PROGRESS

When I get up each morning I put on my watch and clothing; and the last thing I do before I leave the confines of my bedroom is slip my cell phone in my pocket.  Then I think I’m ready to face the world, for one more day. Seems kind of hypocritical for a guy who writes about, “how life was so much simpler in the world I grew up in as a kid.” Now I’m not some important person, who is going to make an earth- shattering decision, so its imperative I stay in touch—but you not going to win cash call on the radio if your not home. If you can’t lick them you have to join them or get lost in the dust. I know a few people who do refuse to join and they seem to get along just fine. Call me a conformist.

If you ask me, my phone has become my lifeline to the world. In reality, nothing bad ever happened on the days I forgot it but that’s irrelevant. My phone tells me the temperature, but so does the sign at the bank, the thermometer by the back door and my knee. It reminds me when it’s someone’s birthday, but so does the calendar in the kitchen. I can get e-mails—that will still be on the computer when I get home. It has G.P.S if I can ever remember how to use it. I don’t text. I draw the line there as my fingers are too fat, and shake too much, so I can’t type on the dang thing anyway. It keeps my little granddaughter busy playing “Angry Birds” so her mom and I can talk.” There—I found something useful. But then, if I took the seventy dollars a month it costs to have it, I could buy her lots of stuff to keep her busy, couldn’t I.

I go to the woods for peace and quiet, but more than once, a phone call has interrupted my peace and quiet and me. I even got a call while deer hunting, sitting in my tree stand trying to be quiet. I’ve been called when I’m on the “John” and you can’t even flush because who wants them to know where you are and what you are doing. Some things still need to be a little private! I feel sorry for people who are sexually active. Now that’s a decision to make, isn’t it? The other day, I told my friend “make sure you take your phone when you go to the mailbox.” She patronized me.

When I go to church, the first announcement they make is “shut off your cell phones.” The other day in church, the guy behind me was texting while the Priest was talking and it sounded like he was playing Twinkle Twinkle little Star. Sometimes I’m on the house phone—and don’t ask me why I have both—when the cell phone rings. I want to say something classy like “Excuse me, I have a call on another line,” but usually I lose one while I’m talking to the other, and the last thing the person I am talking to hears, is “Oh crap.” What’s that? You were that person and I didn’t say crap.’ Maybe what I ought to flush is this column. I grew up in Staples and we had one basic black phone in our house. No kids allowed on it unless someone asked for you. No dials or buttons on it—you just picked it up and the operator said, “Number please.” It was a three-digit number. If there was a fire, and they blew the whistle on the water tower to summon the fireman, you could pick up the phone and say “Hey, where’s the fire, Susan?” She’d tell you. “What a bunch of backwards people,” you say. I kind of liked it. Got to go…I have a call.