D-TV, Are You Ready?

With television broadcasts switching from an analog format to digital, the Weebles would be severely impacted. No sound, no picture, only static. They won't give me my 60 Minutes.

The easiest solution would have been to hook the Weebles up to cable. The house is already wired for FIOS with the computer traveling at the blazing speed of a giant paper weight for the use it gets. Would the Weebles watch 1,000 channels? Probably not. Dad would be happy to have his news and 60 Minutes. Not a bad thing either since I couldn't afford to pick up the tab on cable television for him. The converter box would make a nice Christmas gift.

At the beginning of December, with the looming countdown of D-Day, the day television stations would begin broadcasting a digital signal, I went online to find the coupon the government was issuing to help defer the cost of a converter box. What a surprise to find no coupon to download and print, but a sign up list to receive a coupon via snail mail. And the coupon would take 3 weeks to arrive! No worries. I signed up to get a coupon (only 2 issued per household) and sat back to wait.

The day after Christmas, the coupon arrived in the mail. I had heard we were one of the lucky ones as shortly after I signed up, the government ran out of money for the coupon program. Course if they hadn't spent a small fortune on running the countdown ads, they might have had sufficient money to fund the coupons program.

With coupon in hand, Himself went to purchase the converter, bring it to the Weebles, hook it up, and to show Dad what to do.

Then the calls.

"The screen is blue."

I happily passed the monkey to Himself. There were more lessons. More calls. More patient explanations that there were two remote controls. One to turn the television on and change the channels and the other to run the converter box. More calls, the remote went missing. Found it.

No more blue screen calls. We thought things were finally running smoothly until I stopped at the Weebles to take them to the Mahket.

There were two small black and white televisions in the living room.

"Why do you have two televisions down here?"

"Oh," said Dad. "See? The plug for the thing came out of the wall." He showed me the dangling converter box plug.

"And SHE knocked the thing over."

I could see the converter box hanging by some wires behind the television. I happily passed the message along to Himself. Since television stations are still broadcasting an analog signal, Dad brought an old black and white television that was languishing in the attic down to the livingroom. He could get his news and see 60 Minutes and wouldn't fiddle with the converter box wires.

I found Himself mumbling and making a list.

"Whatcha doin?"

"Making a list of things I need to fix Dad's converter box. Double stick tape so they can't keep knocking it off the top of the television."

"Babies R Us?"

"Yeah, I need one of those boxes that cover a cord and wall outlet so they can't yank the plug out of the wall."

February 17, 2009 was the original date for digital broadcasting. The date has been extended until sometime in June. No matter. Dad's ready for the digital revolution. Well, his television is.

Weeblenomics

Nutterone asked: ok, it just occured to me as I was dumping an old loaf of bread... What on Earth do TWO people do with TWENTY loaves of bread?

That’s an excellent question, Nutterone, and the answer can be found in nature. Ants, squirrels and other critters stocking up so they would have food for the Winter.

The Weebles were born just after The Great War, WWI. Their childhood was spent during the roaring Twenties and their teenage years during the Great Depression, then as young adults during WWII. My theory is that knowing the hardship of not having and then the frugality of rationing, they decided when they had their own family, this would not happen. They and their children would never want for anything. How often we, the children, heard about that too. We had because of their sacrifice.

When I was in my teens, the Weebles converted the cellar into a three room “apartment”. There’s a kitchen with stove, sink, one wall lined with tall cabinets, and a standing freezer. There’s a sitting area and then a laundry/bathroom. The bathroom has a stall shower, toilet and sink. All they need to have would be a few 55 gallon drums of water, a couple of bunk beds, and they would have a nice, cozy bomb shelter. Wouldn’t surprise me if bomb shelter was the underlying reason for the remodel. After all, The Brother and I grew up during the Cold War.

In the old days, before Auntie Rose scammed Ma, and when Dad had a car and was still driving, shopping was an all day expedition, not just a three hour tour around the Mahket. The Weebles made a circuit of five stores in four towns, and Ma would shop the specials for each store. If Pastene tomatoes went on sale for 69 cents a can, Ma would buy a case, 24 cans. Anything that went on sale, Ma would buy extra, and it would be stored away in the downstairs kitchen. If the store limited how many cans of an item customers could have, the Weebles would each get in line, each with the legal limit. The pantry downstairs would be filled with canned fruits and vegetables. (I counted 24 cans of beets a couple of years ago) Pastene tomatoes and tomato paste to make gravy (spaghetti sauce), pasta of every shape and size. Paper towels, napkins, paper plates, paper cups, toilet paper, cans and bottles of tonic (soda pop). The freezer was jammed with beef, chicken, sausage, bread, bagels, ice cream. If unexpected company showed up, Ma would be able to pull together enough items to make a complete feast.

