Every spring, we have our gutters cleaned out and all our brick work power washed and sealed. (Tim and I used to do it ourselves, but in the long run, we figured hiring someone else to do it was cheaper and easier than hiring divorce lawyers.)
When I called this year, the guy told me they would come on Monday...or Tuesday...maybe Wednesday. Definitely no later than Wednesday (and I thought the cable company was bad for giving me an eight hour window?).
Monday came, they didn't. But Tuesday morning, seven am, we heard a clattering up on the roof. Since it wasn't December, I knew it had to be either the work crew or some really big squirrels and not a jolly old elf. Rushing outside, I found an army of workers scurrying to and fro over the roof, filling large green garbage bags with debris.
As I went to join the crowd of neighbors that had gathered to watch the spectacle (it's amazing what passes for entertainment in this neighborhood), I spied the boss and approached him.
Figuring it had been about a week since I had talked to him, I wanted to make sure he remembered everything I wanted done. As we toured the yard, he nodded vigorously in agreement as I pointed to the porches, the walks, the patio and the driveway.
Yes, yes. Power-washed.
And sealed.
Yes, yes. And sealed.
But make sure you aim the power washer away from the pool so that all the dirt doesn't end up in the pool.
Yes, yes. Away from the pool.
And the cabinets need to be moved off the back porch before you power wash because they are wood (well, fake wood from Target, but definitely not water-proof).
Yes, yes. Move the cabinets.
Okay then, I'll be here if you need anything.
Yes, yes. No problem.
Problem. Big problem. Problemsssss. Plural.
Ten minutes later when I went out to wash down the patio furniture, the "crew" had been reduced to one guy who was not much bigger than an elf (I am 5'4" and I looked like Sheena, queen of the Amazons next to him), who was happily aiming the power washer toward the pool.
He then proceeded to turn it toward the cabinets, which were still sitting on the back porch.
Okay,what we had here was a failure to communicate.
Foolishly, I tried to correct the situation. Using a combination of pantomime, charades and a voice that would make Ethel Merman flinch, I got him to redirect the power washer, and assure me that he would have help moving the cabinets. I just didn't realize at the time that the "help" would be me.
As we hefted the cabinets, one by one, and carried them off the porch, I tried to figure out where everything had gone so horribly wrong. I was distracted from my musings though when my coworker decided to push the dirty water off the porch and into the cabinets we had just moved out of harm's way. What did he have against my poor cabinets?
Eventually though, the power-washing was finished and we were able to tackle the whole issue of sealing everything that had just been cleaned.
Yes, yes. Everything sealed. The crew will come and do it.
Uh, uh. I fell for that once before, and had the calluses and sore muscles to prove it. Besides, I had an appointment and had to leave for about a half hour.
Once again, I tried to convey, in detail, what needed to be done, and once again, we had that same failure to communicate.
When I left, he was busily sealing the brick from the gate to the patio. When I returned, he was gone and he had sealed the brick from the gate to the patio. Period. Didn't touch the patio, the driveway, the front walks, the porches. Just sealed the one walkway and left.
Trying to keep my head from exploding, I called the boss and did my best to explain why he wasn't going to find a check in the mailbox.
Yes, yes, he assured me, it would be finished the next day.
And it was. Or at least the rest of the walks were. But not the patio or driveway. That happened on day three and day four along with a lot of teeth gnashing and hair pulling.
Maybe I should just look into divorce lawyers for next year after all.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Would You Believe It If I Told You....
Pool service people think I'm dumb. There can be no other explanation for the lame excuses they have consistently given me for our heater not working.
Excuse#1: the wind
It keeps blowing out the pilot light. Yeah, must be that gale force wind we have blowing daily through the neighborhood. You know, the one that picks up houses and drops them on people wearing ruby slippers.
Besides, the heater is in an enclosed space. Aha! They seize on this detail like it's the last truffle in the Godiva box. That's why the wind is blowing it out. It can't go through the area, so it gets trapped in that enclosed space and just keeps going back and forth, back and forth, subjecting the pilot light to an inescapable barrage of air.
Okay, so how exactly does the wind get in there in the first place? Does it climb over the fence, or perhaps it stops short of the fence, then executes a series of ninety degree turns to gain access. Gee, you'd think if it was smart enough to get in, it could figure out how to get out.
