Nana Mii

In my previous entry ("Welcome Back!") I said I would publish a short piece called "Nana Mii," which I had shared with the Redbird Roundtable group.  I originally called it "Connections" but Judy Bridges suggested this new and better title.  I always think of my granddaughter Ella in conjunction with "Nana Mii" because she is the one who created the Nana Mii character and tried to teach me how to use their new Wii game when I visited her and her family in January.  Thanks Ella.  Thanks Judy.

In the Logan airport I wrestle my rolling duffle bag off the conveyor belt. Most of the other luggage making its circuitous route on Carousel 4 has already been claimed, the passengers already out the door.  I am in no hurry – the flight is early and my daughter won’t be here to pick me up for another half hour.  She will call me when she leaves Clarke school – it’s her day to help out in the school library – so I retrieve my cell phone and turn it on.  The familiar Sprint logo comes to life and then the image of the disk searching for service.  In just a few seconds it lights up: “Hello Marjorie” and I think what a nice welcome to Boston – and how interesting that this little black device knows my name.  My cell phone is smart too – before I’ve had a chance to move my watch ahead an hour, it tells me the correct time: 11:04 a.m.

I have always treasured my moments of unrushed alone time.  There is really no place to go, carrying my shoulder bag and pulling my luggage, but I have been sitting long enough so I amble along, taking in whatever sights and sounds this almost vacant area has to offer.  On one wall there are vending machines dispensing CharlieTickets for the MTA. The machines offer individual CharlieTickets or – for the frequent user, a reloadable CharlieCard. Charlie? I wonder and almost instantly the words to the famous “Charlie” song come back to me.  I remember singing them to my son-in-law, originally from Atlanta now working in Boston, who was unfamiliar with the MTA song:  
Let me tell you the story of a man called Charlie, on a tragic and fateful day. 
He put ten cents in his pocket,  kissed his wife and family, went to ride on the MTA.

The song, made popular by the Kingston Trio in 1959, was a tongue-in-cheek protest of a proposed increase in subway fares by the Metropolitan Transit Authority.  Passengers were expected to pay when they got off but Charlie, lacking the extra nickel, rode “forever ‘neath the streets of Boston.  He’s the man who never returned.”

I would be happy to figure out the color-coded wall maps that show me how to get from Logan to Swampscott, where my daughter and her family live, just two blocks from the train station, but it would involve two transfers – a cumbersome feat with my rolling duffle. And besides, she has already phoned me to say she’s on her way.
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Later in the day I stand in front of the open laptop positioned on a small table against the dining room wall.  I click on the familiar icon of a blue lower case “e” encircled by a gold ring, which normally connects me to the internet. But no, not today.  A small box appears on the monitor and I recognize the top of my head.  It seems the camera which is hooked up to the new computer does not recognize me – not like my friendly little cell phone – and it won’t allow internet access to trespassers.  Ericka assured me that’s okay, it doesn’t recognize her either, and she showed me the way to bypass the electronic guards.  I could live without the internet for a week, but it’s nice being connected to people back home.  Connected to my email, to Facebook, to Google.
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The children got Wii for Christmas.  Graham, age 4, has an amazing forehand playing tennis in the living room – just be sure to give him enough space. Matty, 8, easily propels his enemies over a cliff by brandishing his electronic sword.  Later in the day, when it’s her turn, Ella, 6, offers to teach me.  As she gets the game set up, I sit reading in the overstuffed chair, conscious of her looking at me, then back to the TV, then back to me again.  Soon there I am on the television monitor – a cartoon character named Nana, ready to participate in any game available.  These individualized characters are called Mii (“me”) to distinguish them from the Wii (“we”) created by Nintendo. Ella has chosen a face shape and hair color resembling my own and she has added eyeglasses – so I am not likely to be confused with other Mii players. Unfortunately, under Ella’s impatient tutelage I was unable to learn how to wield my sword and vanquish my enemies.  As far as I know, Nana Mii is still on the sidelines, waiting her turn to play.  Perhaps she has already been deleted or transformed into a more competitive Mii figure.
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Frontier Airlines cancelled my Wednesday morning flight on Tuesday night -- before the predicted snowstorm had begun. I had pretty much expected the cancellation, though I thought I would try checking in online.  For check-in, Frontier is not interested in my name -- no “Hello Marjorie!” to make me think I had another friend.  They didn’t want “Nana Mii” either and they didn’t need a camera image to make sure I wasn’t an imposter.  But I knew what they wanted and I was prepared: IFZQNA, I spelled out for the Frontier website.  They recognized me right away: “Sorry, that flight has been cancelled,” they told me and gave me a toll-free number to rebook a flight back home. 

The following day we were all six of us snowbound. The children’s schools, Robert’s firm – all closed.  I mentioned in an email to a friend that I was stranded in Massachusetts for an extra day, and he wrote back:
“It is impossible to be stranded when you are with loved ones.” 
So true.