When the GPS wave started, spouse and I didn't grab our surfboards and ride it. We first wanted to test the waters. Friends had gotten a Magellan early on, and after a road trip with them, we were convinced that we were ready for our very own.
At the store we were undecided on a brand; the Magellan was somewhat familiar, and we had seen many Garmin ads, but the TomTom had the "Help" feature which appealed to the pessimistic/negative/worrywart aspects of our personalities, so TomTom is what we chose. Once home, we read the directions, connected to TomTom.com, and then went for a ride to test (and charge up) our new toy. We chose a female voice to give us directions, but she had the same name as one of our daughters, which would cause confusion, so we thought outside the box and named her Susie.
Susie was always pleasant, no matter how often we disobeyed her instructions. Not once did she call us a bad name or even sound a little impatient. We would drive past the little checkered flag on the screen and she would silently start recalculating the route to get us back there. We programmed all kinds of favorites in there; family, friends, restaurants, Disneyworld. There were a million points of interest, which sounded like a lot. Even though we click-agreed that we wouldn't operate the GPS while driving, we often operated while driving. Susie did not report us to the authorities.
Two years of harmony passed. One of our daughters bought a TomTom also, but it was A Step Up, Better Than Ours, The Latest Thing. It spoke street names before turns, it named highways and exits. Spouse and I and Susie were now two years older than we had been. We needed life to get even easier and Christmas was conveniently only a month away.
Off we went to Target to price a Susie Upgrade, then on to Best Buy to comparison shop. She was priced the same at both stores. Spouse presented me with my brand new TomTom, who purportedly spoke street names. Merry Christmas! Out to the car we went where we set up our new Susie (easier than thinking up another name) and prepared to hear Spoken Street Names. We got home with nary a Street Name spoken. Something was wrong. TomTom's Tech. Support is closed on Sundays, naturally.
Back to Best Buy we went, ready to exchange our defective Susie and ready to dispute the customary restock fee if necessary. When I had first programmed Susie in the parking lot of the Best Buy, there was something about a human voice not being able to do the warning messages, that only the computer voice could do that. I ignored this nonsense. On the drive back to Best Buy, spouse was reprogramming, and he chose the computer voice. Susie did mention a street name right before we got back to the store... Once at BB, a nice Geek Squad member named Liam went to work and said that it should be working now. We noticed on the display that there was a Green Bell icon that had not been there before, and were excited and filled with hope (after all it was the Christmas season).
Once in the car, we plugged Susie in, programmed her for home, and there were lots of possible Street Names to be Spoken. And ... Success! We got exit numbers, we got highways, we got street names! What joy! Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! And anyone that accidentally deletes the Green Bell icon on Susie is a rotten egg.
November 30, 2009
Jeepers Creepers, What Happened to My Peepers?
Everything was going fine until 40 something came along. I could read far, I could read near, and not even the fine print on the trial sized Tylenol was too small for my 20/20 peepers. I felt a smidgen of sympathy for those unable to read what I could, but thought that glasses could even the playing field for them. Both my parents had worn glasses for reading and/or distance, and all of my grandparents had worn them.
Then one day that small print became blurry. Holding it farther away sometimes helped but those jokes about arms being too short were no longer amusing. I went to see the eye doctor. We are supposed to see the eye doctor every year after 40, so I had some catching up to do. The exam was great fun, and I got to look through the Inspector Gadget viewers so that even more letters were blurry. I came out of the office the proud owner of my first pair of glasses. It had been a secret wish of mine as a child to wear both glasses and braces, and in a week or two, I would have my glasses in all their newness, with frames chosen by the eye doctor because I couldn't decide within the five seconds allotted to me.
Once the glasses were ready, I went to pick them up, had them fitted to my ears, cheeks, and nose. Spectacular! I tried them out, they worked, and home my glasses and I went to try them out in real life. They helped with reading, but the computer monitor was just not the right distance for optimal viewing. I solved that problem with a trip to the department store for some reading glasses, and got a pair of 1.25 strength. They worked great on everything, and cost 1/20 what the Real Glasses cost. Plus there was frame chicness aplenty, and the first flowered pair was followed by several others in rapid succession. Why not have a pair in every room of the house? Get some for work, and keep a pair in the car, too. Just like Visa, they were everywhere I wanted to be.
That was years ago. I have now graduated to 2.00 strength. I now visit a nice eye doctor (not the original one) every year and he encourages me to update my original Real Glasses, since they are now 12% out of whack (not the correct medical term) for me. I can't justify the $350 for one pair when I can get all these pretty flowered, polka dotted, and stripey frames for less than $20 each. He isn't pushy about it, so I continue to go see him.
