i think we should do it

Part of getting older is accepting your memory limitations. So, admitting that you can't remember the name of the person you're talking to is important. Learning how to write reminder notes to yourself is another important skill.

When I first started writing reminder notes to myself, I could write one or two words - or even initials - and it would be enough to help me remember. But a few years ago, I found myself looking at my reminder notes and asking myself what the heck I was talking about. A reminder note would say "remember boxes". What boxes? For what purpose? Was this for work? Was I taking boxes somewhere or picking boxes up and bringing them home? This went on for a while until I finally started writing myself detailed notes that anyone in the entire world could figure out, even if they spoke English as a 2nd language.

But my latest dilemma is one that I have no solution for that does not involve ritual humiliation. But maybe ritual humiliation is just the next step in this memory loss process? I don't know. A friend of mine called and said the following, "I've thought about your suggestion and I think we should do it. In fact, I think we should start immediately, so I thought I would call and schedule a time with you to get started. How about Saturday morning at your place? I can be there by 10 a.m. Is that too early?" I said it wasn't too early and we hung up the phone.

I have no idea what I suggested, so I have no idea what she is coming over on Saturday to do. I don't know whether to provide snacks or buy swimming goggles or organize some crafting supplies. I don't know why I didn't just tell her that I couldn't remember what she was talking about. I should have. But now I find that I am enjoying not knowing. There was a time when I would have really stressed about not knowing. But right now, I kind of like imagining all of the possibilities. And I keep thinking that it will suddenly pop into my head. That's possible, right? Of course it is.

All I know is that when my friend arrives on Saturday morning and finds me standing there with crafting supplies, wearing swimming goggles and offering a snack, she is either going to be very pleased or very annoyed. And I think I can get us through either of those reactions.

dreaming

  My body inexplicably decided to be awake before 5 a.m. today, so it's not surprising that I needed a nap. The need for that nap hit me while I was watching Anthony Bourdain sitting out on a frigid lake in China. At least I think it was China. He was drinking vodka and people were speaking Russian, so I guess it was in one of those border areas. I find his shows fascinating, so the fact that I felt sleepy while watching meant I really needed a nap!

  The beginning of my dream found me freezing, bundled up in a bed with Anthony Bourdain, on our honeymoon, on location in China/Russia. I have a huge celebrity crush on him, so it's not surprising that I would dream about being in bed with him. But I find it rather comical that my prudish brain had to marry him in order to do it with him, which we certainly did in the dream. Interestingly enough, I started out by telling him it was too cold for us to do it. Then, while we were doing it, my not-in-the-dream self, who was apparently observing the people in my dreams, had thoughts about the importance of enthusiastic consent. Really? The activist feminist in me has to come with me into dreamland? The details surrounding this freezing cold place amaze me. The heat was only turned on at certain times. There was a tea time, as if this Russian winter-scape was suddenly in the UK. There was a roaring fireplace in the shared living space, but I couldn't quite bring myself to get out of bed and go in there.

  I kept asking Tony why he had brought me there. I was miserable and FREEZING. Why did our honeymoon have to coincide with the filming of this episode? Finally, he told me he would call Bob and have him come get me and fly me to Paris where I could wait for him to finish filming. I told him that I wanted to go somewhere where they spoke ENGLISH. My not-in-the-dream self was shocked to hear this type of typical American snobbery come out of my mouth. I was lectured, but I didn't hear because I was dreaming. Tony told me he would have me taken to the Savoy in London. He said he would have friends take care of me there until he could finish on set and get there, but that he had to finish. In the dream, I was perfectly fine with this and immediately began to think about hot baths, full body massages, afternoon tea and shopping.

  Then my dream shifted and I was visiting Dr. & Mrs. Campbell, two precious people I have known for decades. My Mother was there, and everyone was dressed for dinner after having had an afternoon nap. Except me. I had slept longer than anyone and hadn't changed yet. I opened my suitcase and found that my clothes had been dampened somehow. I asked Mrs. Campbell if I could throw my blouse into the dryer and she said to go ahead. When I asked the question, we were all sitting on a little porch attached to their home. But when I got up to walk to the dryer, I found we were sitting a ways away from their home and I had to walk there. As I walked, the distance became further and further and I soon found that I was hopelessly lost. My sister, Lenore, suddenly appeared at my side and I felt more confident about finding the house. The retirement community bloomed into a gigantic place filled with high rise buildings and smaller cottages. We walked and walked, sure that the house was just around this corner, but NOPE, it wasn't. Then my sister disappeared.

