Existing Without a Cell Phone

Greetings from Poosey.

The two little girls sat on my sofa, carefully going over the various cookie choices. Every week seems to bring a new school fundraiser to my door and the kids in my neighborhood know I’m an easy touch so on some balmy afternoons they’re lined up on my porch. I scan the over-priced candles, greeting cards, and sausages then give everyone an order. If the various state governors have their way then cookie sales may become the chief source of school funding.

Just before the little gals left, one of them glanced at my coffee table and said, “Wow. My grandma had one of those!” She was looking at my telephone. “Is that what they call a land line?” I said, “Well, it used to be called a telephone. I guess you’d call it that, yeah.” She squinted at the thing. “But you can’t take it out of the house, right?” I told her it’d go as far as the front porch. Both girls agreed that it was “cool.” They’d have said the same thing about a Model T or a mastodon. I was tempted to escort them to the back bedroom where the real fossil, husband Herb, was napping, but didn’t want them to lose their cookies.

Having a few minutes left before their mamas came to pick them up, they settled into the couch and asked me why I kept an “old” phone instead of using my cell. I’m glad they asked and since I’d now become the local Smithsonian for these little ladies I was glad to answer.

“The main reason? I live ‘round Poosey. Can’t get reception on a cell phone.” The gals looked at each other in astonishment. Was there really a place on this globe without cell phone reception? Was it possible to exist like this? Sure enough, they both took at their phones and saw they had no bars showing.

“Another good reason, girls. I have this old-fashioned habit. When I call someone on the phone I like for them to be able to hear what I’m saying.” Hannah, the smallest of the two, said, “You mean you can hear everything on a land line phone?” I told her that yes, this old-fashioned thing sitting on my coffee table allowed me to have perfectly audible conversations with no dropping out, no static, and never once do I have to say, “Can you hear me now?” The girls assumed that I’d slipped into my dotage and had begun to ramble. “I’m not kidding,” I said. “Try it!” Hannah quickly dialed her mother and mama answered. “It’s like she’s right here in the room!” Yeah, I thought. Isn’t technology wonderful?

Kenzie was the older of the two. She turned my phone over in her hand and said, “But how do you send texts?” I said, “I don’t. I can’t. In fact, I don’t want to.” I could tell by the looks on their faces that I’d just spoken a bit of heresy and perhaps violated the Patriot Act. “Seriously girls. I write letters. I send notes. It’s like texting but with proper spelling and actual thought.” I looked at the girls’ faces and remembered how I felt when I first saw my grandmother sifting flour to make homemade biscuits and thinking… what a remarkable waste of time.

Either my answers satisfied them or they were humoring this old woman as she slipped into the land of Lawrence Welk and Geritol. But Hannah had one more question. “I just don’t get it, Freida. I mean, you’re out of the house and somebody tries to call you. What do you do? How can they get ahold of you?” Sometimes you can wait a lifetime for just the right question. I smiled at little Hannah and said, “They can’t. You may find this hard to believe but there are in entire hours of the day when no one can reach Freida Crump.” Hannah’s eye’s widened. She said, “It’s like… it’s like you’re dead or something?” I had to laugh. “No Hannah,” I said. “It’s the most alive I can be. I can get in the car and drive for miles and it’s just me and the road and God. We make a pretty good trio.” As a reflex Kenzie’s eyes shot to Hannah, thinking… Do we have a kook on our hands? Do you think she could be dangerous?

“I’m serious, girls. I can exist for hours at a time without having to check to make sure that my friends are still my friends, my family hasn’t been abducted by aliens, and Herb hasn’t blown up the microwave. It’s freeing. You ought to give it a try.”

Hannah’s mother tooted her horn and the girls had to take off before they had time to answer, but when the little gals thanked me then waved as they drove off, I hoped that they went away that day with more than a cookie order.

You ever ‘round Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.