing the Bat Signal projected onto a cloud. Of course, trouble could only come at night. You can't see the Bat Signal on a sunny day. I wonder why no one has ever noticed that? Today he would receive the Bat Signal day or night via a Blackberry or Android.

Dick Tracey would be amazed now, well first of all because he would be about 111 years old, but also with how far technology has come. With cell phones the size of his wrist watch, you can watch movies, TV, web cam your house, surf the net, read online newspapers, books, magazines, take videos send photographs, locate your car, e-mail, text, as well as actually use it for a phone.

Personally, I'm waiting for the phone that will do my taxes, activate my washing machine, vacuum the rug, and give me the answers to today's fourth grade math homework. Until then, like E.T., I just want to phone home.

Wired for Wi-Fi

By Jody Worsham,

All rights reserved for Mocha Frappes

It is no secret. If you live in the country as I do amongst the tall pines along a very narrow corridor, you can't have Wi-Fi. Everybody else can, but you can't. If you want internet service, you have to have dial-up or you have to camp out at the various places in town that offer free Wi-Fi.

Hasting's Book and Video Store offers free Wi-Fi. They have tables, comfortable chairs, outlets, and restrooms but I don't often buy anything there. Of course, if you have enough battery life, you can just hang out in their parking lot. Now that the children's ballet studio is across the street, I will be spending more time in their parking lot than before. I must remember to park in different locations, though, because I'm not sure what the loitering laws are.

One of my favorite Wi-Fi destinations is McDonald's, the one closest to the university. They have tables, plug-ins, restrooms, and you never have to leave for food. I spend much time there as evidenced by my elevated cholesterol level, high blood sugar, and increased weight gain. I could munch on salads while camping here, but it is much easier to use a straw and suck on a large mocha frappe while using both hands to type. Of course, after two hours you are automatically disconnected from their Wi-Fi. But not to worry, you just have to log in again.

That's a good thing, though for me, as I tend to forget about time when I'm writing or checking e-mails. Since I don't know how to set the alarm on my cell phone, and a ticking computer bag containing one of those cooking timers tends to make people nervous, I time my log in so that I'm kicked off when it's time to pick up the children from school or I've had four Mocha Frappes, whichever comes first. I use the car to pick up the children although after four Mocha Frappes I could race to the school, put them on my back and run home.

I have spent the better part of the day eating fast food, drinking Mocha Frappes, reading, and writing. I'm caffeine wired and Wi-Fi running! It's time to go!

Waaaahoooo!

Is that Your Liver or Your Heart?!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to purchase worry beads.

I don't have health issues; I have age issues. But many of my friends are entering that 100,000 mile check point. As if the brown spots that make you look like a slice of raisin bread, the knees that bend only half way, the neck that requires your entire body to rotate if you want to see what's behind you isn't enough, there are now added concerns should you need surgery; or as the insurance people like to say "a procedure." Here is a check list I have created for my 100,000 mile friends.

First, check to see if your surgeon attends AA meetings. Then determine if that is a good thing or a bad thing.

Second see if there are toddlers, a newborn, twins, teenagers (or worse twin teenagers) as these can affect the amount of sleep your surgeon has received.

Third, scan the local newspapers for any pending malpractice suits, divorce proceedings, or fallen tree issues on the horizon. These all affect the surgeon's state of mind, finances, and hands.

Fourth, if your surgeon has been happily married for a number of years, they probably have a "special day". You will want to avoid having your procedure the day before that "special day" as his mind is definitely not thinking about your gall stone. If you have your procedure after that "special day", he's still got his mind elsewhere and not on the bunion you are having removed. If you have your procedure on that "special day", you run the risk of having your belly button stapled to your lungs in his rush to get home.

Fifth, schedule your emergency procedure when there is not a weather emergency, such as the wintery blizzard conditions we have been having. The electric companies tend to institute the "rolling brown out" which cuts power to facilities for up to fifteen minutes to conserve energy. Not good when it's you on the operating table.

