I owe my regular readers an update on a couple things.
It's been nearly 3 months since being (unjustly) ticketed on Highway 17, and I've received nothing. Miracle of miracles? Maybe, maybe not; time will tell. Last month, I called the number on my copy of the ticket to inquire on its status. I was hoping the woman would tell me no such ticket exists, but that wasn't the case—she said the ticket had an error and was sent back to the officer for correction. Here's hoping my wish still comes true, that the officer rips it up.
Five weeks into my toilet-imposed digital detox, I'm going strong. I've become a veritable Silicon Valley pariah: my number now appears in GREEN, and texting is horrendous and problem-ridden. I'm making more phone calls and limiting texting to its best purpose, scheduling. It's a great freedom not being Pavlov's dog, tending to my smartphone every time it glows or dings. Currently I don't have plans to transition back to a smartphone, and I'm even seeing evidence of a growing flip phone trend.
A Story from the Flip Side:
The other day, I was waiting in the legendary line at Nordstrom Rack. In times past, I would've been scrolling and tapping my phone, but today I was gazing around, observing the people and action around me. At first, we were just neighbors in line. A friend recognized her, and came over holding a Spanx slip. "We're going to Paul's 60th high school reunion this weekend. I love my dress, but it highlights all of this! (grabbing her midsection) Where did this come from?!" My neighbor teasingly replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about." And then, "What fun you'll have!"
Her friend went on her way, and we began to chat. It was such a sweet human interaction that I'm sure I would have completely missed out on if I'd had a smartphone. Her husband was waiting for her in the car, she was worried he'd wonder what happened to her (she was clearly a Rack novice, she didn't know she'd entered the belly of the beast). They'd been married 69 years. Let's do math: if she got married at age 17 (which I think is about the youngest a woman would have married in her generation), that puts her at 86 and battling the masses to return a purse that had been gifted to her by her daughter but was too heavy.
When I asked how many children she has, she said 4, but now 3. I took a risk and inquired further. She told me about her son who had a brain tumor at age 15, and then went on to live another 20 years. Her perspective was mature, wise, beautiful: "He received another 20 years of life and he lived them so well." We then talked about the miracle of exponential family growth that can proceed from one marriage—how 2 can become 6, and 6 can become 18, and 18 can become 50+. And how one strong, good marriage can be a gift that keeps giving to generation upon generation.
I'm thankful for this youthful octogenarian to chat with and learn from in line. I'm thankful for my dead iPhone that, in the irony of all ironies, is helping me live more connected. I'm thankful for my speeding ticket that seems to have vanished into thin air (too good to be true?). And I'm thankful for the end of the school year this Friday, bring on summer!