Excuse #2: the thermostat
The actual pool temperature is too close to the preset temperature for it to turn the heater on. Yeah. Seventy-five is real close to ninety-two (I don't think of it as a pool so much as a giant hot tub).
I'm glad these people aren't doctors. I can see it now: "No need to worry. Your temperature is only 102. That's not anywhere near 104, which would be dangerous. Just go home and relax. Hey, maybe your thermometer is broken!"
Then again, perhaps I'm just imagining the blue skin and goosebumps the size of baseballs.
And finally, excuse #3: the control panel isn't working
You mean the thing that gives the date, time and temperature? The think that controls the lights, filter pump and cleaner? That thing? Nope. Working fine. How do I know? Well, when I press the filter pump button, the pump works, and when I press the buttons for the lights, they come on. Oh, and the date and time are correct. Now, I'm no rocket scientist, but I'd say that means it is working.
Any more excuses? No? Fresh out? Gosh, and I was so enjoying our little game.
Fortunately, our new pool company has not tried to fob me off with those same old dumb excuses. When I called them last week about the heater not working, they came right out, looked at it and figured out a way to resolve the problem quickly and easily...replace the heater!
I'm sorry I asked.
Excuse#1: the wind
It keeps blowing out the pilot light. Yeah, must be that gale force wind we have blowing daily through the neighborhood. You know, the one that picks up houses and drops them on people wearing ruby slippers.
Besides, the heater is in an enclosed space. Aha! They seize on this detail like it's the last truffle in the Godiva box. That's why the wind is blowing it out. It can't go through the area, so it gets trapped in that enclosed space and just keeps going back and forth, back and forth, subjecting the pilot light to an inescapable barrage of air.
Okay, so how exactly does the wind get in there in the first place? Does it climb over the fence, or perhaps it stops short of the fence, then executes a series of ninety degree turns to gain access. Gee, you'd think if it was smart enough to get in, it could figure out how to get out.
Excuse #2: the thermostat
The actual pool temperature is too close to the preset temperature for it to turn the heater on. Yeah. Seventy-five is real close to ninety-two (I don't think of it as a pool so much as a giant hot tub).
I'm glad these people aren't doctors. I can see it now: "No need to worry. Your temperature is only 102. That's not anywhere near 104, which would be dangerous. Just go home and relax. Hey, maybe your thermometer is broken!"
Then again, perhaps I'm just imagining the blue skin and goosebumps the size of baseballs.
And finally, excuse #3: the control panel isn't working
You mean the thing that gives the date, time and temperature? The think that controls the lights, filter pump and cleaner? That thing? Nope. Working fine. How do I know? Well, when I press the filter pump button, the pump works, and when I press the buttons for the lights, they come on. Oh, and the date and time are correct. Now, I'm no rocket scientist, but I'd say that means it is working.
Any more excuses? No? Fresh out? Gosh, and I was so enjoying our little game.
Fortunately, our new pool company has not tried to fob me off with those same old dumb excuses. When I called them last week about the heater not working, they came right out, looked at it and figured out a way to resolve the problem quickly and easily...replace the heater!
I'm sorry I asked.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
You've Got (No) Mail
Whenever we travel, we stop the mail. It's easy to do online, even for someone as technologically challenged as I. It is basically point and click and the only information you need is your address. They even give you a handy dandy little pull down calendar to help you select the stop and start dates. Only someone who could not find their head with both hands and a flashlight could screw it up.
Apparently, our post office has just such a person working there.
Since Monday was the holiday, we put the stop date for Tuesday.
The mail was delivered Tuesday. My sister-in-law took it in for us.
The mail was delivered Wednesday. Our neighbor took it in for us.
So much for selecting a stop date.
Since we were not arriving home until late Friday night, we chose Saturday as the start-up date and for all accumulated mail (all two days worth --gee, get the forklift) to be delivered.
Saturday came, but no mail.
Monday came. Still no mail.
So much for the start-up date.
Tuesday morning, I went to the post office.
There were two people behind the desk helping customers and only one person in line. Jackpot!!! Oh lucky day!!! This would not suck more than a few minutes out of my life:)
Twenty minutes later, the two people behind the desk were still helping the same two customers and now there were about fifteen people in line.