I wish I could tell you that I found the place and the dream had a happy ending. The last I remember, I went into one of the larger buildings and found a laundry room. But I needed quarters and I didn't have any. It was then that I realized that I had no cell phone, so I couldn't call anyone to come find me. The last thing I remembered is that I resolved to find the management office to ask for help and had set off in that direction.

When I woke up, I thought about tea being served, both in China/Russia and at the Savoy in London. So I went straight to the kitchen and put a tea together for myself.

the water is waiting for you

Hey now, in the mornin time. Heads up, hear the sounds of the birds. Walk down the road towards the smell of smoke. Hear the crying of the angels above.

Take a left and you'll see it there. No joke, that's the real deal now. Why are you so surprised to see ... that the end of the road brings a spring to your step.

Walk .. down. Walk .. down. The water is waiting for you. Walk .. down.

Put your toe in the water there. Go ahead, if you dare. Salvation's waiting for you to be brave. Cry out your misery, let go your shame.

Fold your arms and lean on back. Tell the preacher man you want to go in. Close your eyes and trust in his lead. You're about to be born again.

Wash .. out. Wash .. out. The water is waiting for you. Wash .. out.

Hold your breath as you go below. Feel your hair floating all around. Through a tunnel you hear the preacher's voice. Then you're up and you breathe it in.

Sister's hand pulls you up and out. Stand by the fire with a blanket around. Glance up and see the boy that you once kissed. He's wet too and he shares your grin.

Steam .. rise. Steam .. rise. The water is waiting for you. Steam .. rise.

bread

When I was growing up, my Mother used to bake cranberry bread for people during the holidays. She wasn't a great baker. In fact, she used boxed bread mix. But the fact that she took the time to mix it up, bake it, package it and deliver it was a signal that the recipient was someone she treasured.

Today, I bake different types of bread during the holiday season, package it and deliver it to people I care about. It makes me feel good. Not surprisingly, my packages look almost exactly like Mother's used to.

So, let's talk about bread. Some form of bread is produced and consumed in every country and every culture throughout the world. Bread also figures prominently in many religions, often in ways that would mystify anyone outside that particular religion.

One example would be the shewbread that was prepared by Jewish priests according to very strict instructions. Then a specific number of loaves were arranged in a specific manner and displayed on a table that was placed opposite the Menorah. The bread was replaced each Sabbath. The priests could then consume the old bread, but even that had to be done in specific places and in a specific way. Much of the Christian Bible is actually ancient Jewish text, so it's no surprise that shewbread is mentioned in several books of the Bible. But for the very specific requirements, down to the measurements and design of the table on which the shewbread is displayed, one must turn to the Torah.

I read a lot of different information about religion and bread. Most of it, including Christian customs I grew up with, seem silly and often designed to frighten or awe people into religious belief. This always causes me to feel suspicious. Any time somebody is trying to scare me or trying to make me emotional, I always assume the information attached to it is probably bogus. I'm a natural cynic. But Mahatma Gandhi is quoted as saying “There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” Now that rings true for me. What do you think?

It's amazing to me that pre-sliced bread has only been around since the late 1920's. Otto Frederick Rohwedder spent 8 years perfecting his design for a machine that would divide a loaf of bread into evenly sized slices. In 1928, he introduced his machine to the world. In 1930, Wonder Bread baking company became the first to package and market pre-sliced bread. There was quite a bit of doubt as to whether the concept would catch on. Doubters claimed the bread would go stale more quickly. At that time, loaves of bread were wrapped in wax paper.

Even more amazing to think about, January 18, 1943 marks the day that pre-sliced bread was banned in America. Yes! Claude Wickard, who was then Secretary of Agriculture and Secretary of the War Foods Adminstration (the what?) decided that pre-sliced bread would be banned. Nobody can explain exactly why he did this, but it created a firestorm of controversy and his decision was reversed on March 8, 1943. When I first read about this, I imagined a million housewife march on Washington, but my guess is that the Wonder Bread company, along with whatever other bread makers were by then selling sliced bread, did some political arm-twisting. But honestly, I'm making that last part up. I couldn't find more information on this bizarre twist in the history of American bread-making.