Sixth, and this is extremely important especially as it relates to number five, make friends with the hospital janitor/engineer. He is the one who periodically checks the hospital's emergency generators to be sure they are working in case of a "rolling brown out". Most importantly, he is the one who has to remember to flip the switch back to AUTOMATIC so the generators will kick on instantly during a "rolling brown out" and you won't be on the operating table… in the dark…while your doctors try to figure out if that's your appendix or your liver they just took out.

Please feel free to copy this checklist and take it with you as you interview doctors for any procedures you may be anticipating in the future. I'm also including the 1-800 number for the psych hotline, the Weather Channel, and Worry-Beads-R-Us. Mention my name for a laugh and a 10% discount.

Snow Bound!

By Jody Worsham, Feb. 2011

All rights reserved for Valium Hot Toddies!

The Weather Channel is non-stop blizzard! I haven't seen those people this excited since Katrina and Rita came through. Jim Cantores doesn't know which city to go to first: Oklahoma, Chicago, Denver, New York? He has his sled dogs all hooked up and ready to race the latest cancelled flight to whichever city seems to have the worst weather.

I have been watching the white and pink line of bad weather slowly approaching my home town. While the northeasterners are refueling their snow blowers, adding extensions to their car antennas with additional tennis balls so they can find their car once the snow plows bury them, my little town has joined in the mad preparations.

Just this morning when the temperature was hovering around 40 degrees and threatening to drop even lower, the Wal-Mart parking lot was basically empty. Evidently I am among the last to hit the store for needed supplies. All the white bread was gone. Only that healthy 43 grain gravel bread was left. Toilet paper was down to some recycled brand I had never heard of but was forced to buy. I managed to snag some ground meat, canned beans, Snickers, chips, hot chocolate, pop tarts, and a couple of gallons of milk. While we have a generator, we may be limited in gasoline. Years ago we wisely opted for both a propane and electric heating system plus we have two wood burning fireplaces so keeping warm is not a concern.

My top priority is to make sure the two portable DVD players, two DS Nintendos, and the i-pod touch are fully charged should school be cancelled for a day or two. All the children and teachers are doing the "Make it Snow/Ice/Sleet/Power Lines/Down" dance in the hopes that school will be cancelled. All parents have headed to the nearest church to pray for temperatures 32 and above. Either way, I'm "charging" ahead. You won't catch me in the house with a five-year-old and a nine-year-old and no electronic paraphernalia to keep them occupied.

Should this ice/snow/power out storm last longer than my charged up electronics, I have plan B: a deck of cards, a set of dominoes, and a bag of pinto beans. Once we have exhausted all card games known to man: Go Fish, Battle, Slap-Jack, Texas Hold'em, Five Card Stud, Canasta, Bridge, One-eyed Jack, Pregnant Three's, Follow the Queen, Dr. Pepper, Rembrandt, High Chicago, Low Chicago, Crises-Cross, Viper, Race Horse, Take it to Your Buddy, Elimination, Seven Twenty-seven, Constellation( to name a few), it's on to dominoes.

Besides "42", "84", regular dominoes, Mexican dominoes, and match, we can build domino houses, villages, countries and proceed to line them up then topple them over, just like in Egypt. We can make domino towers, tunnels, lakes, and corrals. When they tire of that, it's on to the pinto beans.

Pinto beans are the poor man's moon sand, sand pile, Etch and Sketch, calculator and BBs. You can count them, divide them, make mountains, valleys, ditches and bean slides with them. You can search for buried treasure, play hide and seek looking for the "red" bean. Add an empty paper towel roll and you have a "rain machine" or other musical instrument. Match up identical beans, play hide the beans, and create bean mosaics. Add a rubber band and you can have a mean, lean, pinto bean throwing machine. Set up photos of Super bowl players you want defeated and "bean" them with your rubber band BB gun. Recycle those straws hiding in the back seat of the car and make bean blow darts. If you have eaten beans the night before, you can add appropriate sound effects. After all the games are over, wash the pinto beans, soak overnight, cook and you have dinner for the next day.