Near as I can figure, one of the people was sending a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle to Romania, piece by piece, and the other person was engaging the clerk in an in-depth discussion on registered mail vs. standard mail vs. certified mail, etc.
Finally, after ten more minutes of listening to the mind-numbing, excruciatingly tedious transactions taking place, one of the clerks finished and beckoned to the guy in front of me.
He was not happy. None of us were happy. A low murmur of discontent began to travel down the line which had now swelled to about twenty people.
"Next disgruntled customer," barked the other clerk.
Huh? Oh, he meant me. Give the man a gold star in reading body language.
Sliding my license across the desk, I explained that I wanted to pick up my mail which was supposed to have been delivered two days earlier.
"Hmmph. 'Supposed to' is the key word there," he grumbled, sliding off his stool. "Oh, did that sound sarcastic?" he asked sarcastically, as he disappeared into the back room.
Wow. And he thought I was disgruntled.
Meanwhile, the first guy called up the next customer and proceeded to lecture the person and the room at large about the proper etiquette involved in shipping a package.
Okay, did nobody here have their Wheaties this morning? At this point, we all began to shift nervously and mentally practice diving for safety under the nearest table.
My guy stomped back, sans license, and pointed to an unmanned station farther down the counter. "We don't have your mail. Big surprise. Wait there and someone will be out to help you."
No problem. I was planning on getting as far away from you as possible anyway.
"Sir. Sir," he snapped loudly, catching sight of an elderly man who had just entered and gotten into the still increasing line, "come up and go to that window (same one as me). You don't have to wait in line since you were already here. Next! Let's go!"
Casting apologetic glances at the two dozen people ahead of him, the man complied. He needn't have worried though. Everyone was too scared to complain what with visions of being on the six o'clock news swimming around in their heads. They all stood there, wide-eyed, watching the clerks as though they were lions that had escaped from the zoo just before feeding time.
"What're you here for?" the elderly man whispered to me out of the side of his mouth.
"I'm trying to pick up accumulated mail," I whispered right back.
"Good luck," he snorted under his breath. "I wouldn't hold out much hope if I were you."
Our conversation was interrupted by a woman who came bustling out with my license and a garbled explanation about how my mail was not there, but at "the other office" and she would call and make sure delivery started immediately, but just in case, here was a number I could call to try and get my mail.
While I wavered between disbelief and frustration, one of the other clerks began haranguing some poor woman at top volume about how he had to ask certain questions about her package and to please let him do his job.
That decided me.....I didn't need my mail that badly. It was probably just a lot of junk mail anyway.
I practically ran for the nearest exit. Next time we go away, I'm going to have a mail slot installed in the front door so that I don't ever have to go to the post office again.
Apparently, our post office has just such a person working there.
Since Monday was the holiday, we put the stop date for Tuesday.
The mail was delivered Tuesday. My sister-in-law took it in for us.
The mail was delivered Wednesday. Our neighbor took it in for us.
So much for selecting a stop date.
Since we were not arriving home until late Friday night, we chose Saturday as the start-up date and for all accumulated mail (all two days worth --gee, get the forklift) to be delivered.
Saturday came, but no mail.
Monday came. Still no mail.
So much for the start-up date.
Tuesday morning, I went to the post office.
There were two people behind the desk helping customers and only one person in line. Jackpot!!! Oh lucky day!!! This would not suck more than a few minutes out of my life:)
Twenty minutes later, the two people behind the desk were still helping the same two customers and now there were about fifteen people in line.
Near as I can figure, one of the people was sending a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle to Romania, piece by piece, and the other person was engaging the clerk in an in-depth discussion on registered mail vs. standard mail vs. certified mail, etc.
Finally, after ten more minutes of listening to the mind-numbing, excruciatingly tedious transactions taking place, one of the clerks finished and beckoned to the guy in front of me.
He was not happy. None of us were happy. A low murmur of discontent began to travel down the line which had now swelled to about twenty people.
"Next disgruntled customer," barked the other clerk.
Huh? Oh, he meant me. Give the man a gold star in reading body language.
Sliding my license across the desk, I explained that I wanted to pick up my mail which was supposed to have been delivered two days earlier.
"Hmmph. 'Supposed to' is the key word there," he grumbled, sliding off his stool. "Oh, did that sound sarcastic?" he asked sarcastically, as he disappeared into the back room.