The cabinets and freezer items reminded me of those bulk superstores. I used to tell Himself that if anything happened to the Weebles, the first thing we go for is the food and stuff downstairs. There had to be thousands of dollars worth of inventory.

Ma prided herself on being thrifty and frugal. She bought things because they were a good price. Though I sometimes wondered what the savings really were considering the amount of gas burned toodling around the countryside. Made no nevermind. Ma was convinced she was saving big bucks.

That frugality also shows up in other areas, too. Remember last year, when Dad had to have FIOS because the phone company had a deal where the phone and computer would be bundled? Their phone bill dropped from $50 (or over, depending if Ma called Jamaica or not) to a flat $39.99 per month. Yup, Dad was pleased as punch he was saving on the phone bill. Never mind my end of the computer bill went up from a manageable $14.95 a month to $39.99 a month. Yup, Dad is saving and I’m out $25.04. My fault, I offered him the computer. Lesson learned. Never miss an opportunity to keep your mouth shut.

Dad was recently bragging the town granted senior citizens a special dispensation. If the seniors used only a certain amount of water, the seniors would be exempt from paying a water/sewerage bill which in recent years had skyrocketed above the property taxes. Yes, Dad was insufferably pleased with their low water consumption and no water bill. How do they do it? I’ll share the dirty, little secret. They don’t flush the toilet unless they absolutely have to. Yes, you are all allowed to utter a loud and long EWWWWW. I do quite frequently when I’m at the Weebles. I think water savings also extends to hand washing, and bathing, but I don’t like to think about that, and I’m sure you don’t want to think about that either.

I’m sure they don’t run the dishwasher that often. They eat off of Styrofoam plates which Ma used to burn (I hope that’s past tense) in the fireplace. There’s only two of them so the laundry isn’t piled that high. I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t sort the laundry into whites and darks, just piles clothes in the machine. More like a guy thing than frugality.

We’ve had so much rain; there’s been no reason to water the lawn. No car, so no car to wash. So that’s the why of having 20 loaves of bread. And so we come to the conclusion of Weeblenomics . Any questions? Anyone? Anyone?

D-Day

Himself and I were talking about D-Day and the Weebles. D-Day. February 17, 2009. The day television stations will stop broadcasting an analog signal. The Weebles still watch television on a small set with rabbit ears. They do not have cable television. They have FIOS, but won't pay for the television service.

"We could get them a converter box for Christmas," Himself suggested.

"Could we get them a small, flat screen television?"

"We could, but since they don't have cable, we'd still need to get them a converter box. And I don't think a flat screen has the connections for rabbit ears."

"Y'know, they don't really need a television. Dad only watches the news and 60 Minutes. He can watch the news broadcast on the computer. Probably can see 60 Minutes, too."

"That's true."

"Only that wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Can you just hear Dad? They won't give me my news. They won't give me my 60 Minutes."

Himself laughed and pointed at me.

"Yup, your monkey."

Weeble Tech Support

“Oh, could you come a little earlier before mother’s appointment?” asked Dad

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I’m having trouble with the computer.”

“What’s the problem?” I expected to hear ‘They don’t give me my email.’

“I don’t get anything.”

That’s an understatement.

“I turn it on, and I don’t even get a welcome.”

The computer must be on Ma’s side.

“Ok, I’ll come early to see what I can do.”

Dad greeted me at the door and we scurried like mice upstairs to his office. I booted the machine up and sat back in his office chair to watch the screen. There was the happy little Microsoft chime and the Welcome. I was wondering what kind of welcome Dad wanted. ‘Welcome, I’m so glad you’re here. Welcome, we couldn’t get through the day without you. ‘Welcome, you’re gonna pay.’

When last I played computer tech support, Dad’s trial subscription to the antivirus program had run out. I pay enough for him to not turn the computer on much, so didn’t want to pay for a subscription. There are plenty of good, free, antivirus programs out there. I had deleted his antivirus program and had tried to download one of the free programs to get slammed with the ever delightful Windows has encountered a problem and needs to shut down.

