Me and the UPS Man

I can sometimes be slow to accept change.  I'm of the opinion that not everything needs changing. I'm not into being trendy and the older I get the less trendy I want to be.  I only recently got a smart phone. And I didn't have a cellphone or answering machine until I met John and he bought them for me.

I’m not a big fan of the social media sites-- unless someone is posting pictures of one of my granddaughters.  I especially don’t like the internet slang and refuse to use the slang terms like LOL, OMG, or LMAO.

But computer and internet use in general I have always wholeheartedly embraced.  I think the internet is monumentally important in many ways.  

This time of year I’m especially interested in the advantages of internet shopping.  I’ve never been really fond of shopping the way some women are.  A good shopping trip for me was one with friends, where we oohed and aahed and discussed new decorating plans and then went to eat.  I never got much shopping done like that but it was fun.  

When I actually want to buy something on a shopping trip, I need to go alone and spend time looking and thinking and comparing prices.   And what better place to do this type of shopping than the internet.

Now that I live in the boonies where the nearest shopping center is miles away, I do most of my holiday shopping on the internet.  Then the UPS man gets to travel miles to get to my little country lane and bring his big brown truck up the winding driveway to my house in the woods.

I’ll still go to the mall some.  I actually enjoy the hustle and bustle of the crowds during the Christmas season, and Christmas wouldn’t be the same without a trip to the mall to hear ‘Silver Bells’ and ‘The Nutcracker’ playing in the stores—and then go out to eat.

But for actual shopping, I’ll do most of it online.  Me and the UPS man are becoming very familiar.  He’s here several times a week during the Christmas season.

Digging My Own Holes

When the Son of Sam, who was Jewish, was arrested, I heard a Jewish person tell about feeling shame, believing that the bad behavior of one of his own reflected poorly on him.  This is a common feeling among minorities and may explain, for example, why an African-American feels anger or shame toward an Uncle Tom.  It may also explain my feelings toward women who act helpless, believing this perpetuates the stereotype of women as the weaker sex.

So when a friend complained to me that her son-in-law would not help her daughter with landscaping chores by digging holes for her I said, “Well, tell her to dig her own holes.  That’s what I tell my daughters.”

I was a single mother of two daughters for a number of years and “digging our own holes” became our mantra.  One of my daughters later admitted, however, that she sometimes coquettishly asks her husband, “Will you dig my holes for me?”

When I met my husband I had been single for a number of years.  At the time we met I had just purchased some land and was getting ready to build a house, acting as my own contractor and doing some of the work myself.

John soon started joining me when I would go to work on my land.  It was in the country and a lovely place to visit.  After I got my building permit, we were there working one day when I picked up a shovel and said I was going to the bottom of the hill to put up the post for the building permit.
“May I join you,” he asked, “or do you need to dig your own hole?”

I said he was welcomed to come along, but, shovel in hand, when we got to the bottom of the hill, I began to dig.

This is a rural, sparsely populated area, so we were alone, working beside the road, John silently watching me dig.  The ground was very hard and I was about ready to let him dig when I looked up at him.

He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling at me.  “You know, if anyone comes along, I’m going to have to take that shovel out of your hand.”
He’s been helping me dig my holes ever since.