Wow. And he thought I was disgruntled.
Meanwhile, the first guy called up the next customer and proceeded to lecture the person and the room at large about the proper etiquette involved in shipping a package.
Okay, did nobody here have their Wheaties this morning? At this point, we all began to shift nervously and mentally practice diving for safety under the nearest table.
My guy stomped back, sans license, and pointed to an unmanned station farther down the counter. "We don't have your mail. Big surprise. Wait there and someone will be out to help you."
No problem. I was planning on getting as far away from you as possible anyway.
"Sir. Sir," he snapped loudly, catching sight of an elderly man who had just entered and gotten into the still increasing line, "come up and go to that window (same one as me). You don't have to wait in line since you were already here. Next! Let's go!"
Casting apologetic glances at the two dozen people ahead of him, the man complied. He needn't have worried though. Everyone was too scared to complain what with visions of being on the six o'clock news swimming around in their heads. They all stood there, wide-eyed, watching the clerks as though they were lions that had escaped from the zoo just before feeding time.
"What're you here for?" the elderly man whispered to me out of the side of his mouth.
"I'm trying to pick up accumulated mail," I whispered right back.
"Good luck," he snorted under his breath. "I wouldn't hold out much hope if I were you."
Our conversation was interrupted by a woman who came bustling out with my license and a garbled explanation about how my mail was not there, but at "the other office" and she would call and make sure delivery started immediately, but just in case, here was a number I could call to try and get my mail.
While I wavered between disbelief and frustration, one of the other clerks began haranguing some poor woman at top volume about how he had to ask certain questions about her package and to please let him do his job.
That decided me.....I didn't need my mail that badly. It was probably just a lot of junk mail anyway.
I practically ran for the nearest exit. Next time we go away, I'm going to have a mail slot installed in the front door so that I don't ever have to go to the post office again.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Days of the Iguana
At our hotel in Puerto Rico, there were two big attractions: the ten huge iguanas that live on the grounds and the three hundred retired NFL players who were there for a convention.
Actually, the iguanas were the bigger attraction.
Actually, the iguanas scaring the crap out of the NFL players was the biggest attraction. You can't believe how fast a three hundred plus pound guy can move when startled by a twenty pound, five foot long reptile.
Wednesday afternoon, the pool was jammed, and pretty much every chair was taken. Until the first iguana showed up.
Tim and I spotted him sitting on top of one of the statues poolside. At first, he just sort of blended in and most people didn't realize he was even there.
Then, apparently he got hot and needed to take a quick dip in the pool to cool off. That is when people noticed him. He went in one side and everyone else at that end of the pool went out the other. It was kind of like a scene from Jaws: water churning, legs flying, arms flailing, rafts overturning. All that was missing was the theme music and the harpoon.
By the time he got out and was nonchalantly sitting in a planter happily munching on the flowers, the panic had subsided, testosterone once again reigned supreme and the post-game commentary had begun.
"Did you see the size of that thing?!" "I didn't know they got that big." "They don't bother me." (yeah, right, and that is why you jumped up on your chair) "They're plant-eaters, right?" (until they decide you look tasty) "Man, he was huge!" (yes, I believe we covered that) "He can't hurt you, can he?"
On Thursday, the second guy (even bigger) made an appearance. As a group of us stood on the sidewalk watching him watching us, a woman came barrelling through totally oblivious to the fact that these big, hulking guys were not huddling behind a garbage can to discuss the next play. I don't think I've ever seen anyone jump that high without a trampoline.
The best reaction we ever saw though was the guy in the pool. As his wife reclined on a raft in the near empty pool, he gazed lovingly into her eyes and murmured endearments as he gently propelled her around. Life was beautiful and true love was in the air...
Until the iguana swan between his legs from behind and bobbed up on the opposite side of the raft. Then it was every man for himself. He abandoned that raft like it was the Titanic and he had just gotten the last seat on the lifeboat. Had he been on land, I'm pretty sure he would have set a new record for rushing.
I'm also pretty sure he ended up in divorce court. All because of a cute little iguana who just wanted to frolic in the water.
Actually, the iguanas were the bigger attraction.
Actually, the iguanas scaring the crap out of the NFL players was the biggest attraction. You can't believe how fast a three hundred plus pound guy can move when startled by a twenty pound, five foot long reptile.
