May 5, 2021
There’s a relatively new
expression that I’ve been hearing over the last several months. It is, “saying
the quiet part out loud”. Now, normally, I don’t spend too much time thinking
about these expressions that make the rounds. For example, I think that referring
to silence on the part of officials as “crickets” is just a great big nothing
burger.
And while it’s true that these
expressions come and blessedly go—I mean does anyone ever refer to something
they really like as “the bee’s knees” anymore? The individual expressions pass,
but the habit of coining them doesn’t. I think that’s just human nature at work,
our sometimes-desperate desire to ensure that we get everything lined up into
neat little piles, with labels and directions. Sort of like the words in the
song Alice’s Restaurant. We want to turn our lives into a series of “twenty-seven
eight by ten color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on
the back of each one, explain what each one is about”.
And by the way, “crickets” = quiet
doesn’t work for me because there have been summer nights in my life when there’s
been a cricket in the bedroom. That, my friends, is the antithesis of
quiet.
But I digress.
The reason for this convoluted
opening is that I believe I have committed the sin of saying the quiet part out
loud. Yes, although I wrote it instead of saying it…and it happened in my essay
last week.
If you will be so kind as to
recall, in last week’s essay I expressed my great joy and everlasting gratitude
that the girls, instead of gifting David with the Fitbit he’d asked as his gift
for Christmas gave him, instead, an Apple Watch. I was happy because, you see,
I don’t know anything about that device, I didn’t want to know anything about
that device, so my beloved would have to get his help for the use of that device
from someone else.
Ah, well, it was a nice idea,
a lovely concept, and I did enjoy a day or two of bliss because of it. A few very
short day or two.
Apparently, I’m not the only
senior citizen in this house who doesn’t want to learn anything about the Apple
Watch. And if anyone from Apple is reading this, no, there is nothing wrong
with that wonderful, dare I say miraculous device you’ve created. The problem
lay with the person around whose wrist that device was positioned.
I don’t blame David for his
reaction, not at all. The older we get the more difficult it is to adapt to
advancing technology. And if we’re to be perfectly honest here, his use of the
devices he has “mastered”—his laptop, his desktop, and his cell phone—well, that
usage hasn’t actually been very masterful.
Our daughter and I have learned
to agree with him whole-heartedly that the damn thing did something stupid all
by itself, and just fix the “glitch” for him, rather than to try and
convince him the only thing truly “the matter” with the device was the person
using it. We know, we know. Whatever happens, he didn’t do it, the device did!
I think he tried, at least for
a couple of minutes, to learn something about the watch but I totally understand
the fact that for our senior minds there is a wall which can be impenetrable when
it comes to technology or anything new. I can’t wrap my head around that which
began as photoshop (and who the hell knows what it’s called now)? I am blessed
to have a good friend who creates memes and banners for me that I use on Face
Book to promote my new releases. David is thinking of publishing his books when
he finishes the last one of his trilogy, and I am cheering him on. But we’ll
have to hire someone to do it for us because, yeah, that formatting and all the
other stuff that goes along with publishing a novel? Way above my pay
grade.
Seriously.
And also seriously was the fantasy
I had in my mind, thinking that I would be saved interruptions and pleas for
help several times a day because I didn’t know anything about the watch. We did
have one very predictable exchange not long after I posted that essay last week.
Him: (holding the watch across
his palm much like one would hold a dead lizard) It did this, and then it did
that, and now it won’t do the other thing! (Followed by his thrusting said palm
as close to me as he could).
Me: (trying very hard to speak
kindly) Why are you telling me? I don’t know anything about it. I can’t
help you. Please, go and text our second daughter.
It was the look on his face
that slew me. He clearly believed I can fix anything, and I was sorry that he
had to learn the truth—I can’t.
But now, I don’t have to worry
anymore, nope, no worries here.
Last night our daughter
relieved him of the watch and gave him her three-month old Fitbit in place of
it. The Fitbit app is on his phone, the watch app is off his phone, and he is a
happy camper. When he got up this morning, he was able to check his sleep, and
he can check his steps, and that was all he wanted the device for. Well,
perhaps he is obsessing a bit about his heartrate (Why is my heart doing
that? What’s wrong with it?). But that, I predict, will be another
essay.
And I really don’t mind
helping him out with the device itself. I do know a thing or two about the
Fitbit, having worn one now for nearly five years.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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