The computer went through it’s bootstrap routine. All the little doodahs appeared in the tool tray, but no icons appeared on the desktop. What the…? I revered to the old programmer’s standby. I shut down and rebooted the system. Again, no smiling icons on the desktop.

“See?” he said smugly with his arms folded across his chest.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do nothing!”

Standard reply. These things don’t just happen like magic. IE was pinned to his start menu and I could access the Internet. I went into the program list to try to make a desktop icon. It didn’t appear. I seemed to recall this happening once before, but nothing was ringing a bell for me. Well, first things first, let’s try to get that antivirus program. Crash! I went into my Gmail account and fired off an email to Himself for ideas. A Google search for missing icons gave me the simple solution that somehow Dad had executed a right click and chosen hide desktop icons. Well that was easy enough to fix. Right click. Arrange icons by name. Show Icons. Ta Dah! The laying on of hands worked.

Fingers flying across the keyboard, I accessed my Yahoo Briefcase to see if I could download a file. No problem there. So, the machine had a problem with .exe files. I went into System Control and checked to make sure all the updates had been done. Dad’s eyes were beginning to spin in his head. I was told all updates had been done, but I was skeptical. I have a free virus program in my downloads folder at home. I’d have to transfer that to my thumbdrive and see if it could be executed from there.

Ma was getting antsy downstairs. Yelling at us that we were going to make her late for her appointment. We had a clean 45 minutes and it only takes five minutes to get to the medical building. She doesn’t like it when I play with Dad, and not her. Another quick email to Himself stating I had solved one problem but was still stuck with a solution to the download problem. Asked if he could talk to the IT guy at his school.

One last check to see if somehow, Dad had removed the administrative protocols from his account or added a second account that didn’t wear the admin hat. Nope, one account and it had admin privileges.

“I’ve sent a request to Himself to talk to the fellas in his computer department to see if they have any answers.”

“Ok. Get me my email.”

We went through his email deleting stuff from November.

“Hey! You were going to get me a glob.”

Que? “Oh, you mean a blog.”

“Yeah, I want one.”

I’ve done this twice before. I had set him up on Blogger and for reasons which should be quite obvious, I don’t want him there now. Blogger had been in the beta phase and had been too confusing to him, so I set him up on 360Yahoo. A nice, easy, social network for boomers and oldsters. Even made him a cartoon avatar that looked like him when he was younger. Nope, he couldn’t negotiate that. Turns out Yahoo is abandoning the 360 site.

“There is a site called Eons,” I called up the site. “You can read about it and sign up here.” We stared at their homepage screen. I don’t know much about this site as I don’t use it. I do know it is for older folks so you won't have to deal with teens.”

“Well, when you find out about it you can…”

“No, Dad. I don’t want to find out about it. I don’t have time to write your blogs for you. If you want to do this, you need to get in there and play around.”

He frowned.

“Fine. I punched the sign me up button. Filled out the form. Asked him what he wanted for a screen name, gave him a password, and noted all this on a piece of paper that will surely find its way to the bottom of a pile or the wastebasket.

“Where do I blog?”

“See the button that says ‘Create blog’? Push that and follow the bouncing ball."

By this time Ma was hollering that we were going to be late, so I shut the computer down.

“You know what?” Dad said in frustration. “Just get rid of this. I don’t use it. Don’t need it.”

“Hate to break this to you, pal, but you're stuck with this for two years.”

His eyes went round and glassy.

“You wanted FIOS. You wanted to bundle with your phone for a flatrate. You signed a 2 yr contract with the phone company. You opt out of this and you breach the contract. I don’t know what penalties are involved.”

Another sigh.

“I just wish I could type,” he whined. He was wishing for his old Olivetti.

“You can.

“How?”

“You go into Word.”

“But they don’t give me an 8 ½ x 11,” he wailed.

I’ve used computers in my work my entire adult life. I started working on them when machines were the size of a Buick. I learned to program on IBM cards. I ran a teletype machine and thought paper tape was the wave of the future. I forgot what it’s like to be a beginner. How much is second nature. All of this is like Buck Rogers to Dad.

“You know, I wish we could find you an old typewriter. The real problem would be finding ribbons, because they just don’t make typewriters and ribbons anymore.”

Deep sigh. Forlorn look.

