Digital trials and tribulations
I’m not a thoughtful and considerate smartphone user. A thoughtful and considerate smartphone user updates their beloved smartphone in a timely fashion. They always empty the garbage can at the end of the day. They are constantly on the lookout for better apps to improve the usefulness of their device. They never refer to their smartphone as a “device.” They give it a name, such as Howard or Manglesdorf.
If cell reception is iffy, a thoughtful and considerate smartphone user never blames the little smartphone. They know that to do so would have dire effects on the little thing’s self-esteem. If something breaks on their cellphone, they get it repaired; if it’s being bullied by a nasty bit of malware, they come to its rescue; if it’s chockfull of data it no longer needs, they Spring Clean it until it’s all shiny and new.
I’ve never updated my phone. I could care less about having the newest version of Words with Friends or Duolingo. I’m having trouble with the charging port, but will I take it somewhere to get fixed? Probably not. I just keep plugging it in with the hopes it’ll fix itself one day, leaving me completely out of the whole rigmarole.
I will admit I almost started to do a bit of “cleaning out the basement” the other day, but stopped when I came across two items in my Notes app that I couldn’t recall making, and one item that I couldn’t image ever deleting.
The first item was just a list of words: “glass shaker, plastic shaker, digeridoo, digeridoo, digeridoo, ice chest, stem glass with knife, metal ring, popcorn can, a stump fiddle, cookie jar, milk jug and two more ice chests.”
What it meant, I hadn’t a clue. Obviously, at some point in time I must have had a need for a large quantity of digeridoos and ice chests. So, I didn’t delete it because, who knows – I might possibly one day remember the when, what and why of it, and it’ll all make sense.
The second note that made me do a doubletake was just full of numbers: 5113435, 56543212, 36113532, 16112165. I was completely baffled. Longitude, latitude coordinates? Too short for U.S. telephone numbers. The amount of money I have in my four off-shore bank accounts? Keep dreaming. But I kept it as well, with the hopes of being enlightened one day. (I won’t hold my breath.)
Finally, I found a note that was titled “Dressing” and knew immediately what it was. It was a copy of my grandmother’s Thanksgiving cornbread dressing recipe that my mom gave to me several years ago, written down with a good old pencil on paper. I remember transcribing it to my phone so as not to lose it.
Grandma didn’t cook with a recipe in hand. She added this and that, something from over here, something from over there – no, not that one, the other one. A pinch of whatever, cooked for whenever, served for whoever was sitting around the table, and it tasted great every single time. My mom kept an eagle eye on everything Grandma was doing, and jotted it all down as best she could. She tried to make the dressing herself, but always ended up admitting that it was never as good as Grandma’s.
I have no idea what my Grandma, long dead now, would have thought of smartphones. If she knew just how much trouble I’ve been having with mine lately, she’d probably advise me to bury it and invest in a good old-fashioned ham radio.
GOOGLE SEARCH: Do they even make ham radios anymore?
BROWSER MESSAGE: To continue enjoying this app, you’ll need to update to the latest version. Sorry.