Going a little further back in history, I found an amazing story about how pumpernickel bread got its name. It seems that Napolean Bonaparte asked for bread during his invasion of Germany and was served a dark rye bread that he found unfit to eat. He remarked that it was only good (bon) for his horse, Nickel. "C'est bon pour Nickel" was heard by the locals and hence the bread was named. I saw this story in multiple places, but I noticed a number of variations. Sometimes the horse was called Nicole. Sometimes the French phrase was a little different. My brain is now wired to check Snopes for everything, especially if a famous name is used. Sure enough, the story is false. So when someone tells you this story, you can give a little sneer and say "Tres ridicule". So how DID pumpernickel get its name? "Pumpern" was German for being flatulent and "nickel" was from Nicholas, another name for the Devil, so pumpernickel actually means "devil's fart", because it was hard to digest. Now don't say you never learned anything from me!

Had enough? Of course you haven't. You could go on reading these amazing facts for days! Here's something interesting for you. The little tabs or twist ties used to close the plastic bags that bread is sold in are color coded. Yes! This really isn't designed for you. It's for the person stocking the shelves. The guy delivering the bread can look at the shelf and know he needs to remove all of the bags with white tags today. But, I suppose you want to know which color goes with each day so you can make critical shopping decisions? Sorry. Each manufacturer could have their own code. Besides, bread doesn't stay on the shelf long enough for it to get stale, really. Why? Because the guy looking for the white tags is removing bread that is older than, say, two days. But here is a consumer tip that you WILL want to follow. Buy Sister Shubert's frozen dinner rolls. Trust me on this.

Let's finish with pretty words. I like pretty words.

“A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in. A minute to smile and an hour to weep in. A pint of joy to a peck of trouble, And never a laugh but the moans come double. And that is life. A crust and a corner that makes love precious, With a smile to warm and tears to refresh us, And joy seems sweeter when cares come after, And a moan is the finest of foils for laughter. And that is life.” (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)

why we still need feminism

When brilliant rocket scientist Yvonne Brill died this year, the New York Times disgraced itself by running the following obituary:

She made a mean beef stroganoff, followed her husband from job to job and took eight years off from work to raise three children. “The world’s best mom,” her son Matthew said.

But Yvonne Brill, who died on Wednesday at 88 in Princeton, N.J., was also a brilliant rocket scientist who in the early 1970s invented a propulsion system to keep communications satellites from slipping out of their orbits.

A fire storm of criticism followed, as people pointed out that no obituary of a male rocket scientist would have begun by outlining his prowess in ANY other area, nor would it have led with any comments about his wonderful parenting. But somehow, this brilliant scientist's accomplishments were pushed to paragraph two. The New York Times actually edited the online obituary in response to the criticism.

And yet after all the controversy, I still had to listen this morning as Charles Osgood announced on CBS Sunday Morning that Yvonne Brill "was a rocket scientist who managed to raise a family and invent a propulsion system to keep satellites in orbit - in her spare time." I hope, hope, hope that the writers were poking fun at the obituary writer rather than those who took offense. But just in case ...

I did a little research on the men who were also remembered in the segment. I'd like to outline a few of their amazing accomplishments here:

Astronaut Scott Carpenter managed to marry four times, divorce three times, father seven children and become the second American to orbit the Earth - in his spare time.

Manager Earl Weaver managed to stay married to his wife Marianna for 49 years, raise his children and coach the Baltimore Orioles - in his spare time.

Athlete Stan Muesil managed to stay married to his wife for almost 72 years, raise four children and play professional baseball - in his spare time.

Beautician Mr. Kenneth never married, he was a close, personal friend of Marilyn Monroe and styled hair - in his spare time.

Athlete Deacon Jones managed to marry twice, father a son, help raise a stepson and a grandchild, and played professional football - in his spare time.

May they all rest in peace!

sleep

The nights have been getting pretty cold - almost to freezing, which is unusual for Phoenix. My summer weight coverlet wasn't enough, so I got up out of bed to dig out the quilt my sister made for me. Then that wasn't enough, so I added a bed-sized blanket that I crocheted last year. The result was a hodgepodge of color, but very warm!

My sound machine plays the sound of ocean waves, which is incongruous for sleeping in the middle of the desert, but I've tried every other sound available and I can't fall asleep to anything but ocean sounds. I've never lived by the ocean, so I can only guess that my brain is connecting it to the deep, wonderful sleep of my balcony stateroom on cruises I have enjoyed over the years.