When Himself got home that night, he gave me a rundown from the IT fellas.

“See if he created an account without admin privs.”

“Did that. He just has the one account, and that says he’s an admin.”

“Make sure all the updates are done.”

“Yup, did that.”

“There’s probably spyware.”

“Yeah, I thought of that too, but until I can download the antivirus program, I won’t be able to find out.”

“See if you can download the antivirus to your thumbdrive and run it from there.”

“Yeah, I thought of that too.”

“The only other thing they said was to upgrade to IE7”

I was pleased that for a dinosaur of a computer programmer, I was on the right track. I still had it. I just wish I could upgrade Dad.

Grandpa's Internet Cafe

At a recent family gathering, Dad was congratulating himself on the money he was saving on his phone bill. I was glad he was happy.

Since The Eldest was heading off to college after the last doctor visit, we decided to surprise Grandma and Grandpa with a visit. They were delighted to see the grandkids, and the girls happily suffered through the hugs and kisses and then escaped upstairs to play on Grandpa's computer.

After a half an hour of small talk, Dad decided he had to show me the modem that was installed for the FIOS. He was proud of the small, black tower with flashing lights. I was glad he was happy.

I turned my attention to the monitor.

"Oh, I don't know what that is, so I turn it off," explained Dad.

Help me, Lord! Windows was trying to update. There were so many updates, the poor CPU choked trying to keep up. The virus protection was also out of date.

When I tried to log on, his ISP informed me the account was cancelled and had to be reinstated to activate his account under FIOS which was installed last month.

"You haven't turned the machine on since the technician was here, have you." I meant it as a statement of fact and not a question.

"No."

I tried to re-establish the account so the virus shield could be updated. Course, we were running late so I couldn't see it to the end. I made a note to arrive early next Tues. before I have to take Ma to the foot doctor.

Himself stopped the other day to mow the lawn. While there, he had a brilliant idea. He told Dad because of the FIOS, the way to turn the machine on and off was to push the button on the monitor. This way, the machine would always be running to do Windows updates and the virus shield.

Since Dad doesn't really use the computer, if you are in the area, I invite you to park in front of Dad's house. You'll have a ready Wi-Fi hot spot. Fire up your laptop and follow the wizard to establish the network connection. Welcome to Grandpa's Internet Café!

Fe, Fi, Fo, Fu...Fum

Friday morning, the caller ID identified the call coming from a neighbor of the Weebles.

“The telephone’s not working,” said Dad.

So, somehow it fell to me to report the problem to the telephone company. I couldn’t find a repair number in the telephone book. It used to be there. Now they list the web address, and I wanted to talk to a human. Finally, found a number and connected into the automated service trying to troubleshoot the problem. A tip from the several phone representatives I had talked to the week before was to keep shouting ‘agent’ at the computer and eventually I would be connected to a human.

“In order to help you, please briefly describe the problem…”

“Agent.”

“If the problem has to do with billing say ‘Billing’”

“Agent.”

“If you need technical support, say ‘Tech….”

“Agent! Agent! Agent!”

Himself was chuckling.

“nal Support.”

“Agent!!”

“I understand you wish to speak to an agent. Is that correct?” the pleasant automated female voice asked.

“YES!”

“Please hold while I connect you to an agent.”

There was a brief pause.

“For quality control purposes your call may be monitored.”

There was another pause.

“This is Jeremy, may I help you?”

“Yes, Jeremy, I’m calling to report a problem with my father’s telephone. You’ll need to send…”

“Oh, before we can send a technician we have to troubleshoot the problem. What seems…”

“My father is 88 years old. His telephone is not working. There is no one that can…”

“But we need to troubleshoot….”

“Look, my father is 88 years old. He isn’t going to be able to go to the network box outside, because he doesn’t know what it is. I’m 30 miles away and can’t troubleshoot for you. You people were out there yesterday and installed FIOS into his home.”

“But we can’t send someone to the house until we trouble shoot the problem. And if we send someone there will be a charge….”

“No, no, no, no, no! There will be no charge! You people were out there to install equipment. The phone was working before your people got there. It’s not working now. That means it’s your problem Something wasn’t installed properly. He shouldn’t pay so you can correct your mistake.”

“But we have to troubleshoo…”

“Connect me to your supervisor.”

“My supervisor is going to tell you the same thing…”

“Amuse me. Connect me to your supervisor.”

