poor ben (lyn)

Okay, sure he has a gorgeous wife.  Three beautiful children.  Is gorgeous himself.  Has immense amount of talent in directing and writing.  Was named Entertainment Weekly‘s Entertainer of the Year.  Has been People’s Sexiest Man Alive.  Seems like a really decent guy.  And even comes from Massachusetts. 

But today Ben Afflek didn’t get an Oscar nomination for directing Argo.  Like the song says, you can't always get what you want — or in this case, deserve. 

how's this for customer service? (lyn)

A couple of weeks ago Alexander tells me that his two-year-old LL Bean backpack is tearing at the bottom.  I remember LL Bean’s guaranteed-for-life promise and return it problem-free. 

Rather than get another LL Bean backpack, I go on a search for its replacement.  Ya gotta love the internet.  There are multiple sites for “Best College Backpacks.” I read them all and find the perfect one.  It’s made by Swiss Gear and is called SA 1923 Scan Smart backpack.  It arrives a few days after Christmas and Alexander loves it. 

The other day Alexander returns from the gym and says, “Where’s my backpack,” assuming (and hoping) I’ve moved it from its resting place in a corner of our living room.  I haven’t.  Alexander retraces his steps and his backpack is gone. The luggage tag I bought him for the backpack is still sitting in his room unopened.

Alexander needs a backpack, and he liked the one he just lost, so I go back on Amazon to buy it again.  Amazon no longer sells it direct and the vendor who does sell it charges $20 more for the item plus $8 in shipping.  I call Amazon to see if there is any way they can sell me the backpack at the price I paid two weeks ago.  If not that, maybe they can arrange for free shipping.  At least that’s my hope.

I go on Amazon’s site and click the button asking for someone to call me.  Within seconds my phone rings and it’s Joe G from Amazon.  I explain the problem and this is Joe G’s response:

I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do about the new price because its not being sold directly by Amazon.  The only thing I can do is credit back the price of your original purchase.

I honestly believe I’ve heard wrong.  I say, “So, you’ll just credit my account $83.78?”  “Yes, “ says Joe G, “Would that be okay?”

A few minutes later I receive a confirming email.

Joe G is the perfect Customer Service rep; he just wants his customers to be happy.  How I wish the rest of the service world were like Joe G...

the skin doctor (lyn)

Though I loathe the expression, I’ve been in a funk.  Hazel, who lives in Chicago, writes and asks if I’m okay, since I haven’t written in a while.  Yes, I am fine, but my problems (some big, some small) overwhelm me.  I am consumed by thoughts that don’t make me happy.

I have bills totalling $22,400:  school tuition, health insurance, rent, and home insurance.  I am forced to sell stock from my very small etrade account.

No more DVD’s are arriving in the mail; screening season is about over.

I look at my dwindling retirement funds and see that it, too, is small and dwindling — down 67% from when I lost my job in 2006.

Alexander will be returning to school soon and I will miss him.

I have no prospects for earning money.

Freezing weather has been replaced by high 40’s, and still no snow.

We only have one episode of Homeland, Season Two left to watch; it is by far the best series on television.

My Words With Friends app keeps crashing; I re-bought it and it still doesn’t work.

My dad is in rehab again; he fell, and is now recovering, but it looks like a long recovery— he’s in pain still, and my mom spends her days at his side.

My sofa pillows are shedding too much.

I get up early and go to my dermatologist’s for a routine exam.  It’s an early appointment and the subway is packed.  Some heavily-accented borough girl loudly shouts, “What’s with you?  Stop touching my ass.”  Though of course I’m not, the rest of the subway now thinks I am.

My dermatologist, whom I’ve been seeing since 2004 and adore, tells me my skin looks amazing, and that it’s remarkably improved since I started seeing her and had lots of pre-cancerous spots. “Money aside, “ she says, “You don’t need to do anything, surgically or otherwise.”

My health is good.  Alexander’s is too.  My other concerns suddenly seem more manageable.

I stop by the Apple store on my way home, and one of the geniuses there shows me how to re-install Words With Friends. The download is successful.

It’s sunny and cold (somewhat).  A nice winter's day.  Life is good.

a new year's day party (lyn)

Late this afternoon Alexander and I head over to Laurie’s house.  Laurie is new to our book club, having just joined this fall.  Upon meeting her, I immediately liked her.  I am happy she invited “Lyn and family” to her open house party and I told Alexander a couple of weeks ago that we’d be going.

But now that the day is here, the whining begins.

Why do I have to go?

This is your friend, not mine.

If it were around the corner, I wouldn’t mind so much, but it’s all the way in Chelsea.

Who else is going to be there that’s my age?

How long do we have to stay?

What if I make dinner tonight; can I stay home if I do that?

I have cold, I might give it to someone.

I am still hung over and won’t make a good first impression.

An adorable three-year old boy sits behind us on the bus.  His mother overhears our conversation and asks,  “Is this what I have to look forward to?” 

We get to the party and it is packed with people I don’t know but who seem to know each other.  I am rarely comfortable in this kind of situation.  I am much better in a small group.

Eventually we see some people we know who have a daughter Alexander’s age.  “Is Lauren here?” I ask.  Lauren was a classmate of Alexander’s in elementary school and is now a sophomore at Wesleyan.  “Are you kidding?  She wouldn’t come.  She’s probably still asleep.”  

 Alexander turns to me and says, “I’m outta here.”  And with that, he's gone.  I stay and enjoy hanging out with old friends.

I wish... (lyn)

Carol invites Alexander and me to a small dinner party at her house.  Alexander agrees to go “only if Matthew is going to be there.”  Matthew is Carol’s 19-year old son, and was one of Alexander’s closest elementary-school friends.  They have grown apart over the years, attending different middle schools, high schools, and now college (Matthew is a sophomore at Dartmouth).  But the bond that formed so many years ago is still there, though perhaps a little weaker.

As usual, Carol outdoes herself with the food.  There are only 14 of us, though the food she’s prepared could easily have served twice that number.  Soon I’ll eat more carefully, but not tonight. 

The guests include a retired criminal judge, a professor at Yale, ex owners of one of the most exquisite French restaurants in NY (from 1979 to 2009), and a past president of the Ford Foundation.  It is a liberal and spirited group with much to say.  The conversation never lags, and the political conversations are interesting to listen to. I am at a loss to contribute with such well-informed and passionate debaters in the room.

Alexander and Matthew leave early, preferring to be with their friends.  I’m able to grab one last picture of 2012.

I leave before midnight as Alexander is having some kids over.  Even though he’s promised there will be no drinking, and even though I trust him, he is, after all, only 20, and well, good intentions are easily abandoned at that age.  I come home, and because I come home, the group at my house has already left to go  somewhere else.  

Before the ball drops, I reflect on the past year and welcome the new.  On a personal level, there have been many challenges this year, the major one’s being: my dad’s continued struggle with his health, Alexander’s adjustment to college, and my getting a great consulting gig that ends in disappointment.  But there has been joy too, highlighted by my nephew Jason’s engagement to Amanda,

Aside from the obvious wishes of good health, here are my hopes for 2013:

• Alexander successfully completes two more semesters at Cornell
• I find meaningful work
•  I end the year no higher in weight than I am today, 126.8 (which is 4.6 higher than year-end 2012)
•  I fall in love (which feels as likely as winning the Powerball lottery)
• I continue to be rich with many deep and lasting friendships.

May it be a good year for us all.  And may this troubled world, and divided country, be in a better place a year from now.  Happy 2013.