Sunday, July 18, 2004
Accidentally knocking hubby's business cell phone into the painter's pail of paint thinner last night at the new house made me realize why most people are so afraid of change. On a very basic level, change means adapting your skill-set as a human being to a new and unfamiliar terrain. Primaly speaking, this could be the difference between survival or being a forgotten Darwinian footnote.
In this particular case, it's something as simple as the body learning where all the unfamiliar light switches are in context to turning around and there being a counter on which lies the cell phone which is next to the salad bowl that gets bumped when your arm that was carrying the camera case swipes the bowl which hits the cell phone that plummets not to the right of the pail, nor to the left, but straight downwards with a plunk into the terpentiny spirits below. Expletive. Split-second retrival is too late as Indian White satin-oil paint oozes across the inside of the display screen of the phone.
To put things into context. Had I lived a couple of millennia ago, this would be equivalent to accidentally snapping hubby's spear in half -- no spear, no roasted mammoth. No cell phone, hubby can't do his job in bringing home the proverbial bacon.
Well so much for our outdoor barbecue we were planning. Hubby raced to the North Shore Mall like a parent taking a sick child to the emergency room. The son decided to go play a game of soccer with friends rather than wait for what was obviously going to be a delayed dinner. Daughter wisely decided not to get anywhere the house once her brother alerted her on his cell phone.
You gotta' love America sometimes i.e. try buying a new cell phone in the rest of the world at 8 p.m. in the evening. Forget it. But no problemo here. Not forty minutes later, hubby returned with a new phone and mumbling happily about some vitally important organ of the old phone having remained intact which meant that numbers and service were still at his fingertips. We sat at our new Crate & Barrel made-in-Indonesia garden table and ate our just-barbecued sun-dried tomato sausages as birds twirped their dusk songs in the trees above. "Another glass of J.Lohr honey?" Or to put it into context: "Another earthenware mug of fermented apples?" No that's not right. Anna Bloviations of yore wouldn't have gone through the trouble of some complicated fermentation process to get an alcohol buzz let alone sit around casting cups. More likely Anna Bloviations of yore knew her mushrooms really well.... "Another mushroom sweetie?"
In this particular case, it's something as simple as the body learning where all the unfamiliar light switches are in context to turning around and there being a counter on which lies the cell phone which is next to the salad bowl that gets bumped when your arm that was carrying the camera case swipes the bowl which hits the cell phone that plummets not to the right of the pail, nor to the left, but straight downwards with a plunk into the terpentiny spirits below. Expletive. Split-second retrival is too late as Indian White satin-oil paint oozes across the inside of the display screen of the phone.
To put things into context. Had I lived a couple of millennia ago, this would be equivalent to accidentally snapping hubby's spear in half -- no spear, no roasted mammoth. No cell phone, hubby can't do his job in bringing home the proverbial bacon.
Well so much for our outdoor barbecue we were planning. Hubby raced to the North Shore Mall like a parent taking a sick child to the emergency room. The son decided to go play a game of soccer with friends rather than wait for what was obviously going to be a delayed dinner. Daughter wisely decided not to get anywhere the house once her brother alerted her on his cell phone.
You gotta' love America sometimes i.e. try buying a new cell phone in the rest of the world at 8 p.m. in the evening. Forget it. But no problemo here. Not forty minutes later, hubby returned with a new phone and mumbling happily about some vitally important organ of the old phone having remained intact which meant that numbers and service were still at his fingertips. We sat at our new Crate & Barrel made-in-Indonesia garden table and ate our just-barbecued sun-dried tomato sausages as birds twirped their dusk songs in the trees above. "Another glass of J.Lohr honey?" Or to put it into context: "Another earthenware mug of fermented apples?" No that's not right. Anna Bloviations of yore wouldn't have gone through the trouble of some complicated fermentation process to get an alcohol buzz let alone sit around casting cups. More likely Anna Bloviations of yore knew her mushrooms really well.... "Another mushroom sweetie?"
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