A forced experiment in phonelessness befell me yesterday morning. Rat Fink, Rat Fink…what a donkey.

When carrying a laundry basket, I need to use both hands to navigate the hairpin turn in my stairway without taking all the pictures on the walls with me. So yesterday, I put two items in the basket on top of the clothes: clean socks to wear, and my phone. I think it was finding a couple of towels to throw on top of everything last minute — combined with my mind being a thousand miles away — that made me throw the lot into the washer, add the detergent, and turn it on.

Boy, was that Galaxy clean when the Thriller brought it upstairs, saying, “Bad news: I found this in the bottom of the washing machine.” *gack*

My kneejerk reaction, of course, was to flip out and throw stuff. But this time, I refrained. Go me. Instead, I used some gray matter and researched what to do. My suspicions were confirmed: the rice thing (controversial as it is — some sources say it works, others say it’s a myth) works only if you retrieve the phone from the water in a matter of seconds, like when you drop it in a sink full of water or the swimming pool or the commode. How does one save a phone that’s been washed to a lovely wet shine, with soap, then water, then water again, ultimately whizzing about in a Rotor ride of centrifugal force during the spin cycle? Does it have a prayer then?

Apparently not.

So, for the first time in years, literally years, I was without a cell phone. In fact, as I write this morning, I’m still without it (although tracking shows it’s on the truck from Mansfield at this moment). And you know what? It’s OK. Fine, actually. Another Deception Destroyer of sorts comes to light:

I am not addicted to my device. Seriously, I thought I was, and admitted so, readily and often. But being “disconnected” isn’t so bad, since there are other forms of communication. And I can always borrow the Thriller’s phone if I need it.

I know there are people who don’t have a personal device of any kind, don’t want one, and don’t care at all. Not sure I’m quite ready for that level of neo-Luddism, but the last 26 hours and 10 minutes have proved that a day or so without the appendage is not a deal-breaker.

…which is not to say that I don’t have the UPS tracking page in another tab, ready to reload at regular intervals.

I mean it.

See you later. (Much later.)

…come on, get happy.

Actually, I was just looking for an excuse to use Mr. Happy Dancing Hat. Hoo-ee, he’s gettin’ a workout this morning.

Some RNFs for your Monday:

1. The Thriller’s home town for 20-odd years got some national press this morning. Um, OK.
2. Wanna make a dynamite breakfast smoothie? Combine a big handful of strawberries, a few chunks of pineapple, some vanilla Greek yogurt, a tablespoon each of ground flax seed and chopped pecans, and a bit of coconut milk. Makes about 1 and 1/4 cups of deliciousness. It’s the smoothie you eat. Bam.
3. Confession: I’m addicted to this. Just gotta carve out some time for it.
4. Cause for much happiness: T-minus four days until Mavis and I hit the road for a mini-Odyssey to our family reunion in beautiful Winthrop Harbor, home of the largest marina on the Great Lakes. This is our mother’s side, and we plan to spend some fun hours with aunts, uncles and cousins. As many of you know, our mother was the eldest of nine children born to Doyle and Evelyn Martin. While four have passed on (Mother, and her brothers Glenn, Fred and Dan), we’re looking forward to reconnecting and relaxing with the rest of the family. A side trip to our childhood home in Waukegan is also planned. Fun!

I hope your 4th of July holiday was relaxing, if you’re in the States. Big hugs of condolence go across the sea to RtB fiend Suzanne, on the passing of her 18-year-old furkid, Chevy (“the Famous American Cat”).

Have a great Monkday — I’m off to tear apart the parlor.

PS — Is Happy Dancing Hat annoying you yet?

It’s been a year and half since True Confessions III, so I thought it’s about time to spill it again on this beautiful, quiet, peaceful Independence Day morning on Sandusky Street.

1. I dislike holidays. Does that make me a wet blanket or party poop? Outside of my sons and friends having a couple of well-deserved days off work, I kind of dread holiday weekends. Why? Because my children are so busy and stretched with multiple family obligations, that in an effort to not overcrowd their schedules, I often take the back seat and avoid planning any kind of get-together — after which I feel kind of sad and out of the loop. Silly, I know. But there it is.
2. I’m just a skosh tetchy as of late. That is to say, for all my hippie love vibe, I find there’s a part of me that grows a bit impatient and intolerant of bigots and meanyheads. Hang on though, I’m working on it. The “love people who hate you and everything you believe in” thing is a big bite for me. Patience, Grasshoppa.
3. As much as I might come to regret saying it, I am loving the sugar-free lifestyle. More on that in a future post, but the science is going to blind you. Suffice it to say that I am slowly coming to terms with never eating sugar again. Ever.

But for now, it’s parade time! The Js are riding in their granddad’s convertible for our town’s bicentennial processional down the main drag, and the Thriller and I wouldn’t miss it. Time to hit the shower and the road in an effort to search forever for parking. Happy 4th, fiends! I hope it’s relaxing and fun!

I’m bothered a little when articles and blog posts feature the “[number] Things About…” title, even though I’ve been guilty of doing it myself a few times (like today). I once read that it caters to the American appetite for short little bytes; people can get their information without investing in actually reading a larger body of text. It suggests that we’re shallow and impatient as a culture. Hmm. Qui savait?

Regardless, here’s my list for today. Sound familiar? I should reiterate that I do love Facebook. Without it, I don’t think I could have reconnected with great people I’d lost track of over the years — some of whom are reading this right now. Still, there are times when I wish there was a “thumbs down” icon. Or, you know, this.

5 Downsides of Facebook

1. People who constantly complain about Facebook and resent its intrusion into their lives, yet log on and post and comment every single day.
2. The constant barrage of misquotes. No, no and positively no.
3. Along the same lines as #2 — sharing just plain wrong information. (Can I Google that for you?)
4. Honestly, I don’t know how else to say this. I hate the guns-‘n-God, ‘Merica posts. I see so many of them. Like, dozens in a day. Same with the Vaguebooking and the airing of laundry that should have gone in the Maytag. My block list is fruitful and multiplying.
5. I hate the abuse of supposed anonymity in comments, although some of them are funny. Heh.

Do you have anything to add? Truth is, I’m grateful for all my Facebook friends and acquaintances. I imagine I’ve been on their “if I see one more post about Common Core or testing from her…” list, so I know I’m capable of being annoying. Glad they put up with me (or maybe I’m on their block list and I just don’t know it). I like social media very much, but mostly for the “social” part, she said, in her extroverty extrovertiness. Chat me up! Let’s have a convo!