Am back online after three days without phone service. The following was written Thursday:
"Phone service went out here this morning, making it impossible to do the ongoing work on this journal's older entries (updating links, edits/rewrites, moving photos from pbase to this domain, altering HTML to reflect the difference). Providing an unexpected block of time to simply sit and run off at the mouth.
"This is the first day of full-bore sunshine this little corner of the world has seen in a while. The last week mostly brought gray, cold, rainy/snowy conditions, after which this morning's blue skies felt pretty stinkin' good. A good time for the phone lines to act up, my mood/attitude being pretty much unsinkable.
"I have dial-up service here, with a fair amount of background noise on the line, which can, at times, slow down the loading of pages/data to a crippled, drunken crawl. This morning, that crawl outdid itself, becoming slower and slower (repeatedly kicking me offline), finally going belly up, the dial tone disappearing altogether. Picking up the phone confirmed the dead line, I checked other jacks in the house with a second phone -- same thing.
"Finished some things here, pulled on a coat, drove down the hill to Mo's place. His phone service continued without problem, I put through a call to Verizon repair service, suffering through five minutes of automated voices making me wait, jump through hoops, sit up and beg, apparently providing Mo and Barbara with some fine entertainment. An extremely nice woman finally spoke with me, instructing me to go back up to the house and plug a phone into the house junction box to make sure the problem was in external lines.
"While I did that (confirming that the trouble was outside the house), I heard a truck rumble by, disappearing uphill. On returning to Mo's to follow up with repair service, he told me that the truck had been a Verizon vehicle, possibly responding to a call from a neighbor further up the hill, maybe on the way to check out our hilltop junction box, where the trouble might be originating. While we discussed that, the truck passed, heading back downhill. Mo theorized that the problem might have been fixed, I scooted home to recheck the lines. Service had indeed been restored, I dialed repairs to let them know all was well. And as I waited for their number to ring, the line went dead again.
"Trudged downstairs, checked the house junction box -- dead. Pulled on coat, drove back to Mo's, called repair service, eventually got through to a guy who sounded terminally bored, flatly disinterested. We went through the motions of a repair call, he eventually told me service would be restored by tomorrow at the latest, my jaw dropping in response as the word tomorrow reverberated in my teeny little brain. 'Tomorrow?' I finally managed to get out. 'That's right,' he answered, his tone of voice communicating something along the lines of 'Big deal, who cares, go away, let me sleep....' I said nothing, mouth open, brain still processing the unexpected word 'tomorrow,' still marveling at the loss of phone service on a day of such beautiful weather -- no trees going down, no ice or heavy snow causing headaches. Sunlight, temperature heading steadily upward. 'Sorry,' I finally said, 'I'm speechless.' Nothing from the other end of the line, the guy not feeling inclined to give me anything more than bad news, perhaps slowly expiring from ennui, lacking the energy or will to drum up any kind of bedside manner. 'Well,' I eventually enunciated, 'do what you have to do,' hanging up without waiting for a final terse, disinterested two or three words from the other end of the line.
"Went out into a beautiful day, realized my mood remained unshakeable, me feeling pretty good. And this is where my normal charmed life kicked in.
"Went to a dental appointment in a neighboring town, decided I'd call back repair service afterward and express some appreciation for the woman I'd initially spoken with, give her a commendation. Post-appointment (mouth happy, teeth sparkling), I asked the receptionist where the nearest pay phone might be. Right nearby, she said -- in the parking lot, it turned out of a small, square, windowless brick Verizon building, a combo switching/relay depot and technician hangout. I'm at the pay phone, a guy walks out of the building, I ask him if he and his compatriots were aware that we'd lost phone service on our hill. They weren't, he asked for details, went back inside to make a phone call. I finished up with the commendation, walked over to the brick building, knocked on the door. The guy lets me in, I find myself in the local linemen's hangout, ambience strictly industrial, the guy quizzing me for details about the outage, passing the information along to people on the other end of the line. Ten minutes later, the local servicing network is alerted, the guy tells me he'll be driving up himself to see what's going on. I thank him, we shake, I return home feeling just fine.
"And here I am, sunlight pouring in the windows, house quiet, birds coming and going at the feeder outside the nearby window. Service is still out, but that'll pass. In the meantime, I get to hang out for a while -- write, eat some lunch, stare out at the Vermont countryside stretching away up the valley. All of that leaving me feeling obnoxiously content."
That was Thursday.
Obnoxiously content. And I was. After all, we're only talking about the phone line being out, not a dread disease, not a home invasion, not catastrophic weather. Me, in a warm, comfy house on top of a hill in the middle of beautiful country. With running water, food to eat, things to read, music to listen to. All that and more.
Now and then, as that afternoon and evening rolled by, I'd pick up the phone to see if the line had been resuscitated. Nothing doing.
Next day: called repair service around noontime from a pay phone in Montpelier, spoke with a nice woman. My situation was second on the technician's to-do list for that day, she said. When he got finished with the first one he'd come out and do the work.
Went home, worked, hung out, now and then picked up the phone. The line remained dead.
Saturday morning: line still out. Just before the 48-hour mark, went down the hill to Mo's, used their phone to call repairs.
"Well," said the woman who answered, "a technician came out yesterday and you weren't home."
"Huh?" says I.
"They need to get to your house's junction box, it's apparently inside."
"Yeah," I agreed, "in the garage."
"You weren't home, he couldn't get in."
"I was home. I didn't hear anything. I wasn't listening for anything because this is the first time anyone's told me I needed to be home." Me assuming all along that -- the problem being in the lines outside the house, no one mentioning that I'd need to let anyone inside -- work would be done outside somewhere, at some point the dial tone would miraculously reappear. Never occurred to me that I'd need to be in the house, much less on the alert for a hard-hatted, toolbelted visitor. Maybe it should have. Or not. Got me.
The upshot of the call -- it was a long weekend, no one would be able to come out to take care of the line until next week. Leaving me, once again, openmouthed.
Got off the phone, not happy. Decided to take a drive and see if my neighbors at the end of the road had a working phone, just to get a picture of how widespread the problem might be. Went, found no one home. On the way back, came across another neighbor out taking a stroll in the 0° weather (temperature at 8 a.m.: -9°) with his two dogs (golden retrievers, happily cavorting, oblivious to the polar conditions). His phone was working, he offered me use of it. I decided to call repair service again, draw them a clear picture of me not having been given important information, try for a different outcome. I called, the person I dealt with heard me, made arrangements, told me a technician would show up either later in the day or first thing Sunday a.m.
No one showed Saturday, the line remained dead.
This morning, 9:15: a truck pulled into the driveway, I went outside (temperature: -1°) to meet the technician. He pulled on vest, jacket, gloves, hardhat, toolbelt. He checked the junction box, confirming the line was blinkered. (Duh.) Went outside, grabbed the extension ladder from his truck, trudged through knee-high snow, climbed up the utility pole over near the barn. Half an hour later, the phone came back to life, me practically doing cartwheels in response. He left, I called Verizon to give the guy a commendation, then cranked up the computer. I've been online ever since.
But here's the thing: apart from the moments of phone conversations with Verizon folk, being phoneless had limited impact on my life. It made the day quieter, gave me more time to do other things -- read, clean, work around the house, think. Watch a bit more video than I otherwise might. Listen to a bit more music. Life went nicely on.
As it does now. An overnight guest arrives this afternoon (B., of last November's adventures in northern Italy.) Time to get social.
****************
This morning, first light:
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 10:15 AM [+]
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