Being snowbound doesn't have to make you crazy. It can. It will. It does. But it can also bring the family closer together, very close, claustrophobic close. Just save the pinto beans for last.

Stress Test

By Jody Worsham,

All rights reserved for Goodyear Jeans

There is a lot of stress in raising a five year old and a nine year old when you are looking seventy in the face, but I thought I was handling it pretty well, at least until recent times.

Just before Christmas my husband won a $250 gift card in a drawing. I should have been the winner since I inadvertently dropped his entry into the hopper instead of mine. I quickly confiscated the gift card and just as quickly lost it.

A week or so after Christmas I finally wore out the band to the dinner ring he gave me thirty years ago. After snagging the broken band on a towel I thought it best if I removed the ring before I lost it. The ring had only left my finger once before when I had the stones tightened. Remembering the lost gift card, I decided to put the ring in the safe…I think. Later when I went to retrieve the ring and take it to the jewelers, I couldn't find it.

The children asked why I was crying. I told them I lost my ring. The next day the nine-year-old told all her friends I had lost it. They told her not to worry; their mothers "lost it" all the time. They wrote me a sweet note saying they were sorry I was losing it.

I put the ring and gift card incidents aside and focused on more immediate things. Updating the children's passports. The five-year-old no longer looks like his eighteen-month-old passport picture which subjected us to lengthy questioning by the Customs people last summer after our cruise.

First I got on line to see what was needed. As usual, nothing referred to renewing passports for minors. I grabbed a pair of jeans, laid on the bed so I could zip them up and headed for the courthouse.

I have not set foot in a courthouse since we adopted the children four years ago. Had I known the security guard was going to rummage through my purse, I would have a) gathered up all my loose change b) taken the extra pair of underwear out and left them in the car c) put the 1,000 Wal-Mart receipts in an envelope and d) renewed my "Support your Local Sheriff" membership.

"Where do you need to go?" she asked with her hand resting on her gun holster.

"To the passport renewal desk," I answered with my hand resting on my heart.

"Second counter on your left." As I gathered my things back in my purse and headed for the second counter on my left, I noticed she was following me. I kept thinking, "This woman is not one of "Charlie's Angels". This woman could handle Alcatraz." I was so paranoid I stopped at the first counter as I heard her footsteps thundering behind me. "Ma'am, the next counter." "Oh, thank you and I scurried on with the footsteps still following…and gaining. "Ma'am" and she got right behind me and said quietly in her low powerful voice "I don't mean to embarrass you but you've split the back out of your jeans." "Thank you," I muttered pulling off my jacket and tying it around my waist.

I explained to the clerk, who was snickering, that I needed renewal passport forms for the children. "Just take these, fill them out and put them in the mail." I hurried past the security guard and headed for home.

I looked at the forms then called the National Passport Information hot line for more information. These were the wrong forms. Back to the courthouse, well after changing jeans. This time I left my purse in the car but I forgot to change from my very distinctive Disney World zip up hoodie. Yes, the same security guard was there and yes I know she was scrutinizing my backside as I once again made it to the second counter. "Oh," said the district clerk when I told her she had given me the wrong forms. "Then you will need this".

With correct forms in hand I returned home to fill them out. First instruction: You must have two of the following A) valid driver's license. Nope. Five and nine year olds cannot drive. B) voter registration. Nope, can't vote only watch campaign commercials. C) Student ID Nope, kindergarten and fourth grade do not issue ID's. E) Valid work card. Nope, setting the table and making your bed does not require a work card." Back to the phone. The National Passport Information 1-800 number is now on my speed dial and they know me by name. "No, none of those are required; however, all four of you must appear before the district clerk with old passports and with the required funds," he said.

With children and hubby in tow, it was back to the courthouse. Just in case the same security guard was there, I changed shirts. To be on the safe side, I took the large briefcase containing social security cards, court ordered adoption papers, shot records, report cards, birth certificates, baby pictures, pulled baby teeth, Christmas card with family photo, little league trophies, newspaper clippings about the recent fishing tournament they won, DVD of last year's ballet recital, and their handprints I had received for Mother's Day I years past. I also carried our framed marriage license, hubby's old draft card, my teaching certificate, and our tax records for the past 50 years. The security guard had fun going through all that.