Wednesday afternoon, the pool was jammed, and pretty much every chair was taken. Until the first iguana showed up.
Tim and I spotted him sitting on top of one of the statues poolside. At first, he just sort of blended in and most people didn't realize he was even there.
Then, apparently he got hot and needed to take a quick dip in the pool to cool off. That is when people noticed him. He went in one side and everyone else at that end of the pool went out the other. It was kind of like a scene from Jaws: water churning, legs flying, arms flailing, rafts overturning. All that was missing was the theme music and the harpoon.
By the time he got out and was nonchalantly sitting in a planter happily munching on the flowers, the panic had subsided, testosterone once again reigned supreme and the post-game commentary had begun.
"Did you see the size of that thing?!" "I didn't know they got that big." "They don't bother me." (yeah, right, and that is why you jumped up on your chair) "They're plant-eaters, right?" (until they decide you look tasty) "Man, he was huge!" (yes, I believe we covered that) "He can't hurt you, can he?"
On Thursday, the second guy (even bigger) made an appearance. As a group of us stood on the sidewalk watching him watching us, a woman came barrelling through totally oblivious to the fact that these big, hulking guys were not huddling behind a garbage can to discuss the next play. I don't think I've ever seen anyone jump that high without a trampoline.
The best reaction we ever saw though was the guy in the pool. As his wife reclined on a raft in the near empty pool, he gazed lovingly into her eyes and murmured endearments as he gently propelled her around. Life was beautiful and true love was in the air...
Until the iguana swan between his legs from behind and bobbed up on the opposite side of the raft. Then it was every man for himself. He abandoned that raft like it was the Titanic and he had just gotten the last seat on the lifeboat. Had he been on land, I'm pretty sure he would have set a new record for rushing.
I'm also pretty sure he ended up in divorce court. All because of a cute little iguana who just wanted to frolic in the water.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The Five Stages of Grief
Several thousand years ago, a Greek guy traveled many miles with an important message, then dropped dead. This event gave birth to the word marathon.
Last week, my blackberry traveled many miles to Puerto Rico filled with several important messages, then dropped dead. This event gave birth to a lot of words, most of them having four letters.
At first, I was in denial. I turned it off, then on again. I took out the battery and blew off the imaginary dust. I plucked out the SYM card and blew on that too just for good measure. I gave it to Tim who did all of these things over again.
I moved on to anger. I shook it, hit it and seriously considered chucking it out the window of the car onto the freeway.
From there, I segued into the third stage -- bargaining. I begged, I pleaded, I cajoled. I tried to do a nine day novena in nine minutes. Nada. My blackberry was D.O.A.
Panic began to set in. What if my friends or family needed to reach me that week? What if the alarm went off at the house and the alarm co. needed to get ahold of me (this has happened more than once)? More importantly, what if Pottery Barn was having a big sale or Overstock.com was having a free shipping weekend? Arrrrgh!!!
Tim tried to calm me down, assuring me that we could find a Verizon store somewhere on the island and get help (or maybe he said psychiatric hospital, I wasn't really paying attention to him at this point).
Upon arriving at the hotel, he headed for the registration desk and I beelined it for the concierge, pretty much plowing over anyone too slow to get out of my way.
"Is there a Verizon store nearby?" I gasped out.
The girl gave me a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, no."
I breathed deep and tried again. "Is there one anywhere ?"
"Not on Puerto Rico." She took a slight step backward. Smart girl.
"You have no Verizon store, cart, stand, anything, anywhere or the entire island?" I wanted to make sure I nailed it down to the letter before I took the final plunge off the deep end.
"No. We only have one company that was part of Verizon, but they don't offer Verizon service or help their customers."
Gee, another dysfunctional communications company. What are the odds???
"Is there anywhere you can recommend that I go for help with my blackberry?" I persisted.
"Sorry." No, she wasn't. She was still able to get her e-mails, phone calls and text messages. I, on the other hand, wouldn't be receiving any good luck because I couldn't forward the dancing leprechaun on to eighty-six of my closest friends in the next ten minutes.
Stage four, depression, kicked in and we weren't even checked in yet.
And to make matters worse, Tim had decided to travel light and only brought his blackberry with him. No second or third phone, no laptop. No contact at all with the outside world except for his blackberry. What had he been thinking!!!
