July 2008 - Two-Lane Burdens & Blessings

I love to watch people read Two-Lane Livin’. Although most people take an issue and tuck it away to read later, some times a person will pick up an issue and flip through, looking for their favorite piece or column or until something catches the eye. I am fascinated by this, and try to watch and see what has drawn them in. Some flip right over to Dear Ronda Sue, others look for the holistic page. Many look to see what the topic of the month’s Mountain Therapy column is.

If I am so entertained by watching one person read the magazine, imagine my bliss watching a room full of readers.

Frank and I were recently "visiting" a hospital outside our distribution region while a family member had surgery. As always, when we visit some place new, we use current and past copies to introduce new readers to our magazine and our columnists.

"The Green Room" at United Hospital is the waiting room for those who have loved ones in surgery. Typically, the Green Room is crowded, with family and friends pensively waiting for word from the surgeon. Wait times can vary from an hour to four or five -- and for some reason, the television in that room is always tuned to "Judge Judy" or some talk show (Much to my dismay.)

Magazines in the waiting room will occupy about 30 minutes of your waiting time -- if you want to know what the way you part your hair reveals about your personality or how to wear the latest fashion styles, or how to fix dinner in five minutes flat. Then, there you sit, in a warm room full of anxious people watching some television pseudo-reality drama. No wonder those puzzle books in the gift shop are so popular!

Having experienced the Green Room before, Frank and I arrived for our waiting period (estimated to be up to four hours) with copies of Two-Lane Livin’. We then, knowing it would be a while, went to eat.

When we returned to the Green Room, about half the people were reading Two-Lane Livin’. Some were reading the current issue, others reading past issues. Imagine, here we arrive at the doorway, to have people look up from our magazine to see who has appeared. They have no idea who we are, just someone else designated to wait.

I put on my reading glasses, opened my book, then spent the next hour peeking over my glasses and eavesdropping on conversations. What joy to hear someone read a pertinent point to their neighbor! What bliss to hear them mention subscribing! What pleasure to be able to later talk with remaining "waiters" when we introduced ourselves; to tell them our columnists’ stories and hear their thoughts.

A waiting room is a strange place, filled with strangers who are all beholden to the prescribed sentence of "sit here until you’re called upon." I feel more like a dog in a kennel than a loved one waiting on a patient.

A room of 20 people seems to me to be a setting for being social. It seems odd to me not to mingle, chat, say something, anything to the person less than a foot away. But no, each sits quietly, maintaining personal space, without knowing if we have the right to change the television channel. How can we spend hours in a room together and remain strangers? Yet, it happens daily in waiting rooms all over the world.

But not on that day. Not in that room. Two-Lane Livin’ began conversations, occupied minds, became common ground in a foreign space.

I enjoyed knowing that Two-Lane Livin’ provided a pleasant distraction from pensive thoughts of cancer, faulty heart valves, blocked arteries and Judge Judy. What a blessing to see the magazine provide some relief, and to meet new friends.

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My friend Shelly gets a kick out of the Two-Lane ordeals we go through with Two-Lane Livin’. I think it began with the time we were featured on television -- and couldn’t watch our own feature because we don’t pay for cable or satellite.

Then, we got cell phones for the business (mostly for delivery runs) but we have to drive eleven miles from the home office to get a signal (and get our minutes updated).

One of our columnists can’t send in her article if the water is up -- she loses her telephone and internet service. On my end, the cordless phone is just as likely to be with me in the garden as it is to be with me at my desk.

I really don’t think these things happen just anywhere.

More recently, we missed visiting with one of our delivery location owners this past month, as she was closed, "due to bees."

One of her neighbor’s bee hives swarmed, and moved into her business. We also lost contact with an advertising client temporarily this month because a semi-truck lost its brakes coming down a mountain and smashed into her business.

For this issue, we had a special challenge when we lost our phone and Internet service after the contractors installing a water line along our road cut the phone line. Thus, cell phone in tow, I drove eleven miles and stood in a friend’s hayfield on top of a mountain to call and report the problem.

"Is there a number where I can reach you?" The service representative asked. "Mister," I replied, "I’m on a cell phone in a hay field on top of a mountain. If I go home, I have no cell signal, and I just told you our land line doesn’t work." For some reason, he laughed.

This month also, we’ll miss our own radio commercials on 105 WKQV and 100.3 WAFD if we’re at home when they air, because the signal won’t reach into our valley. Hopefully, you’ll hear them but us? Well, perhaps it’s time for a new antennae--up on top of the hill. ~ Lisa