A few weeks ago, I finally broke down and bought a smart phone. Like every other non-techie, I bitched and moaned for years about the dehumanization of the world. The only people who paid any attention to my griping were other technically challenged individuals. The world just kept right on changing, leaving me further and further behind.
In a conversation with my 85 year old aunt, I listened to her bemoan the fact that no one ever sent her pictures anymore and heard myself say, “Get a computer. It’s not that hard to check your email and open attachments. I’ll send you a photo of me and Jack and the dog every day of the week.”
“How ‘bout just you and the dog?” She released a long, guilt-inducing sigh. “Well, but it’s too late now. I don’t want to have the whole house rewired just so I can get pictures of the grandkids.”
“Do you have an electrical plug?” I asked.
I hung up and bought a smart phone. Time marches on, waits for no man, abandons those who won’t change, leaves them on the side of the road choking on the dust of progress.
All that crap.
I’ve had my Iphone a month or so now. Yesterday, in a crowded medical office, waiting for my name to be called for my appointment, I took out my little electronic wonder. Scanned through Facebook, checked my messages, even thumb-typed a text or two. Then I looked up. The office was crowded. The woman next to me was kneading a frayed, multicolored crocheted bag, fussing at a loose end.
“I like your purse.” I dropped the Iphone back in my own bag.
She smiled. One of those big grins that go all the way to the soul. “My granddaughter made it for me.”
“It has just the right amount of color,” I said. “How old is your granddaughter?”
“She. . .uh. . . she’s.” Tears welled. “We lost her just over ten years ago.” The woman’s shaky hand touched her own chest. “Heart.”
I laid my hand, palm up, on the arm of her chair. A soft, warm hand rested in mine for just a moment. She wiped her eyes, smiled.
My Iphone rang. I let it bleat.