Suffering “Dead Cell Phone Panic”

Call me old fashioned but I use my cell phone to make phone calls.  And occasional texts. I scoff at people who constantly have their phone with them, checking for text messages, e-mails, Facebook posts, and Tweets.

I wonder how our species survived for thousands of years without a computer in their pocket, without knowing instantly, what a friend, thousands of miles away, had for breakfast.  Can you believe that Marco Polo traveled from Italy to China without a GPS in his pocket?  Did Columbus sail the ocean blue in 1492 without e-mail?  Could the Chinese build the Great Wall over 2000 years ago without text messaging?  Yes, they did.  So why can’t we go from home to work, or from work to the store, or even from our kitchen to the living room without a computer in our pocket?

A couple of years ago I took my daughter’s phone from her and placed it behind her on the buffet, while we ate dinner.  A near panic attack ensued.  My goodness, I thought.  What has our world come to? Certainly you can survive without your cell phone for a few minutes.

Then yesterday I suffered my own missing cell phone panic.  I was scheduled to meet hubby for an appointment in town, 45 minutes away. Afterward I would run some errands.  Then I’d attend a class.  I’d be out and about for close to 6 hours.  But when I checked my phone it was dead!  How could I be out and about, driving my car, going here and there without my phone?  What if hubby needed to tell me that he’d arrived first at the appointment?  What if the teacher got sick and my class was cancelled? What if a friend wanted to call and invite me to lunch next week?  Think of all the urgent matters that I would not know about because my cell phone was dead! It was terrifying!

How did our species survive, and flourish, for thousands of years without a computer in their pocket?  I have no idea.

Fortunately I had a charger in my car.

A Likely Story

Hubby and I just returned from a road trip visiting our kids. On our way from one kid to the other we came to a wide spot in the road identified as a city.  No traffic lights, no stop signs, but the speed limit slows down enough to allow you to fully take in the sights.  All three of them.  One of which is the Most Likely Cafe.  Because this is Likely, California.

The cafe was open so we went inside, chose a bright blue vinyl stool at the bar, and waited.  Shortly thereafter the owner/operator/cook/hostess sauntered out from the kitchen.  Not much of a talker, so we ordered a coffee and a tea and settled into the silence.  No one else was in the place.  But after a short bit a local came in and pulled up to the bar with us.  She greeted the owner/operator/cook/hostess by name and ordered biscuits and gravy.  And we began to make small talk.

She looked to be in her late 60’s or so. How long has she lived in Likely, we asked?  Most of her life, now and again.    She’s lived in various places, but always came back to Likely, currently boasting a population of 90.  Where are you from, she asked us?  We raised our kids in, and now live south of,  Tacoma, Washington, which is the nearest big city to us.  So that’s how we identify our location.  South of Tacoma, Washington.

No kidding she says.  She graduated from a high school in Tacoma.  We’re 540 miles from home in a town of 90 people and who walks into the cafe while we’re there?  A woman who graduated from a high school in our former hometown.

Now, that’s a Likely Story.

The End of Yoga

I don’t like exercise classes or gyms.  Getting in my car and driving somewhere to look foolish in front of other people is a  waste of time, gas, and my dignity.

But guilt works.  About two years ago, my daughter invited me to join her at a yoga class.   How could I say no to that?  Stretching is good for me. And it’s a chance to see my daughter, even if actual conversation is limited because I can barely breath, let alone talk.   So of course I said yes.  Payment was on a donation basis and the class was offered twice a week.  Not wanting to submit to too much guilt, I signed on for once a week.  I even went a couple times when my daughter didn’t come.  That should convince you of my evolving dedication to the dreaded “down dogs”.  Hated that pose.

Well, as all good things must, yoga came to an end.  Oh sure, there are other yoga opportunities out there.  But none once a week on a donation basis by a great yoga teacher who made “down dogs” almost bearable.

So here I am on my first free Monday evening in over two years.  It’s now 8:05.  Yoga class would be over. I think I’ll do a down dog, in memory of my class.

Namaste.

 w