Grunty teen texted me from his bedroom asking if I could put
a piece of toast on for him so he could
have an extra three minutes sleep. I was texting out a furious reply when I realized what I was doing. I was
texting! What’s happened to me? (therapy and medication are helping, somewhat). I yelled at him to get his sorry
butt into the kitchen and make his own toast!
Instead of phoning a friend on her birthday, I wished her
happiness on Facebook, sent an email and thought back to when me and Fred Flintstone grew up, and there wasn’t
the technology around today. I miss hearing human voices who aren’t trying to
convince me I owe the IRS millions and a bailiff
is coming to my house (bring it). Someone wanting
to sell me solar. I phoned my friend, and
we chatted for ages. Dissed our kids,
complained about our husbands and lamented the fact
we haven’t won Powerball. We laughed, smiled and hung up with a promise to keep
phoning. All without an emoji in sight.
A beautiful handwritten Christmas card landing in my mailbox
instead of an electronic one. I too have been guilty of this. But the line at
the Post Office will be huge? I’ll have to get out of sweats and look somewhat
decent and go into a shop, so people don’t turn to stone when they see me. Medusa
and I are quite tight, just quietly. A Christmas card with thoughts from across
the miles landed in my mailbox, and the delight of opening it, checking out the
Snoopy stamp, reading the heartfelt message means I’m returning the favor to
everyone. I am showered, there are no visible snakes in my hair, and I’m off to the post office. If I’m
not back in a week send a search party, please. 