One blackberry for the two of us? Right. Like I was ever going to get a crack at it. He would rather give me some other less vital part of him like a kidney or maybe half his brain.
And so, acceptance gradually set in. I visited the business center almost daily, but it wasn't the same. I had to fight for my thirty minutes of computer time with the rest of the other poor blackberryless fools. I would have been better off sticking a message in a bottle and waiting for low tide some days, and I don't even want to address the phone issue.
Tim, meanwhile, chatted away at the pool, the beach, the restaurant. He e-mailed and opened attachments with no time constraints or someone trying to look over his shoulder. He even googled a few times. He took his blackberry everywhere with him (yes, even the bathroom). So much for sharing.
Even now that we are back home and my blackberry is somewhat up and running (Puerto Rico is definitely off our list of vacation spots), I am still not through with the stages of grief. I think I may have found a sixth and seventh that were not on the original list. And every time my blackberry beeps and I get a voice message that was left last Tuesday or Wednesday, I go right back to the beginning and have to start all over again.
Last week, my blackberry traveled many miles to Puerto Rico filled with several important messages, then dropped dead. This event gave birth to a lot of words, most of them having four letters.
At first, I was in denial. I turned it off, then on again. I took out the battery and blew off the imaginary dust. I plucked out the SYM card and blew on that too just for good measure. I gave it to Tim who did all of these things over again.
I moved on to anger. I shook it, hit it and seriously considered chucking it out the window of the car onto the freeway.
From there, I segued into the third stage -- bargaining. I begged, I pleaded, I cajoled. I tried to do a nine day novena in nine minutes. Nada. My blackberry was D.O.A.
Panic began to set in. What if my friends or family needed to reach me that week? What if the alarm went off at the house and the alarm co. needed to get ahold of me (this has happened more than once)? More importantly, what if Pottery Barn was having a big sale or Overstock.com was having a free shipping weekend? Arrrrgh!!!
Tim tried to calm me down, assuring me that we could find a Verizon store somewhere on the island and get help (or maybe he said psychiatric hospital, I wasn't really paying attention to him at this point).
Upon arriving at the hotel, he headed for the registration desk and I beelined it for the concierge, pretty much plowing over anyone too slow to get out of my way.
"Is there a Verizon store nearby?" I gasped out.
The girl gave me a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, no."
I breathed deep and tried again. "Is there one anywhere ?"
"Not on Puerto Rico." She took a slight step backward. Smart girl.
"You have no Verizon store, cart, stand, anything, anywhere or the entire island?" I wanted to make sure I nailed it down to the letter before I took the final plunge off the deep end.
"No. We only have one company that was part of Verizon, but they don't offer Verizon service or help their customers."
Gee, another dysfunctional communications company. What are the odds???
"Is there anywhere you can recommend that I go for help with my blackberry?" I persisted.
"Sorry." No, she wasn't. She was still able to get her e-mails, phone calls and text messages. I, on the other hand, wouldn't be receiving any good luck because I couldn't forward the dancing leprechaun on to eighty-six of my closest friends in the next ten minutes.
Stage four, depression, kicked in and we weren't even checked in yet.
And to make matters worse, Tim had decided to travel light and only brought his blackberry with him. No second or third phone, no laptop. No contact at all with the outside world except for his blackberry. What had he been thinking!!!
One blackberry for the two of us? Right. Like I was ever going to get a crack at it. He would rather give me some other less vital part of him like a kidney or maybe half his brain.
And so, acceptance gradually set in. I visited the business center almost daily, but it wasn't the same. I had to fight for my thirty minutes of computer time with the rest of the other poor blackberryless fools. I would have been better off sticking a message in a bottle and waiting for low tide some days, and I don't even want to address the phone issue.
Tim, meanwhile, chatted away at the pool, the beach, the restaurant. He e-mailed and opened attachments with no time constraints or someone trying to look over his shoulder. He even googled a few times. He took his blackberry everywhere with him (yes, even the bathroom). So much for sharing.
Even now that we are back home and my blackberry is somewhat up and running (Puerto Rico is definitely off our list of vacation spots), I am still not through with the stages of grief. I think I may have found a sixth and seventh that were not on the original list. And every time my blackberry beeps and I get a voice message that was left last Tuesday or Wednesday, I go right back to the beginning and have to start all over again.
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