Janathan Grace Reflections   This is my journey of self discovery shared with you

Berly (Kimberly) is in D.C. at a national convention for L’Arche (the organization she started working for 2 months ago).  Sadly it’s her birthday on Saturday (sad that she’s with nobody to celebrate it).  I sneaked a couple of things into her bags Thursday when she was leaving, but that’s not really the same.  Actually, it is only sad to me since she’s not much into birthday celebrations.

Kimberly is paying about 25 bucks for Adelphia cable TV and another 25 for internet access, a lot better price than DSL.  I went on the website to see what specials were being offered.  It gave the national prices for internet, which were $19.95 for the first 3 months (to suck you in) and after that it jumps to $42.95.  I thought Kimberly must have gotten a local deal currently going on, but since they have no Lynchburg phone numbers, I went down to their office yesterday to check it out.

One customer was in front of me in line, and she was talking about personal things to the lady behind the Adelphia counter.  When her business was finished, she took a couple of steps towards the door and stopped, still talking.  They both ignored me for several minutes as they finished their little chat.  Finally Lady Adelphia decided she had time for me and turning to me asked, “What’s your address?” (not “can I help you?” or “what can I do for you today?”).  She punched it into her computer, and when nothing came up she realized she had asked the wrong question.

“I’m here to ask about new service,” I said.  “Is there some kind of special?  My girlfriend lives three blocks from my place and she is getting cable and internet access for about 25 bucks each.”

“Well,” she answered, “we have a special, a 3-month special for $21.95 a month.  After that it goes up to $42.95.  Modem rental is an additional $3 a month.”  I suddenly realized how they had misled Kimberly–and would have gotten me if I had not seen the website. 

I tried to use a gentle voice to allay any defensiveness: “The way you say that sounds kind of confusing.  Your customers could easily understand you to mean that if they sign up today they will pay only 21.95 from now on.”

“Oh,” she responded, “People do sometimes claim that we didn’t tell them their rates would go up.  That’s why we are very careful in how we say it: ‘we have a 3-month special for $21.95 a month.  After that it goes up to $42.95.'”

“Well, if I heard you say that,” I replied, “I could easily think you meant there is a 3-month window, and that if I sign up now, I can permanently lock in the low price.”  She responded politely and with a patient smile, “Well I don’t understand what YOU are saying.”  She didn’t WANT to understand what I was saying.

At this point I realized I was the victim of Southern gentility–she can completely ignore my comments as long as she does it with a soft tone and a smile.  Shoot someone in broad daylight on Main street, and if you do it with the proper manner–dress nicely, speak politely, tip your hat to the ladies–Everyone will say you are a real gentleman.  The one great unifying cultural force in the South, the foundation for all good relationships, the mightiest instrument for social advancement is denial… by politeness.

I really love my apartment.  I actually prefer the basement because it shields me from street traffic.  The up/down duplex is on a hill, so only the top apartment is above ground in front, but the slope is so steep that I have windows at both sides as well as in the back.  The living room window is very large and opens out into the woods behind my house—I can see only trees.  It is so beautiful!  The rear bedroom window is small, but I have arranged the bed so that if I sit on it (to read) or lie on it (to reflect) I look out on the maples and poplars, and at night with the window open, cricket chirps drift in on the rustling wind.

For Berly, the insides of the house count most, but just give me God’s creation outside to breathe life into my soul.  I need a yard for my own private space and to keep my neighbors a friendly wave apart.  So checking out residences was quick and easy—without appointments or keys, just addresses.  I drove passed 15 units in a 25 mile radius, but found the very best option right across the creek from Berly’s apartment (about a block away if I push through the thickets, around the ravine, and climb the rail fence… four blocks if I take the street).

The fall is still weeks away, and the woods are stuffed so tight with green that the blue sky can only peak through where the trees thin out to make room for houses.  Even so, every little breeze puffs down a shower of yellow leaves like a bevy of butterflies floating to earth.  The golden cascades drift down and like the soft lapping of ocean waves wash into my heart with a whisper of peace: “Release”… “Relax”… “Let… life… flow.”

Wow, I can’t begin to summarize all that has happened since my last blog–my moving to Lynchburg and all that has involved.  My little Honda seems to have survived the heavy loads ferried down each week from Arlington as I visited Kimberly.  My books of course made up the bulk of the transfer.  In place of a summary, I’ll just tell ya’ll the latest.

About 11 o’clock Saturday night I was carrying two armloads of things from Kimberly’s place out to my car.  I placed one armload on the ground and with my free hand reached into my front pocket to get my keys.  My wallet was in the way.  So I pulled my wallet out, slapped it on top of the car, and unlocked the front door.  I reached around to unlock the back door and unloaded everything onto the back seat.  Then I climbed in front and drove off… with my wallet still on top of the car.  Of course, I didn’t realize it was missing until Sunday afternoon, and by then someone else had already found it, with over $100 in cash, two checks, three credit cards, a metro pass worth $25. 

If I’m lucky and it’s an honest person, they will probably mail my wallet to the address on my driver’s license: 921 N. Quincy Street (which has been a big hole in the ground for two years now).  No, I never told DMV when we moved.  So I spent this morning getting a new driver’s license and cancelling my credit cards.  Another day in the life of Mr. Scatterbrained.