Folks, I just couldn't write about
Trump's continued degradation of America this week. There's just so
much going on it makes my head spin. Each day is worse than the
last. So many parts of the puzzle, some fit, some don't (yet).
White House staffers getting fired, others quitting. So many
cover-ups, so much corruption. Trump is playing sleight of hand to
distract everyone from his failures and lies. Nobody is governing.
Nero is fiddling while Rome is burning. I find myself longing for the
days when America was great. Six months, five days ago!
OVER MY life-time these changes
have always been for the better. Granted, life was much simpler back
in the day, but I wouldn't trade it for our technology and modern
conveniences. For instance, take the cell phone. We have become
totally dependent on those hand-held devices. Nothing stops me dead
in my tracks and causes a wave of anxiety than thinking I have lost
my phone. The only comparable thing back in the day was thinking I
had lost my child.
CELL PHONES give an all new
meaning to the saying, “Bad news travels fast.” On the evening
news you will notice at every traffic accident or newsworthy
incident, those involved are on their cell phones, undoubtedly
calling their friends and family. Back in the day, they would have
written a letter. There's something about “old news” that makes
it not quite so bad.
CELL PHONES notify us when a
child is missing. We don't know the child, but yet we worry. The
least they could do is tell us if the missing child was abducted by
an aggrieved parent or a stranger, and tell us when the child is
found safe.
OUR CELL phones notify us when a
bad storm is imminent. When I was growing up, my Daddy forecast the
weather by the Farmer's Almanac and his joints. That was before
global warming and it was easier to predict. However, he failed to
predict a snow storm. Imagine living in deep Southeast Georgia where
no one had ever seen snow and never dreamed they would. You are
awakened in the middle of the night by your Daddy yelling something
incomprehensible. He had gone out on the porch to either get wood
for the fire or do whatever it is men do off a porch. Everything was
white. His first thought was that he had died.
SINCE CELL phones and advances
in technology, we no longer have to think or remember. We are
notified when a bill is due, when we have an appointment, when it's
someone's birthday, and we never have to memorize a phone number. I
have a watch I wear that alarms to tell me I've been sitting too long
at my computer so “get moving.” The microwave “beeps” to
remind that you cooked something. The dishwasher beeps when it's
finished. The clothes dryer buzzes. Our cars remind us when we need
to buy gas or get an oil change. As our lives become more and more
complicated, we have to remember less and less.
I'VE ALWAYS heard, “use it or
lose it.” In today's world, I have noticed that poor memories are
not exclusively an older person's problem. We are losing our ability
to think and remember because we no longer have to do it. There was
something else I was going to write about cell phones but I forgot
what it was.
MORE IMPORTANTLY, I stubbed my
toe today. My son asked, “Mom, what is it with you and your toes?”
Then I remembered...my toe cured me from being impulsive.
WHERE I grew up in the pines and
palmettos in Southeast Georgia, all we had were dirt roads consisting
of hard-packed sand. Routinely, my parents would let me ride on the
back of my Daddy’s old red truck. I loved to sit on the tailgate
and dangle my bare feet. I did this a hundred times and never had a
mishap, except for once. I was sitting on the tailgate looking down
on the road as Daddy drove. I became mesmerized. The road appeared
to be moving, not the truck, and the road looked smooth as glass. I
just couldn’t help myself. I had to touch the road! I made sure
Mama and Daddy’s heads were straight ahead. I held onto the chain
on the tailgate and lowed myself ever so carefully until my big toe
touched the road. It dang near ripped it off! Oh no! What am I
going to do? They will kill me if they see my toe. I hung my toe
off the truck, careful not to leave any blood evidence on the truck.
Since the damage was on the underside of my toe, I learned to walk
with it sticking up and just kind of hid out until it healed.
MANY YEARS later, I was standing
on the corner at Five Points in Atlanta. A Marta bus was turning the
corner. The big wheels were moving slow and effortless. I became
mesmerized. I had an urge to stick my foot under the tire. Then I
thought about my toe and the dirt road.
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