I walked confidently to the second counter having committed the location to memory, and wearing a different shirt, different jeans, and with my little red wagon full of documentation to prove I am who I am and they are who they say they are. We paid the fees and now must wait for our passports.

Oh, the stress…and to think I have to do this all over again in five years…but next time I'll start out wearing bigger jeans… made by Goodyear.

Fish Tales

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for frozen bait.

Each year our City Parks and Recreation Department hosts a tournament at a small lake across from Wal-Mart. Every January they stock the lack with 800 trout and a few days later host a tournament for children one to sixteen. It is the biggest little fishing tournament of the year as far as Dr. Hubby is concerned.

The temperature is always in the twenties here at this time of the year and Saturday was no exception, 22 degrees. The trout thrive in cold weather. I shiver in cold weather. Two years ago our three-year-old won the tournament having caught the most fish. He also won a couple of rods in the drawing they hold at the end of the tournament. This year Dr. Hubby was out for a repeat win.

Saturday morning is the one morning I do not have to set the alarm. You would think I would be able to sleep late. Not so. Five mornings I set the alarm then spend thirty minutes trying to awaken, dress, and feed breakfast to two sleepy heads and get them off to school. On the sixth morning the five-year-old's internal clock says PLAY TIME and he is up and running around by 7a.m. and thus me also.

On THE DAY of the fishing tournament, all three children (one of them being seventy years old) were up, chattering, layering on the thermal underwear, grabbing woolen hats, fishing poles, bait, rubber boots, and were out the door for breakfast at McDonald's by 8a.m. The tournament started at 9a.m.

At 11:30 I dropped by after my daily Wal-Mart run to see how they were doing. It was just across the street, remember? Dr. Hubby was having trouble keeping the five-year-old focused on reeling in the fish. The nine-year-old had abandoned ship and gone up to the registration tent to help them gut the trout and fry the trout that had been caught so far. She said she liked fried trout. Later she said she was going to help mix up the apple cider and serve it. I left little Miss Paula Deane and the wandering fishermen and headed back home.

I returned with camera in hand at 2p.m. in time for the awards. The five-year-old had managed to stay focused long enough to catch the largest trout and the most trout for his age group. He received a new rod and reel, an expensive tackle case, and a fifty dollar gift card. If anyone came late for the awards and missed his presentation, he proceeded to walk around with his rod and reel and tackle case over his shoulder so everyone could get a good look at his "winnings." Little Miss Paula Deane stopped serving long enough to catch the largest trout and the most trout for her age group. She also came home with a pink rod and reel that lights up when you turn the handle and a pink fishing tackle box which she immediately began converting to a spice and cooking utensil carrier.

After we got home, the kids dumped their loot and headed for the swings. Dr. Hubby was looking for just the right place to display the new rods and hang the tackle cases. "Two out of three years. He's won two out of three years and even she won this year. Good year!" He was still grinning from ear to ear when he fell asleep in his recliner.

The next morning all three "kids" were sniffling and snorting but still smiling from their successful six hour cold water fishing tournament. My job was to retrieve the Sunday paper. After much looking and ahhing and oooing over the newspaper article and picture, I was allowed to cut out and frame the article and alert the rest of the northern hemisphere. By this afternoon Dr. Hubby had the five-year-old casting his new rod and reel in preparation for next year's tournament. Little Miss Paula Deene baked brownies and a cake.

If you happen to stop by the little lake across from Wal-Mart next year, give us a holler. Dr. Hubby will be the old gray haired man in five layers of clothing with the five-year-old who will be running up and down the dam chasing the geese and pulling in fish. The nine-year-old will be serving up fried trout and hot apple cider before hauling in her catch.

I will be missing having wisely decided once again to remain home where it is warm until award time. Oh, and preparing this year's Fish Tale.