Answering the Phone Like It’s 1999 (and Why I Still Do)

In an age of spam calls, scam alerts, and algorithmic matchmaking gone rogue, answering the phone has become a lost art—or a risky gamble. But for those of you who still pick up, there's legacy, curiosity, and a dash of storytelling gold waiting on the other end. This post explores why Jean still answers unknown calls, what happened when a mysterious woman asked for her late husband, and how a $7.98 cell plan became part of her personal history.  AI... 

I’m not one of those old people who is afraid to answer a phone call from an unknown number. Yes, I’ve been to the classes on how not to be a senior citizen who gets scammed by a fake grandson who needs bail money to get out of a Mexican jail. I know enough not to buy gift cards, money orders or bitcoins for strangers who will “pay me for the trouble” by letting me keep part of the money from their (bad) check. I know better than to believe Microsoft would call little old me to tell me my computer has a virus and I need to let the caller remotely control my keyboard. In the world of protecting old people from themselves we are told if it’s a legitimate call, they will leave a voice mail. But what fun would that be? Besides, I tell people who question why I would put myself in harm’s way by answering that very scary phone that I know how to hang up, and I would sooner tell someone on the phone my weight than give out my Social Security number, bank routing info or credit card details. And I don’t make donations by phone. “So save your pitch for someone else,” I’ve been known to say. 

The Mysterious Caller 

I was expecting a call back from my financial advisor when I answered the phone and heard a woman asking to speak to Don. My husband died over a decade ago so I replied, “May I say who is calling?” to which the woman hemmed and hawed and finally repeated, “Can I speak to Don?” Her voice wasn’t crackly sounding like most people in my age bracket or I would have thought it was an old girlfriend trying to get closure—or maybe start something up again. 

But her voice was young and sexy and for a split second I thought about all those young women with cleavage-forward photos that I just deleted from my Facebook Page’s “People You May Know” slideshow. God only knows what I was researching online to give Facebook’s matchmaking algorithm the idea I’d be interested in finding overseas women with names like Cherry whose sweaters are two sizes too small. Clearly the algorithm went rogue. Unfortunately, I knew a man who did click one of those dark-eyed girls to find romance but all he got was an imaginary girlfriend who ghosted him when his bank account was drained.

Then my mind went to the possibility there could be a daughter out there that Don never knew about who is trying to fill in her long lost family tree. We didn’t talk much about our past romantic histories but he was a good looking guy who no doubt sowed a few wild oats, as the saying goes. But I reasoned he would have been found years ago by an unknown child because we didn’t move around much. Nope, I finally decided it was a telemarketer so I told the woman, “You might want to take this number off your call list. Don’s been dead for quite some time.” She hung up. 

When I got off the phone I googled her phone number, as I always do, to see if it came from a known scammer but this time the number the woman was calling from was a local mortgage company. The last time Don’s name was on a mortgage it was near the turn of century and it was paid off long ago. Curiosity can lead us down some strange paths and I can’t stop running scenarios through my head. Should I call the number back and demand to talk to the women who failed to announce she was calling from a mortgage company? Do mortgage companies do cold canvassing? Was there something wrong with that last mortgage or does Don still own one of the rental properties he had back in his prime because a mortgage company screwed up? Her reasons for calling could be anything, and if she sends a follow up in the mail, I will be ready with my Tenacity Hat on and a notepad close at hand. 

Don’s Legacy and a $7.98 Cell Plan

Don had his massive stroke in 2001 leaving him unable to use a phone, but the phone number he used—and I still do use—went back the 1980s when cell service was first introduced to our city. He had rental property, a parking lot maintenance business and a personal life attached to that phone and we didn’t want to give up the number because we still needed many of those people to be able to contact us. The cell company, however, looking for a way out of the contract didn't want to accept my checks for the monthly payments, and they made me jump through hoops to get the contract changed over to my name. 

One of the hoops involved getting a letter from a doctor stating that Don could no longer write or talk and another letter from a contract lawyer basically stating the obvious, that he was not dead yet and while we didn’t have the same last name we were legally married and had the documents to prove it. Because Don was one of the first to sign up for those crazy things called a CELL phone—the contract had a lifetime fixed rate of $7.98 a month. That didn’t change until I wanted a smart phone a few short years ago. If I had wanted to keep a flip phone I could still be paying $7.98. 

Forty plus years of cell service for $7.98 a month was hard to give up but it was worth it because I do like having a semi-smart phone. It’s an android, the stepchild of the coveted Apple iPhone, which is smart enough to challenge me but not outsmart me. My fellow residents are always talking about how long they have to stand in line down at the Apple Store to get one thing or another fixed or figured out. 

When I left the flip phone behind I got to keep our Vintage Phone Number. Or I should I once again had to put on my Tenacity Hat and jump through enough hoops to rival those in an old fashioned circus act involving a pack of poodles to make that happen. So in case, you’re wondering I will keep on answering unknown calls for as long as I remember how to hang up, because I’ve got nothing to lose—except the time I’ve saved by not standing in line at the Apple Store, and because sometimes the best stories start with a ring and a little curiosity. ©

 Until Next Wednesday. 