So, let's talk about sleep. Do you know about the Japanese practise of inemuri? Inemuri means "sleeping while present". Japanese people (mostly men) sleep while at work. Bosses are impressed that the men are working so hard that they must take sleep breaks. Some even fake the sleep for the boss to see, thereby convincing him that they are sleep-deprived because they are working so hard. It is a sign of total commitment to the employer. They have to sleep sitting up in their work chair and only certain people can do it.

The Tiv people of Nigeria have no set sleep hours. Their villages are always active because the people simply lie down to sleep when they are tired. There is always someone awake.

How did some countries (or communities) get the custom of siesta? Most people will answer that it is the hotter countries or those who consume a heavy midday meal who end up with the siesta custom. I know I am jealous! I would love to take a nap after lunch every day. There may even be a human propensity for midday sleep.

Did you know that there used to be a custom for first and second sleep during the night? Before electric lights, people went to bed with the sun. They often had a first sleep, then woke up and did other things for an hour or so, then went back to sleep for a second sleep. There were even books published with suggestions for couples to make use of the break time. I wonder what the suggestions were?

I'm grateful I've never had to worry about sleepwalking. There are actually people who have been acquitted of murder by presenting a defense that they were sleepwalking when they committed the murder. Of course there are also people who have tried that defense and been convicted! But I imagine this would be a good reason to avoid trying to wake someone up when they are sleepwalking!

I once had a friend who suffered from a very mild case of narcolepsy. He would have trouble sleeping at night and he would fall asleep suddenly during the day. People with this disorder typically drop into REM sleep within 5 minutes. It takes the rest of us an hour. My friend worked in construction. His co-workers were always finding him in odd places, with his head drooping onto his chest. If they tapped his arm very gently, he would come out of the sleep state. He never called in sick and did good work, so his boss was very kind to him.

Sleep paralysis is another topic all together. It's thought that disrupted REM sleep, with the associated muscle paralysis might be responsible. This has actually happened to me more than once. It was terrifying. I woke up, but was completely unable to move. On one occasion, I felt the presence of something very evil in the room and felt myself being assaulted. It was horrible. Inexplicably, I watched a segment about sleep paralysis on the Today show within days of that most terrifying event. There are even some who suggest that people who are convinced they have been taken to an alien ship were actually experiencing sleep paralysis.

Lately, I've been trying meditation. I often fall asleep, but was recently reassured that continuing the practise of meditation was more important than any particular outcome. Keep doing it and your spirit will eventually sort itself out. Okay. I'll try.

christmas eve

And now I'm remembering a Christmas Eve at Grandmother McClarin's house in Norfolk, Virginia. My sister and I were young enough to be super excited and we were giggling in our room. We were supposed to be asleep but we were too wound up. We knew there would be presents in the morning. Santa was coming!!!

Our oldest brother and sister were also there, each on college break. I suppose they were helping Mother and Grandmother prepare our stockings and lay out our unwrapped presents in our special places. This would be one of the last Christmas vacations the four siblings would all be together under the same roof. My brother would graduate from college and go off to Hawaii for graduate school. My oldest sister would graduate and marry her soon-to-be-lawyer husband and move to Colorado. In fact, I would grow up, get married and have a child of my own before we would once again gather under the same roof at Christmas. In my family, college graduation apparently meant leaving and never coming home again.

But I didn't know that yet. For that night, I was secure in my family, giggling with my sister, happily anticipating what Santa would bring. Mother had to tell us to GO TO SLEEP several times before we stopped giggling and fell asleep.

Then, in the morning, I woke first. As soon as my eyes popped open, I woke up my sister. We ran into our Mother's room. She groaned. She finally gave us permission to go downstairs, but STOCKINGS ONLY - DO NOT OPEN ANY PRESENTS. We raced down the stairs. Grandmother heard us and came out of her room. Each of us had an assigned chair or sofa corner. We knew which was which because our stockings were there with our names sewn on in sequins. We each dumped the contents of our stocking out. Apples, oranges, tangerines, assorted unshelled nuts, one silver dollar, Hershey miniatures (to be traded around later, to get rid of the ones you didn't want and hopefully get more of what you did want), Hershey kisses, some socks and usually one small gift at the very top. Mother would appear, then our oldest sister with a sour expression on her face. I would usually race back upstairs to cajole our brother into coming down, which he did with some complaint.