Perfect vision is something to be appreciated, and despite the 2.00 glasses, I do greatly appreciate what's left of my vision. Trying to look under the couch, table, or anything low is difficult and awkward with reading glasses on the tip of my nose, and I have to do some ostrich neck moves so that I can see. When all else fails, I put them on upside down. In the car I can put them on outside my sunglasses for effective reading and a whole new look. Who needs prescription sunglasses? Being an embarrassment to the children is an unfortunate side effect, but it will help acclimate them for the years ahead.
Then one day that small print became blurry. Holding it farther away sometimes helped but those jokes about arms being too short were no longer amusing. I went to see the eye doctor. We are supposed to see the eye doctor every year after 40, so I had some catching up to do. The exam was great fun, and I got to look through the Inspector Gadget viewers so that even more letters were blurry. I came out of the office the proud owner of my first pair of glasses. It had been a secret wish of mine as a child to wear both glasses and braces, and in a week or two, I would have my glasses in all their newness, with frames chosen by the eye doctor because I couldn't decide within the five seconds allotted to me.
Once the glasses were ready, I went to pick them up, had them fitted to my ears, cheeks, and nose. Spectacular! I tried them out, they worked, and home my glasses and I went to try them out in real life. They helped with reading, but the computer monitor was just not the right distance for optimal viewing. I solved that problem with a trip to the department store for some reading glasses, and got a pair of 1.25 strength. They worked great on everything, and cost 1/20 what the Real Glasses cost. Plus there was frame chicness aplenty, and the first flowered pair was followed by several others in rapid succession. Why not have a pair in every room of the house? Get some for work, and keep a pair in the car, too. Just like Visa, they were everywhere I wanted to be.
That was years ago. I have now graduated to 2.00 strength. I now visit a nice eye doctor (not the original one) every year and he encourages me to update my original Real Glasses, since they are now 12% out of whack (not the correct medical term) for me. I can't justify the $350 for one pair when I can get all these pretty flowered, polka dotted, and stripey frames for less than $20 each. He isn't pushy about it, so I continue to go see him.
Perfect vision is something to be appreciated, and despite the 2.00 glasses, I do greatly appreciate what's left of my vision. Trying to look under the couch, table, or anything low is difficult and awkward with reading glasses on the tip of my nose, and I have to do some ostrich neck moves so that I can see. When all else fails, I put them on upside down. In the car I can put them on outside my sunglasses for effective reading and a whole new look. Who needs prescription sunglasses? Being an embarrassment to the children is an unfortunate side effect, but it will help acclimate them for the years ahead.
November 29, 2009
Driving Along in our Automobile
When I was growing up, my parents would consistently keep a car for seven years before replacing it. I first took notice of the family car when I was about six. It was two-tone white and green and had three rows of seats. We were a family of nine, and that car could carry us all in comfort. Following the white & green wagon there was a black station wagon with red interior, often referred to by non-family members as "the hearse", but my father was proud of his purchase. He had singled out the one car on the lot that no one else (with any sense of style) would want and then put his bargaining skills to the test.
Fast forward to my teen years when it was time to get my license. Not in any hurry to drive, I was forced to get the dreaded license when I was 18 and my parents (and ride to work) were going away for two weeks in yet another station wagon (yellow) with most of my siblings. Learning to drive with my father went pretty well. I was afraid of the power of the mile-long banana boat, and especially of the brakes, which I used only as a last resort. Cornering was a nightmare, and thinking about one turn in particular still makes me shudder. I attempted a right turn into a parking lot, and where I wanted the car to be and where it actually was (on a cement curb) were two very different locations. "STOP! STOP!" my father was shouting, but braking suddenly was too scary, and we bounced along on the curb for a bit. Eventually I got the car stopped, and my father very calmly explained that I needed to check the gauges to see if I had ripped off the bottom of the car which would be indicated by the little red oil light. No light, no problem; but I still had to keep driving.
One more memorable episode was on our way to work one fine morning. Again, it was my father and I, with me at the wheel. There was road construction, with the added attractions of traffic delays and a bunch of men standing around in the road. There wasn't much room to drive, and for someone with only a learner's permit, it was scary. I just wanted to get through it as fast as I could. Not even my father's shouts of "You're going to hit him!", referring to a man in a hard hat standing in the road with his back to our lane, were enough to slow me down. The hard hat wouldn't have been much help if he had backed up even an inch.
