Saturday, April 9, 2011
There are people who should probably not bother to have a cell phone.
*raises hand* Cara bought me one, a little trac phone. She was frustrated after a mixup at work, when they called to see why I wasn't there, and she couldn't call me to find out why I wasn't there. I had said, "I can't be there at -- o'clock. I am still at school," and the decision had been made that one of the managers would cover register for that half hour while I was on my way in. Unfortunately, it was not written down, and the manager who was 'on' that day had no clue what was going on. They had called home, and Cara headed out the door to retrace my path home from college. She was smart enough to stop by the store before back tracking my normal route home and found me at my register where I was supposed to be. She left the store, cross at the fact she had an 'amish' mother. (This is what she calls everyone who does not have a cellphone and i-pod.) She reappeared within the hour and slapped a cell phone in my hand and walked out while I was still protesting the thing. So now I have a cell phone. Does this mean that I am any easier to reach? No. Because I leave the thing home on the charger a lot. When I do have it, it generally means that I've remembered to stick the thing in a pocket, but that is no guarantee that it works, because it's usually been in the pocket for a week, and has a low battery. Or I haven't remembered to turn it on. It's always some darn thing. Yesterday, it was that I was in class, and had it turned off. (Yes, I know you can turn it on vibrate, but I did not remember how to do that, and did not have the time to figure it out.) When I got home, Tim said, "I couldn't reach you." I said, "I know..." and headed for the kitchen to get him lunch. "Stop what you are doing," he said. "Call your sister." I did. My mom was taken to the hospital. She is very ill. She was lifeflighted from our small town to a city hospital an hour a way. Tim took the night off work and we went to wait with the rest of the family. We left very late last night, and she was still unresponsive. It is too soon to know what will happen, but she is very ill. Tim and I rode in the back of my sister's little car and we talked. We talked about our children, and life. We swapped stories. And when we got back to where her husband's truck and our car was parked, we got out. It was after midnight, and for the first time, I heard the peepers in the swamp across the road, a swamp that I did a lot of mosquito work in. I stood a little in the light rain and listened to the sound of those little frogs and realized once again, that sometimes we think that the seasons are never going to change. They do. They always do, whether we are ready to say goodbye to the last season or not.