Around the homefront, I’m a jack-of-all trades. Sometimes I’m a dispatcher, other times the event coordinator, and even though I have no one working under me, I’ve deemed myself the head bookkeeper. I’m chief counselor, communications director, and although I don’t hunt, I do gather.
Lately I’ve really upped it a notch by adding technology to my proverbial bag of tricks. I email transcripts from the high school to the university, I text the priest to schedule a confession, and I have been known to Facebook a friend to schedule lunch.
Back in the day, I was frustrated when our kids would TT (Table Text), or worse yet TWMT (Text While Mom’s Talking). But lately and without meaning to, it would seem that I’ve joined their ranks.
Recently I found myself responding to a text while watching a family movie, and when our Charlie noticed my TDFT (Texting During Family Time) he quickly ratted me out to his dad — the last living human who doesn’t slide his fingers across a tiny keyboard to ask someone to change the channel.
I never truly realized how far I had gone until one day when I approached a group of women.
“Has anyone contacted Trixie about our meeting on July 3?” one of the women asked.
“I sent her a message on Facebook,” a gal responded, “but never heard back.”
“Did you email her?” yet another inquired.
“No, but I sent her a text message and nary a word.”
We all shook our heads a minute and pondered. I mean, what to do?
“How about,” one of the women finally suggested, “we just call her.”
We had become our children, and no one had sent us so much as an email notification to let us know.
These days I’ve really become tech-savvy by adding a smart phone to my repertoire. Oh, the unadulterated bliss. I can check the barometric pressure from the back stoop, look at ways to decorate a vignette while my family watches the History Channel, and can keep my Facebook friends apprised of my exciting life by checking in from the checkout line at Sunmart.
On a recent weekend getaway with my beloved spouse, I booked hotels on the fly, inquired about antique shops in each and every town, and saved us from a high-priced and sub-par meal by looking up restaurants on my Urban Spoon app.
I feel pretty smart about my smart phone.
My phone really came in handy recently when it came to looking up addresses for graduation thank-you cards.
I was giddy at the prospect. Going for simplicity, I entered the name and the town on the White Pages’ website in an attempt to find the address of a family friend. Three Jim Pollens came up. One lived in Pocatello, Idaho, one in Manatee, and the third one actually lived in North Platte and truly seemed to be our guy.
There he was, along with his age (47-52), annual income and a blue shadow box picture of his head.
Regretfully, the thank-you card came back in the mail last week with a yellow sticker saying the recipient had moved and there was no forwarding address. “Hey,” I said to Huey, “text Jim’s son and ask him where he lives.”
“I don’t have his number in my phone.”
As we both pondered what to do, the envelope sat undelivered on the kitchen counter.
“Are you ever going to send this?” another son inquired when he picked it up the next day. By then the envelope had taken on a wrinkled appearance and was worn on the edges. “I sent them an email, but they never responded,” I said with bewilderment.
Then my beloved spouse sat his coffee cup down on it and gave it a caffeinated stamp of approval to further enhance the card’s worn-out facade.
“What’s this?” he asked as he noticed the envelope’s grubby appearance. “It’s a card for the Pollen family, but I don’t have their current address,” I replied. “Do you think they’re on Facebook?”
“Maybe,” my husband, the king of prehistoric communications, suggested. “Or you could just look them up in the phone book.”
It just goes to show you, technology will never replace plain old-fashioned common sense.
Lori Clinch is the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].