Our brother sat next to the tree and handed the gifts out, one at a time. This was no free for all. It was very organized. For me, the youngest, it was almost unbearable, because I had to wait while five people each opened a gift before it was my turn again. My brother always made a big production about opening his gift when it was his turn, knowing that he was torturing me. It made me squeal, which made my oldest sister roll her eyes, which was probably his way of torturing her too.

There was always one game for the whole family. That year, the game was Mousetrap. Oh! It was so much fun!!! My Grandmother, Mother and oldest sister disappeared into the kitchen to put the Christmas meal together. But our brother helped us figure out the game and put the "trap" together. He eventually got bored and went off to do something else. That left my sister and me, playing with the game or messing with other stuff we had received.

And then the Christmas feast. Roasted turkey, cranberry sauce, rice and gravy, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, green & black olives and crescent rolls. Pumpkin pie and cookies for dessert. Leftovers for dinner. But this was before microwaves, so things had to be reheated on the stove or eaten cold. We had no clue that was a problem, so we happily did it!

I wonder - if I had known this would be the last Christmas we were together, would I have done anything differently? Probably not. I was too young to really understand it. But through the years, I have always experienced a bit of family envy when I heard about other multi-generational families all living near enough to get together for the holiday. I've always wondered why my siblings left and never came back. Maybe that happens in a lot of families and I only noticed the ones in which it didn't happen.

Each Christmas, my thoughts go out to those who are not with family - or ARE with family, but wish they were somewhere else. Because amidst the exultations of joy and celebration, I know there are heavy hearts, for a wide variety of reasons. My arms are around you, if that is you. You are not alone! Call me, if you need me!

But right now, I'm looking at that Swarovski bag over there from Reggie and wondering what is in it. I'm waiting until tomorrow, when he calls, to open it because it is the only present I have! But I'm sure it is something wonderful and I will be happy to have it, even if he is 1800 miles away.

Tonight, I must GO TO SLEEP! Merry Christmas, everyone!

steve?

Somewhere between 1993 and 1996, I received a late night phone call. I didn't yet have caller ID, so I often let calls go to my answering machine. On this particular evening, I was crying because I had just been in a huge fight with my boyfriend. When the phone rang, I jumped to answer it, hoping it was him. When I answered, a male voice said "Hi!".

It wasn't my boyfriend. In fact, I wasn't sure who it was. My brain was whirring, trying to match the voice with someone I knew. Then it hit me. I had attended a conference and met a really nice man from Wisconsin who had talked to me about quite a lot of things, including whether or not he should marry the woman he was living with. Sometimes, men who discuss problems with wives/girlfriends are really trying to get into your pants, but this guy was just very kind and very confused. We had talked once or twice since the conference, but then several months had passed.

I said, "Steve?". He said, "Yes! How you doing?"

Once I had him placed, we talked a while. I confessed that he had caught me crying because I had been fighting with my boyfriend. He told me that I should really dump the guy if he didn't treat me right. Then he told me he was at the airport, having just arrived in town for a conference. He asked if he could come over. The request struck me as rather odd. We really didn't know each other well enough for him to invite himself to my home. But I actually considered it. He had been such a nice guy and I could use someone to talk through things with.

But my inner voice told me NO. There was something that just wasn't quite right about the situation. When I said no, he started applying pressure to try to get me to change my mind. This went on for a while. We had been on the phone 15-20 minutes. I finally firmed up my NO and said I really wanted to get some sleep. I encouraged him to call the next day and maybe we could meet for lunch.

After I hung up, I sat and thought about it for a while. I remembered a conversation we had had way back at that conference where we first met. He had mentioned to people that he always changed his answering machine message to say he was out of town and where he would be and when he would be back. Several of us counseled him not to do  that because he might be giving information to someone who would rob him. He waved off all of our concerns.

I got up, dug out his phone number and called him in Wisconsin to see if his answering machine message would say that he was in Atlanta. The phone rang once, twice, then a male voice answered. I was startled, but I managed to choke out, "Steve?". He said, "Yeah?". I explained who it was and I asked him if he had just called me. He said he hadn't. So, I told him all about the phone call. He said I should call the police. But I reasoned that the person calling me had to have been calling random numbers in the phone book. And he would have the address of the apartment complex I was in, but wouldn't have any idea which apartment I was in. And what would I say to the police anyway? Steve and I eventually said good night.

