I still have a hard time with cell phones. When I was young, a telephone receiver could be used as an assault weapon. These mobile devices are so small. How can I possibility listen and have it transmit what I’m saying from my mouth? When I hold the phone to my ear, the whole gadget doesn’t even reach my cheek.
Then to make matters worse, my youngest son informed me that he was no longer checking his email. He had stopped taking my calls before that. He said I had to text him if I wanted to keep our obviously close relationship. I didn’t need WYSIWYG or the ability to type on a doll size keyboard in my lifetime. I wanted to die in a DOS world. But I began texting. Little texts, like, “Hi its mum.” And, no, I’m not from England. It’s just that in texting, close is good enough.
So here’s how I text. First I take ibuprofen for the arthritis in my thumbs. Then I spend half an hour, looking for a pair of reading glasses. There is no way on earth I can see the letters on the little bitty screen without them. It takes another ten minutes to scroll through my address book to find his name. It’s not that my address book is so large. It’s just that I have to scroll by the names until his triggers my memory.
Up until a month ago, my youngest son was the only one I texted. I thought it would stay that way. But it all changed at the Grammy Museum. I peeked in a cracked door on the second floor. I excitedly nudged my sister, “Look, it’s Ringo Starr.”
Then he came out of the room with a small entourage. We sort of stalked them. My sister is as electronically challenged as I am. The sign at the museum entrance had warned against taking photographs. But the Beatles were her favorite group forever. She held the cell phone up to her ear as if to make a call, leaned against an Elvis display, and tried to nonchalantly snap a photo. The click scared us both and she jerked the phone. The picture would never turn out. We looked innocently at the security guard. He hadn’t heard it. She tried again. While she’s trying to get away with the biggest crime of her life, I decide to text all three of my younger children. Remember this is a first for son No. 1 and daughter No. 2.
I walked over to the brightest light I could find, and text, “I’m in the Grammy Museum standing next to Ringo Starr.” I’m so proud of myself, because I actually find the apostrophe AND only write the message once and forward the other two. Within seconds, I receive a text back from my daughter. It reads, “What’s even more surprising is that you are texting me.” Not even a word about Ringo.
And the digital photograph of Ringo, after we leave the museum, is a diagonal snapshot of the top part of his body (along with his stalkers).
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