It's Important for Everyone Who Has Internet Connection to Cheer on Their Internet Connection for a Second. I'm Just Saying. #VerseLove26

On Friday night, the cable, telephone, and internet went down. 24 hours later it still wasn't up and even after tradition in modems and routers, there wasn't any luck. It turned out that the service was out for the entire neighborhood, but at least now my parent's have updated equipment, even though the 24 hours without service was distressing. When phones, cable, and online activity are zapped from the way one operates, it can be challenging indeed. Some short-circuit rather quickly.

Thankful for me, there was a delicious prompt by Kim Johnson to have a poem begin with a title that leads  to a question from someone into the story for answering such a question. It seems appropriate to go with the guy at Spectrum who, I have to say, was very pleasant...as were the 25 agents I talked with on Saturday to get everything up and running again.

Long story short...life is back in action and I celebrated by not only making the family Easter dinner, but also bringing home ice cream sundaes to put a smile on their face after 24 hours of frustration.

I should say, however, my Dad didn't notice anything was different. He was just confused by why my mother was so upset.

The Guy at Spectrum Asks If I Have Authorization on Their Cable Account 

and I say “no I’m a son of a Butch. Morris Wayne & Sue Crandall are the parental units,”

in which he asks, “Can you show an i.d.?” but winks at me. “Okay, Bryan…Morris,

I understand your modem is down and you’d like a replacement.” Chitunga laughs.

He’s a grand son of a Butch & he spent 2 hours this morning with me hearing my 

mother’s distress because she couldn’t check on Marlena & her friends in Salem. 

How is a woman to live if she can’t go online to watch her shows…God Damn It!? My mother

can’t use her telephone, either. It’s also down. You tell those assholes I have a heart condition.

“I’m sorry, Bryan, I mean Mr. Crandall…I mean, Morris, about your mother’s heart

but all we can do is trade the equipment. Replace it. Take in the old stuff. 80-year olds 

lost in cyberspace are not his business. Distress…naps…connection to the world. 

We get home and try to re-establish a lifeline. Or so we thought. Spectrum is down 

throughout the neighborhood and has been for 24 hours. It’s why we watched the 

coach of UCONN women throw a pre-pubescent temper tantrum on my cellphone 

instead of cable. Her electric recliner still works, though. She’s laid back for a nap again.

And I cooked Easter dinner a day early so they’re fed. The carrots weren’t cooked 

all the way through and dad decided he hated creamed potatoes after 86 years of 

eating them. The deviled eggs, though. He must of ate a carton. The guy at Spectrum 

didn’t need to know all this, I learn, and my sister says I need Dr. Rick from the 

Progressive commercials because I’m turning into my parents. I just want to get on 

the Internet for some #VerseLove. We’re all on the Spectrum, I tell this guy and it’s

Poetry Month. The 4th day of April. I need to get online to write a friggin’ poem…