Thursday, October 12, 2017

Dig it all

I got a new phone this week. Not the one that costs a thousand bucks, but an 18-month-old model that somehow is now already two or three generations old; I've lost count. 

I'm a dedicated medium-late adopter, so by the time I get around to buying any hardware, the price has dropped and the bugs are fixed. This phone replaces one that served me well for (gulp) more than four years. I almost hate to let go of the latter since 50 months is by far the longest I've ever kept a phone and I really liked it, but the battery life was starting to fade.

Like my previous phone, this new one fits in one hand and in my front pocket, important since I like to go places without a purse when I can. (I don’t understand how some people carry their phone in their back pocket, which seems like an invitation both to butt-dials and theft. But I digress.) With twice the memory of my old phone, a far better camera, and a speedy processor, it's definitely a step up. It was time. 

I know it’s important to back up your contacts before getting a new phone. I’d done that with my previous phones, but I’d never pared them down. I did so this time, culling my contacts by more than half. Gone are the dozens of duplicates. So, too, are the names and numbers of most of the big team of health professionals that helped my Dad through his final years. 

So are contacts from jobs I had in the late 2000s, and the names and numbers of my daughter’s friends from the same era. (I'd inherited her first phone, an orange LG one with an inner keyboard.) As an aside, I really hated touch-screen smart phones when they first came out, but of course I got used to them -- and I wrote most of this in the Notes app on my new phone, waiting for the bus today. 

I've recycled most of my old phones, but I still have that orange one, just because it is an awesome relic from the not-distant past. (See below.) And I still have its predecessor, a flip phone from near the turn of the century,  just in case I someday need to live even leaner than I do now. But for now, I'm living large--for me, anyway--with my not-so-new smartphone. 



Wednesday, October 4, 2017

How to be a survivor

The sun is setting as we leave Sacramento. I am happy to see this day end, happy to be on an airplane heading home after this double gut-punch of a day. 

Morning started quietly, the golden California light spilling into our hotel room. We'd flown south to watch the Mariners play their last game of the season, and although we lost, we'd seen another MLB park, met up with some fellow fans, and enjoyed ourselves. 

With a few extra hours between our hotel checkout and flight, we planned to go to a movie. But first, breakfast. At home, I never have the TV on anytime close to breakfast and I don't watch cable news. On the road ... is there a hotel breakfast room anywhere in the United States without cable news? At least the sound was turned down as we saw grave-faced Las Vegas officials speak behind the headline at the bottom of the big screen: 58 dead and more than 500 hurt at a music festival. 

My first thought was of the woman we'd sat with on the flight south who was joining her brother and other family and friends in Las Vegas to celebrate his 50th birthday. My second thought was of the other violence at concerts and dance halls and movie theaters over the past decade, and how it's become almost routine to hear of madmen targeting people out for a good time. 

We stuck to our plan and went to the movie -- Stronger, about Jeff Bauman, the Boston Marathon bombing survivor who loses two legs and eventually gains a spine through his ordeal. Josh Ritter's yearning, determined "Homecoming" plays during the credits. I feel a little better. Then, as we leave the theater, Tom learns via an email on his phone that Tom Petty has died. Yet another dose of heartbreak -- and of course, I take it personally. 

Those of us who remain must wonder how many more senseless episodes like this are ahead of us. I say something to Tom about not feeling too sure how many more years of this world--as messed up as it is now--anyone might reasonably want to endure. 

And he says the perfect thing, the only thing. He says it's yet another reminder to be mindful and grateful every day. Of course it is. 

One of the most horrible things about Sunday's shooting was how it maimed 10 times as many people as it killed. These are the people who could reasonably question whether they'd rather be dead. Jeff Bauman had something to say to them via his Facebook page the other day: 

To those who lost friends and loved ones—I’m so sorry. I know there are no words that can bring comfort but please know that the world is behind you.
To the victims waking up in a hospital right now wondering how life will ever be the same... I know your pain. The most important advice I can give is to remember that healing your mind is just as important as healing your physical, visible injuries. It took me too many years and dark moments to realize that and it is so, so important. You will walk again. You will laugh again. You will dance again. You will live again.
Please consider making a gift to the Las Vegas Victims Fund. Support like this is what got me through-every little bit counts in the days ahead.

If you are reading this, you are a survivor. Maybe the key to living through times like these is, indeed, to give. Some will give money, others will share words or hugs or comfort. It all matters.

Southern California coast, October 2017. Photo by Julie Fanselow