Out into the dazzling sunlight of a Virginia morning . I love mowing our lawn. It wears me out thoroughly and creates the illusion that in spite of the aging process, I am still physically capable of just about anything. I tuck my cell phone into my back jeans pocket, just in case I might miss a call, and head into this task. A little red warning light in my brain signals, “Don’t take this chance”. I ignore it. Wouldn’t want to miss one of those scam calls, right?
After several days of rain, the lawn is thick and shaggy, but the power surge helps me out. Then, about 10 minutes into the job, I check for my phone and it’s not there. So I stop to look and sure enough, it’s on the ground by the ditch, looking dispirited and somewhat crushed. It is unresponsive. I am kicking myself.
A flashback – the cold New Hampshire night I climbed into our inky dark pickup and dunked, unknowingly, my husband’s cell phone into a hot cup of black coffee in the cup holder. Another flashback – the time I left my cell phone in my lunch bag in the school refrigerator over the weekend and looked everywhere for it. Still another one. Taking my stress walk around the perimeter of the campus and realizing the cell phone is no longer in my pocket. Retracing my steps to the Science teachers’ room. “Have you seen my cell phone?”
“Come with me”. My colleague hands it to me in a plastic bag. Yes, it had slipped into the toilet. Of course, by this time I have texted the whole faculty, asking that everyone be on the alert for it. You can imagine the rest of my day. ”Hey Rose, did you find your phone?.
“Ummm……”