“But we have to troubleshoot the problem. And I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Your wasting my time now!” I shouted. “The man is elderly. He has no phone and won’t be able to troubleshoot the problem. I’m 30 miles away and can’t troubleshoot the problem. So, connect me to your damn supervisor!!”

“Would you hold for two minutes while I get the supervisor?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll hold.”

There was dead air and I continued to talk just in case my call was being recorded. “You people really ought to change your policy when it comes to the Elderly.”

A faint click. “This is Jeremy. My supervisor said someone will be dispatched to the house, but there will be a charge…”

“No! What part of you people installed FIOS YESTERDAY and now there’s a problem with the telephone TODAY, don’t you understand! He is not going to pay for a service call for YOUR TECHNICIAN’S MISTAKE!”

The supervisor must have been listening in and signaled to Jeremy.

“There won’t be a charge. But someone better be at the house to…”

“Someone will be there.”

I think we each slammed the receiver at the end of the call.

"Idiot!"

"Witch!"

I was worried Dad would happily skip downtown because it was Friday, and Friday is the Glee Club rehearsal at the Senior Center. As McNamara the leader of the band, he won't give up rehearsals or singing engagements for love nor money. I called the neighbor lady’s house, identified myself and asked if Dad was there.

“No, he left. I could walk up the street to give him a message.”

Now this poor old soul is in worse shape than my folks “I just wanted to tell him that the telephone repairman is coming and Dad needs to be there to let the repairman in the house.”

“You want me to tell him there’s a package coming and someone has to sign for it?

Help me, Lord! “No, Dearie, the telephone repairman is coming to fix the phone.”

“Oh,” and she hung up the phone.

A helpful but belated suggestion from Himself. “Why didn’t your dad just call the phone company?”

“Because he thinks I’m his secretary Janet and I’ll take care of the nitty gritty details of his day!”

I did a search for the Weebles’ other neighbors’ telephone numbers rejecting this one and that one.

“What about the people in the brown house?”

“She’s a nurse and works. What’s the name of the fella who bought your mother’s house? No, he’s a fireman and works day shift. His wife works too.” I tried calling the people who lived to the right of the Weebles, but got an answering machine. I hope
Dearie can make it up the street to deliver the message and then back home again.”

About an hour later, the telephone company called. “This is Pete. What seems to be the problem?

“Pete? I just pay the bill. I’m 30 miles away and can’t answer your question. All I know is the Weebles don’t have a telephone. My 88 year old dad, walked all the way down the street to a neighbor’s house to use her phone to call me. You just need to head over to their house. Someone will be there.”

Pete was very nice. Said he understood and would be on his way. I just hope Dad was home because Janet wasn’t going to be there to let Pete in.

Later in the afternoon, Dad called from his home telephone. “It’s all fixed.”

“Good, I’m glad. And Dad? Next time you have a problem with the telephone. You need to call the telephone company. They have questions they need to ask you. Questions that I can’t answer. I just pay the bill. I'm not Janet."

FIOS

Wednesday, the day the FIOS technician was to arrive at the Weeble’s house. Midmorning, I received a call from a telephone company representative telling me the FIOS order was cancelled.

“Somebody at the house sent the technician away.”

I couldn’t imagine Dad sending the technician away as he was so adamant about bundling the telephone with FIOS. Could Ma have refused to let the technician in the house? The only way to find out was to…

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dad, it’s me. Did you send the FIOS technician away?

“No, he was here. He came in and I showed him the computer. He did something, and the computer worked. Said I didn’t need the FIOS, and he left.”

“Ok, but without the FIOS, your telephone won’t be bundled and you won’t get the flat rate.”

“Oh, I want that.”

So I called the phone company back and spoke to another representative. She told me the technician had logged the work order was cancelled by someone at the house.

“Is my father connected to FIOS?”

“No, he’s still with DSL.”

After much go around, the problem became apparent that there are now two different departments in the phone company, and neither talk to the other. There was an apology and another appointment was made. I called Dad back to make sure he would be around when the technician arrived the following day.

The next day, Dad called me to say the technician had installed the FIOS. They had an awful time wiring the house trying to find a means to bring optic cable into the house. They had to crawl through the crawl space under the eaves. I felt sorry for the technicians as it was a thousand degrees outside and under the eaves is hotter than Dad was very pleased with the work they did. The technician left him a manual, and he was happy.

