Unplugged

The place I work at is 100 per cent totally dependent on computers. If one system goes down, odds are good it adversely effects more than half the other departments in the building and, or, our product. I perform a tiny role in this large operation's inner workings but if the PC I use ever hiccups then my job, ancillary as it is, comes to a quick halt along with the collateral work flow of other’s. Heck, many of us don't even use the bathroom without getting an Outlook alert first. Crimeny sakes, my little truck has more in-board computer chips built into it than the 6 million dollar man. I don't even want to think what happens if one of those things crashes. 

So I'm not letting out any company secrets by acknowledging how computer-dependent we are; that we all are. But over this past Thanksgiving weekend, I took a breather from modern life and returned to the dark days of yore B.M. (Before Microsoft).  From the time I left work Wednesday night until returning this morning to the sprawling office complex where I draw a paycheck, I didn't boot up a computer, activate my I-pod or log onto the Internet. I was 4 days unplugged.

Okay, I did have my cell phone on and with me. Can't help that; I feel naked without it and that's something nobody wants to see. So I had my phone. But it’s a Dumb-phone; capable only of making and receiving calls. And since I've yet to convince the lovely Amy that it'd be a wise use of our income to make my little LG Verizon, Internet compatible, there was no danger I’d be swerving back onto the information super-highway last weekend, even accidentally.

But what an incredible experience. No devices, no 'toys', I didn't even watch sports this weekend. I know, in some circles, that revelation could brand me a Communist; or worse, force me to surrender my man card. But I didn't miss football or my electronic gear. At all. For four days, I either talked with people face to face, or listened to people in the same room, or was quiet. Imagine that.  And I was never bored. I ate good food. I got to spend time outside. I ate more good food. I didn’t go to work. I ate more good food. All good things

Thanksgiving afternoon was spent with the in-laws and their thoughts on a wide range of topics, most I didn't even have to feign interest in. For those scoring at home, that's the obligatory lame in-law joke. There will be no more. So move along; there's nothing to see here. My sweet mother-in-law even sent me home with a Tupperware bowl full of homemade ice cream. How awesome is that? There are plenty of things in this world I won't eat; homemade ice cream is not one of them. And I didn't have to wait till the 4th of July. I felt very blessed.

It only rained once over the weekend, so there was ample opportunity to get outside, breathe fresh fall air, take a walk, and even do some neglected yard cleanup and even make a dump run. Of course, for most people, a dump run wouldn’t qualify as a weekend highlight but our garbage cans were full, and smelly, and disgusting. Both’s foul contents needed to be hauled away and left to decompose in the confines of the Nevada County Landfill. Once that disgusting task was completed, allowing the garage ambiance to return to its usual state of neutral, if occasionally engine-oily, ambiance, there was a stop for lunch at one of my preferred places in town to eat, Maria's, on East Main Street.

I enjoyed my favorite dish, Maria's chicken fajita burrito with sautéed onions and bell peppers. Yummy!  I even thought about ordering a Corona to go with it, but you really have to be in the mood for a Mexican beer and I wasn’t. So I stuck to ice tea.  I didn’t really need a beer anyway and I didn’t have to dine alone either as this extended outing was shared with the lovely Amy. With work and the commute, I spend so much time away from home it's kind of nice to have a little extra time- like a holiday weekend and a long lunch at Maria’s- just to hang out with my wife. To talk about nothing. Or something. Or if nothing else just to check in.

Saturday night we popped a copy of the 1942 film, "Holiday Inn", into the DVD player. Though we’d received it as a gift from a good friend last year we hadn’t watched it yet. But that was my fault.  I'd probably rather spend the day locked in a cell with an insurance salesman who, in his spare time, doubles as a member of the Geek Squad than suffer through an old black and white song and dance film. I can think of nothing more dull. But this movie wasn’t. It was charming. Bing Crosby was a little stiff, but that Fred Astaire guy? Man, can he dance! Who knew? Bottom line, the flick held my attention the entire two hours.

But I think the best part of the device-free weekend was spent with my family. And anyone who knows me knows I probably can't believe I just wrote that, either. My m.o. has always been to run from family gatherings like fleeing a burning room. But this time I’m glad I didn’t.

It started with a lengthy dinner Wednesday night with my sister. Sue brought her boys this time, too, so I got to have a little give and take with my Alaska nephews, Ben and Matt, as well. They hardly know me and I hardly ever get to see them, because we live so far apart and I don’t like to travel. But during the rare times we’ve all been in the same state at the same time, it’s been a joy getting re-acquainted. Both boys have just the right balance of smart-assness and elder-respect to make them a delight having around. When I was their age I remember any forced hang outs with the grown-ups being nothing short of an absolute yawn-fest. But Ben and Matt were engaged and engaging and wonderful dinner companions. I'm proud to be their uncle and proud of my sister and brother-in-law for the way they've been raised.

After the boys walked back to the hotel, Sue and I got down to the business of catching up. Yakking. And laughing. And crying. We talked about things that went back to our childhood; misunderstandings and misperceptions; hot button issues that, over the years, had been allowed to cool into subtle but distinct barriers between us. Barriers, that over desert and a couple glasses of wine we were at last able to take a sledgehammer to. The issues aren’t important now (I’ve touched on them in other blog posts and they mostly concern the way Mom interacted with all of us, especially me), because my sister loves me. She always has. I didn’t know. I mean, I did, but to hear her say it, it was as if I found this long lost friend that I never knew I even had. It was wonderful, being able to at last break down those walls and break through to each other. My sister loves me.

Sue and I sat there for nearly three hours and I’m sure our waitress was probably tired of us taking up table space that long without ordering anything else after the second glass of wine. But it was free flowing discussion between my sister and I that I didn’t want to end; besides it was the night before Thanksgiving and the place wasn't terribly busy. We did leave a nice tip, though. At least Sue did. She bought dinner. And though she lives a continent by the time we walked out of the Rocklin Chili's at Blue Oaks and Fairway and into the wintry November night, I don't think I've ever felt closer to her

And before the weekend got away from all of us, Sue and I ended up at Steve’s house where we spent several more hours, brothers and sister, just laughing and talking like old friends. I can't explain it but it may have been the best time I think I've ever had with my two siblings.
And not once did I miss Facebook. Or the computer. Or my email. Or the blog. Until this morning I wasn't even aware I now have 3 followers reading this nonsense. But I'd be remiss if I somehow left the impression that I'm this wise, noble fellow who can take or leave what our modern world and technology has to offer. For I am neither wise, nor noble. Quite the contrary.

We still live in the land of dial-up Internet, and this weekend I just didn’t have the patience.