I got my license, my parents and siblings went off to their vacation, and I stayed home with the Plymouth Duster (in a lovely shade of dirt brown), which was now in its last stages of life. Coming to a stop would stall it. Slowing down would make it start thinking about stalling. My sisters and I, who were all learning to drive in a short span of years, all learned the tricks necessary to keep the car breathing and moving. Stopping the car meant a quick shift into Neutral while we gunned the engine and hit the E brake if we were on a hill. We took for granted that this was what driving was going to be like, perhaps for ever and always.
My spouse has only one memorable learning-to-drive experience, and it was with his father. Their family car was always a Pontiac, always in good running order. He was driving along and his father suddenly shouted, "Look out for the horse!" several times. Spouse looked all around for Mr. Ed in the roadway, couldn't see him, and his father pointed out the roadwork saw-horse hundreds of feet ahead in the road.
It seems that in each set of parents, one will help to teach the kids to drive, and the other will not. I don't remember how it became my responsibility when my own kids were ready, but there we were in the Nissan minivan, my daughter and I. We started in the A & P parking lot, then took the back roads, then eventually the highway. Both of my daughters were fearless on the roadways, not afraid of the other cars or the family car they were driving. I didn't want to hear myself repeating "slow down", so I used a hairbrush to poke the leg of the speed demon instead. It was effective, and still humane. My older daughter bought a car a week before she went for her license, so she was able to avoid using the family car from the start. My younger daughter learned on my Maxima, and experienced the hairbrush quite a bit. Once she got her license, there were no driving tricks to remember, no jamming into Neutral to give it gas, no E brake usage.
My parents traded every seven years, and we trade every two.
We have one daughter who trades every two years, and the other has kept hers for eight years.
What goes around comes around?
Fast forward to my teen years when it was time to get my license. Not in any hurry to drive, I was forced to get the dreaded license when I was 18 and my parents (and ride to work) were going away for two weeks in yet another station wagon (yellow) with most of my siblings. Learning to drive with my father went pretty well. I was afraid of the power of the mile-long banana boat, and especially of the brakes, which I used only as a last resort. Cornering was a nightmare, and thinking about one turn in particular still makes me shudder. I attempted a right turn into a parking lot, and where I wanted the car to be and where it actually was (on a cement curb) were two very different locations. "STOP! STOP!" my father was shouting, but braking suddenly was too scary, and we bounced along on the curb for a bit. Eventually I got the car stopped, and my father very calmly explained that I needed to check the gauges to see if I had ripped off the bottom of the car which would be indicated by the little red oil light. No light, no problem; but I still had to keep driving.
One more memorable episode was on our way to work one fine morning. Again, it was my father and I, with me at the wheel. There was road construction, with the added attractions of traffic delays and a bunch of men standing around in the road. There wasn't much room to drive, and for someone with only a learner's permit, it was scary. I just wanted to get through it as fast as I could. Not even my father's shouts of "You're going to hit him!", referring to a man in a hard hat standing in the road with his back to our lane, were enough to slow me down. The hard hat wouldn't have been much help if he had backed up even an inch.
I got my license, my parents and siblings went off to their vacation, and I stayed home with the Plymouth Duster (in a lovely shade of dirt brown), which was now in its last stages of life. Coming to a stop would stall it. Slowing down would make it start thinking about stalling. My sisters and I, who were all learning to drive in a short span of years, all learned the tricks necessary to keep the car breathing and moving. Stopping the car meant a quick shift into Neutral while we gunned the engine and hit the E brake if we were on a hill. We took for granted that this was what driving was going to be like, perhaps for ever and always.
My spouse has only one memorable learning-to-drive experience, and it was with his father. Their family car was always a Pontiac, always in good running order. He was driving along and his father suddenly shouted, "Look out for the horse!" several times. Spouse looked all around for Mr. Ed in the roadway, couldn't see him, and his father pointed out the roadwork saw-horse hundreds of feet ahead in the road.
It seems that in each set of parents, one will help to teach the kids to drive, and the other will not. I don't remember how it became my responsibility when my own kids were ready, but there we were in the Nissan minivan, my daughter and I. We started in the A & P parking lot, then took the back roads, then eventually the highway. Both of my daughters were fearless on the roadways, not afraid of the other cars or the family car they were driving. I didn't want to hear myself repeating "slow down", so I used a hairbrush to poke the leg of the speed demon instead. It was effective, and still humane. My older daughter bought a car a week before she went for her license, so she was able to avoid using the family car from the start. My younger daughter learned on my Maxima, and experienced the hairbrush quite a bit. Once she got her license, there were no driving tricks to remember, no jamming into Neutral to give it gas, no E brake usage.
My parents traded every seven years, and we trade every two.
We have one daughter who trades every two years, and the other has kept hers for eight years.
What goes around comes around?
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