The next day came and went without me hearing from the imposter. In fact, I never heard from him.

Several years later, I was watching 20/20 or Dateline or some other similar show. They had a segment on a serial rapist whose M.O. was to travel to other cities and call women who were listed in the phone book and pretend to be someone they knew. Then he would talk the woman into letting him come over. When he got there, he would brutally rape the woman. When I heard this, my heart raced. They actually played a tape recording of his voice. They indicated that he had operated throughout the southeast. Atlanta was named.

Today, I went looking for the information about the guy and I couldn't find anything. But I think back to that moment when I was wavering about whether to let "Steve" come over. He could tell he was making headway with me and really put the pressure on, but in the friendliest possible way. I don't know if this was early in his "career" or later. I wish I knew more!

Thankfully, my inner voice was strong on that particular day or I could easily have been on his list of victims. And while I congratulate myself on eventually saying no with a clear voice, I recognize that I was hesitating and actually considering letting him come over! More importantly, I am realizing that I have not always spoken with a clear, strong voice in my relationships with people. But apparently I hide that very well, because I don't think most people would say that about me.

I'm making resolutions for the coming year. Speaking clearly is going to be one of them!

simple pleasures

Simple Pleasures

Ice cream.
The sound of the ocean as you drift off to sleep.
The first sight of your baby - birthed or adopted - whatever that baby's age might be.
Your perfect sigh as you settle in to your lover's arms.
A novel's plot twist that you didn't anticipate, coupled with rich, complex characters.
The satisfaction that follows exercise.
Finding that you've taken a photograph that pleases you very much.
The first time you hear lyrics to a song that devastates you.
The moment when a pill kicks in that is fighting something - headache, body pain, inability to sleep.
Creme brulee.
Laughing with someone you know well and feel safe with.
Really great sex.
Arriving at your vacation destination.
Reworking a sentence until it is exactly right.
The moment when someone realizes that you've done something very sweet for them.
Pesto.
A view of something spectacular in nature - ocean, mountain, river, valley, babbling brook, waterfall, etc.
Identifying a bird that you didn't previously know.
The sensation of a dog sprawled out in your lap, knowing she adores you.
Mastering something new - a language, a task, a recipe - anything you couldn't do, but now CAN do.
The smell of bread baking in your oven.
The first moment you realize that you are strong enough to weather just about anything.
Standing tall for what is right, even if that makes you unpopular.
Singing along with the radio, even if you don't know all of the words.
Lowering yourself into a wonderful bath.
Looking over a menu at a restaurant you haven't previously visited - even online, before you go.
Opening a present and finding just what you wanted.
Looking at your toes after a pedicure.
Watching a really good movie in the theatre, with Milk Duds and a frozen Coke.
A clean house, especially if someone else cleaned it.
Seeing happiness and success in the life of a former student.

martha and the phone books

{I mistakenly read 333 words when the prompt asked for 33 words. Oops.}

"Make extra cash delivering phone books." Martha stared at the ad. Before she could stop herself, the phone was in her hand. They told her to come on down for the morning training session.

In the room with her were a half dozen very unfortunate looking people. Martha thought she might be the only one in the room with all of her own teeth. The "trainer" played a video about how to place two phone books into a plastic bag. After the "training" was complete, Martha backed her SUV up to the loading dock and a man filled her car up with phone books and one box of plastic bags. "You'll have to come back for the rest."

Martha carried the books into her house and painstakingly bagged them up. Using the address list from the company, she drove around and delivered her phone books, knowing all the while that she'd have to go back for more. She realized that she had neglected to ask what the pay would be.

With six bags left, she pulled into a driveway, waving to the man who was in the yard. She placed the bag on his porch, then got back in her SUV and backed out, only to run over the man's mailbox, knocking her car's side mirror off in the process. She got out to survey the damage. The man walked over. "I can't tell you how sorry I am," Martha said to the man. She gave the man her contact information, gathered up the broken bits of her side mirror and drove home.

Martha received a check in the mail for her services. $250, less the second batch of phone books that she never went back for. Total earnings = $211.78. Martha also received the mailbox bill for $178.43. When she picked up her car from the shop, the bill was $569.23. With a $500 deductible, she calculated that it had cost her $466.65 to spend the day working on her delivery job.