“And the computer goes a lot faster too.”

“Uh-huh.” As if he would be able to tell the difference, but he was happy and that’s all that mattered.

Can You Hear Me Now?, 2

When the phone rings, I ignore it unless I recognize the caller ID. When the call came through from the phone company, I ignored it. We dumped the phone company in favor of having our phone and Internet services bundled through the cable company. So I thought the call must be a “we want you back” call. We also dumped their wireless phone service in favor of pay as you go Tracfone. When I heard the message tone, I thought it must be in reference to the 17 cent balance on the wireless bill that I didn’t pay.

The message was from a customer service rep. Dad gave her my phone number so she could talk to me about switching his DSL service to FIOS, since I pay for his DSL service. Help me, Lord, what now? I called her back.

The phone company, like other providers, offers a deal where the customer will save on services if the services are bundled. Dad had received information about lowering the telephone bill, and he was very much interested in that idea.

The phone company had wired the Weebles’ street for FIOS (fiber optics). Dad was under the impression that since the phone company had done this, he would automatically get the deal for a flat rate monthly phone bill. He would be able to call anywhere in the lower 48 and not pay extra for long distance calls.

He was indignant to find his bill didn’t reflect any change. So, he wrote a letter to the vice president of the phone company stating if they didn’t give him the monthly flat rate service, he would take his business elsewhere.

I nearly choked with laughter. Where did he think he was going to go?

The phone rep. explained the FIOS deal to me. Dad’s telephone and Internet service would be bundled and appear on the same bill for a monthly rate of $70.00 (give or take taxes). Now, I was only paying $14.95 for his DSL service which was cheaper than the dialup service I had started him with.

The Phone Rep was happily chattering on about savings. My mind was whirling with the fact, once Ma saw the “new” phone bill, now $20 or so more than the “old” monthly bill, there was going to be hell to pay. Not to mention though Dad may save on his phone bill, the Internet service I pay for him is going up a whopping $55.05


I called Dad to discuss the finances with him. He insisted he wanted the phone company to wire the house for FIOS though he didn’t understand why he didn’t have it already. He saw the phone technicians working on the poles.

“Dad, it’s like the gas company. They run the gas pipe down the middle of the street, but if you want the gas company to heat your home, you need to have the gas company connect your house to the street.”
“Oh.”

Several go arounds with the need to save money had me wishing I could take the gas pipe.

By this time, Himself came home, and he had the pleasure of sharing a bottle of whine with me.

“He isn’t going to be able to afford $70 per month. We can’t take on his bill for $70 a month either. I just thought letting him have a computer was a good idea. It would open up a whole world for him. He’d be out of Ma’s hair. How do I get myself into these things?”

Himself graciously refrained from saying, “You had parents.”

We finally decided the best solution was to split the bill with Dad. Afterall, we owned the furnace, why not FIOS too.

The customer service rep was very helpful when I called back. (We also held a Weeble support group meeting as her dad is 86.) She explained the wiring that would be done inside and outside the house. I made sure there would be no installation charges involved. She explained once the house was wired for FIOS if for some reason he hated it, the computer could not be switched back to DSL. There was a 30 day trial period if he hated FIOS, it would be uninstalled without breach of contract or de-installation fees. She also agreed to have the bill sent to me.

“There, all set,” she said brightly. “He’ll be amazed at the speed.”

“The speed won’t really matter because he can barely turn the computer on. You did say the technician would be installing a new modem with a wireless router?”

“Yes”

“At least there’s the little ray of sunshine. We can bring our laptop and get work done.”

“There’s one other thing I noticed about their phone bill.”

“What’s that?”

“Do they know anyone in Kingston, Jamaica? There’s a $30 phone call to Jamaica.”

“Jamaica? They don’t know anyone there. I’m about the only long distance call they make.”

“Fine, that's what I thought. I’ll have billing remove the charge.”

It occurred to me after I hung up the phone, Ma might have made the call to Jamaica. She probably received a call this number to find out if you’re a winner. To her, Jamaica would be Jamaica Plains, a suburb of Boston, a local phone call and not a foreign country. Go ahead , I did the same thing. I’ll wait.

The last phone call of the day was to Dad to explain the billing and that a technician would be going into the house to install any wiring.

“And I’m saving money!”

“Yes, Dad, you’re saving money.”

Lord, can you hear me now?