Sarah Roush

Once again, I have found myself almost dining on a big fat plate of crow. The key word being “almost.” I rolled my eyes and privately thought individuals who swore they would “just die without their cell phones” were being overly dramatic and what we used to call “wusses.”

I even held on to that belief for a full day after my cell phone went deep sea diving via the commode. It wasn’t until the pronouncement of death for my devise on day two, that worry began.

I never tuned in to the technicalities of that devise. In fact, when someone inquired about the type of phone it was, my response revealed my degree of ignorance, as I sputtered out, “It was a blue Iphone.”

As the days went on, I realized how darn dependent I had become on that stupid little box of wires and chips. To start with, it had pictures on it. Photos of our children, family members, friends, pets – some that are no longer with us. Thankfully, they are somewhere in the cloud and supposedly retrievable.

I went to call mom about this new development, when it occurred to me, I had no idea what her phone number was. I call her nearly every day by pushing a button that says “Mom,” not actually dialing a number. I realized I now had no idea how to reach anyone. The Hubs, our babysitter, my boss, doctors, my brother, friends, colleagues – I didn’t know a single darn number. Or addresses, birthdays, anniversaries, etc. It was all stored on the phone in a stupid time saving/efficiency program that I could not access. The little paper notebook filled with all that information had been pitched a couple of years ago.

I had to relearn how to set the stupid alarm clock; one night I borrowed the HUBS tablet and at 5 a.m., the sound of a demented rooster crowing at full blast next to my head nearly caused me to fall out of bed. Then I couldn’t figure out how to stop the crowing. It nearly wound up out the window, as a means of shutting it up.

I had to look up words in the dictionary, recipes in actual books, read a map and calculate numbers in my head. I bought a datebook.

I also realized that it was peaceful not having a telephone ping, ping, pinging at 2:15 in the morning because someone was sending an email or instant message. Wearing an outfit without pockets was not a big deal. There was no concern of our toddler calling my college roommate who lives in Japan. The compulsion to check social media, email, voice mail, and text messages every 15 minutes has stopped. It’s rather lovely.

The new phone is supposed to arrive this week and I’m looking for a 11-year old boy to program it. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the quiet.

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