Life on a Continuum Care Campus and the Power of One Bold Newcomer

Living in a continuum care community is a bit like starring in a long-running sitcom—same setting, rotating cast, and just enough drama to keep things interesting. Residents come and go, apartments get flipped faster than real estate on HGTV, and the Looky-Loos arrive sniffing out their future lifestyle like it’s a Costco sample tray. But beneath the predictable rhythms of move-ins and meal plans there’s always a wildcard. This time, she arrived with purple hair, a Type A personality, and a mission to shake things up—from the Food Committee to the Secret Society of Liberal Ladies. In this post, Jean chronicles the latest chapter in her community's saga, complete with unsolicited mission statements, political provocations, and her own quiet plot to hand off a leadership baton with a sigh of relief. AI ….

Living on a continuum care campus means people come and go—some move to the Assisted Living or Memory Care building down the road, others to Skilled Nursing across town. A few die and it’s anyone’s guess where they end up. When people leave the trucks or family members swoop in to move their stuff, then maintenance does their thing to get their apartment ready to sell. Afterward, a parade of Looky-Loos on the waiting list go through it and decide if they are ready for the life-changes it takes to live on a continuum care campus. The cycle is steady and as predictable as the changing of the seasons, a doom and gloom reminder that life is fragile and we need to appreciate the here and now.

As new residents pick their way around the public areas they often look like kids who’ve moved to a new school district half way through a semester. They nervously walk into the dining room at noon, not knowing where to sit, hoping they won’t get asked to leave their first choice of tables. But they have nothing to fear at my CCC because someone from our table of fourteen will invite them over. There is always someone who’s been there long after they’ve finished eating who is willing to give up their seat to a newcomer. Of course, the newcomer gets grilled: “Where did you move from?” “What did you do before retirement”? “Do you have family living near-by?” Someone at the table will take it upon themselves to introduce the other residents. “This is our mayor. He knows everything going on here.” “If you want to get involved in the woodshop, talk to this guy.” If you want to join Bridge Club talk to this lady.” “Like Mahjong? Talk to Jean” and so on. We have a self-appointed leader for everything that goes on here including a guy who makes sure all our Amazon, FedEx and post office packages in the mailroom get delivered to our front doors. 

We also tell the newcomers, “If you don’t see an activity you like, tell the Life Enrichment Director and she’ll help you start a group.” Some resident ideas stick like Gorilla Glue. For example, the off campus Breakfast Club is well attended, others fail for lack of interest like the Crafter’s Afternoon that was my brain child. (Or should I say brain fart?) The idea was for everyone who does a handcraft like knitting, embroidery or quilting to get together twice a month—like a sewing circle and a show-and-tell rolled into one. Our LED hasn’t taken it off the monthly schedule even though in nearly a year, no one shows up including me and one other woman who quit going after three months. We suspect the director keeps it on the calendar to impress the Looky-Loos with how many choices of activities we have here. There are a few other things on the schedule that are more wishful thinking than actual activities.

A recent newcomer did not tiptoe in quietly. I should have guessed by her long purple hair that our newest resident would make a few waves around here, and she has just by the sheer number of activities she’s joined. It takes most people a while before they start slowly wading into the culture. Not her. She signed up for book club, the Creative Writing Club, the Food Committee and she got herself invited to join the Tuesday Night Conversation group (formerly known as the Secret Society of Liberal Ladies). Last Tuesday as sixteen of us sat around a large conference table for dinner and conversation about national news she dominated as the main speaker. Clearly, she’s a mover and shaker Type A with great skill sets. But she wants us to invite people from the other side of the political aisle to join us "to create an opportunity to dialogue.” Someone pointed out that our group got our start because anytime politics was brought up in the public areas, the conversation would quickly get shut down by people who either didn’t want to hear it or who’d start making highly inflammatory remarks that took away any chance of civil discussion.

A friend of mine read me a letter Ms Purple Hair wrote to the Food Committee where she also came in with guns blazing. She said she had read over the notes from all the past meetings and it was clear that the group had no mission statement or guidelines for what they hope to accomplish. So she proposed that during the first meeting after the summer break they need to write one. God save me from the health nuts who want us all eating like rabbits! Thankfully, we have a kitchen manager whose answer to everything is, “State law does not require Independent Living facilities to furnish calorie counts for all their meals or plan balanced nutrition” or blab, blab, blab. That law is what saves us from having things like onion rings, mashed potatoes and red meat removed from our menu.

She’s joined The Creative Writing Group but other than her letter to the Food Committee I haven’t seen a sample of her work yet. That will come later this week. But I do know one thing: If Ms Purple Hair tries to take over the leadership of the group, I will gladly give up my imaginary gavel. And I will do it with a secret laugh in my gut, knowing I’ve wanted to quit that leadership role a long time ago but no one would let me. That's one cycle of change around here I'd welcome with arms wide open. ©

Processing Charlie Kirk’s Assassination in a Divided Nation

The assassination of conservative activist Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University has ignited national debate—and personal reflection. As someone who never followed Kirk closely, Jean was stunned, not by the violence itself, but by the grief expressed by people she loves. In this post, Jean explores Kirk’s controversial legacy, the polarized reactions to his death, and the uncomfortable conversations it sparked in her life. What does political violence reveal about the state of our country—and about the values we hold dear? AI….

