Disaster

Two weeks ago, to the day, a disaster struck my world. It was not a tornado, no little dogs were whooshed into the air. It was not a blizzard, no toes lost in the process. And it was not a broken hip, no surgery needed. It happened in a split second and in that moment there was no turning back. "Oh, noooooo!" was audibly gasped. (There may or may not have been other vocabulary words used, but I have no proof.) Needless to say, my blood pressure spiked and heart palpitations ensued.

My disaster was the loss of all my cellphone contacts. The context for such folly is neither here nor there. Suffice it to say, I am an idiot and my quest to clean up another tech problem with my phone resulted in a bad move.

As I tried to console myself with possible "it-could-have-been-worse" scenarios, I realized I am moving into a world of fewer and fewer hard copy lists of people, places and phone numbers. Gone are the days of a phone book. My tattered, battered and stained address book (my lifeline years ago) is used less and less. The memorization of phone numbers has gone the way of the spelling bee. Physical calendars are replaced with digital organizers capable of sending reminders to us, electronically of course.

And yet, my feet continue to plod along in the old world, too. I still have a family calendar posted on my refrigerator. It serves as a visual beacon for upcoming events such as recycling pick-ups, Schwan's deliveries and dentist appointments (clearly, my life is free of glamour). I have pads of paper and little notebooks scattered throughout my house and work spaces just in case an idea or reminder needs to be taken care of. I copy recipes from the internet for three reasons: I am too cheap to buy a new printer; sticky, greasy fingers and digital devices do not mix and writing down a recipe forces me to commit to its execution. I have a landline because I prefer to hold something that fits the shape of my gripping hand when I am talking to my friends and family. I tell the sweet little clerk at my local retail center, "No, I don't have your app. Just, well, just because." I like to touch a blanket in a real store before I purchase it. I look at clocks rather than look for my phone to check the time. I prefer to let music bathe over me in a room rather than use little pluggy things in my ears. And I am not sure if my only friend needs to be Alexa.

All that said, I am committed to having a cellphone and I need my contact list. Fortunately, I kept my previous dinosaur of a cellphone and was able to do a phone-to-phone transfer of my contact list. I am sure the average 10-year-old could have completed said process in ten minutes. I will spare you the agonizing details of how long it took me. Just the same, I am patting myself on the back for an electronic disaster being thwarted and note to self, look before you leap.

Address Book, circa 1976