Charlie Kirk’s assassination last week didn’t just shake the political world—it shook me, too, in ways I hadn't anticipated. I had never paid much attention to him until the news broke and then I took a deep dive into his history.

In 2018 Charlie Kirk was included on the Forbes Magazine list 30 Under 30 in Law and Policy. He was 24 years old and several years before that he was the youngest speaker to ever appear at a Republican National Convention. Among his other accomplishments was founding Turning Point USA—a far-right organization that today claims to be the largest MAGA youth group, with a presence on 2,500 campuses. It opposes gun control, vaccines, abortion rights, LGBTQ rights, and promotes Christian Nationalism and a grab-bag of conspiracy theories. It’s not hyperbolic to say that Charlie Kirk made a name and a fortune for himself. His estate is estimated at twelve million dollars. Politics pays well.

Last Wednesday he was speaking at a large rally and just before he was assassinated he was asked by an audience member: “Do you know how many transgender Americans have been mass shooters in the past ten years?” “Too many,” Kirk said, then added. “Counting or not counting gang violence?” Those were his final words—provocative, divisive, and now immortalized in his short but impactful life.

I never gave Charlie his due for his sphere of influence. I knew he thought the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was a “huge mistake” and that its led to what the far-right thinks is a DEI culture. I knew his misogynistic viewpoint about birth control making women “angry and bitter.” I knew he’s said young women need to “get back to prioritizing marriage and motherhood,” and give up their aspirations of having careers. 

I also knew he publicly made a pitch for a “patriot” to come forward to bail out the person who attacked Paul Pelosi with a hammer. But I didn’t know that after he was shot I’d see so many of my conservative friends and neighbors express their profound and deepest grief over his passing. I thought he was just a shock jockey pod-castor on the fringe of the Republican Party. 

Learning the wide scope of Kirk's power in the Republican Party started with some Facebook posts. Friends and relatives plastered the site with their admiration and grief. One was posted by one of my favorite people on earth. In the video someone asked Charlie, “If I was dying of a gun shot and had 30 seconds to live what would you tell me?” Charlie answered that "he was about to meet the Eternal Judgment and the only important thing is if you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior—not how many good deeds you’d done, not how much money you have or what’s on your moral scorecard. Nothing else is going to cut it except accepting Jesus.” (Quoted verbatim.)

Not long after watching that video I got a phone call from a (MAGA and pseudo religious) relative who quickly worked the conversation around to Charlie. But what was really on her mind is she wanted to know if I’ve accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior yet. I told her I believe in the historical Jesus but not the mystical Jesus meaning I believe he walked the earth and was the founder of a world religion just like Mohammad, Buddha and Abraham were—but I don’t subscribe to the idea he had any mystical powers. I would never say this to her but I think it’s utterly ridiculous to believe that accepting Jesus as your savior is the only way to find a divine consciousness or to tap into a universal, spiritual force.

After spending my morning reading about Charlie Kirk, I went down to lunch. When I sat down the woman next to me was talking about how awful it was that “they” killed him. (Current events are rarely ever discussed at our lunch table so that alone was telling.) Then she looked at me and asked, “Or are you one of those who is cheering his death?” She knows I’m part of the Tuesday Night (Political) Conversation Dinner Group which is probably why she made the jab but still I was shocked at the insult. “Of course not!" I replied. "I don’t want to live in a country where political assassinations are becoming disturbingly routine."

Someone else said we have to find a way to bring people back together. "How did we get so polarized?" another woman asked. Then I made the mistake of saying it started when Trump— That’s as far as I got before someone jumped on me, saying, “Please don’t bring politics into this tragedy!” Not wanting to add more heat to the conversation I didn’t spit back what I was thinking, and I was thinking how on earth can you NOT bring politics into a political assassination? He wasn’t shot for a personal scandal or happenstance. I didn’t say another word through lunch and the conversation around me ended in the same place as the phone call I’d gotten earlier by someone saying, "Charlie is in heaven, now, where he and Jesus are walking hand in hand." Cynical me thought, there must be a meme out there expressing that sentiment.

I neither mourn nor celebrate Charlie Kirk’s death. But I do mourn what it reveals about the country I (used to) love—and how far we’ve drifted apart in what we value about life, liberty and patriotism. The fact that the president wants to posthumously award Mr. Kirk the National Medal of Freedom and allow him to lie in state in the Capitol building is not only inappropriate it puts a giant explanation point on our deep divide. ©

“We can return violence with violence. We can return hate with hate. And that’s the problem with political violence,” Governor Cox of Utah said. “It metastasizes, because we can always point the finger at the other side. And at some point, we have to find an off-ramp, or it’s going to get much, much worse.”