Was taking inventory the other day as I left the house, and I double checked to make sure I had my phone. No surprise there. It has become an extension of my being. I sometimes wonder if the next version will have a way to attach itself to a human brain in some way. Elon may be working on that as I type. Who knows?
Anyway... I, of course, had the sudden memory of phones when I was a kid. Back in the day, it was one phone line per household unless you were on a party line and that's a whole other blog. When the phone rang, I would run to the little alcove where the phone sat on a little table -- the phone was attached by a cord to the wall. It was black like all phones back then -- a rotary dial one -- again like all phones back then. There was an uncomfortable little chair in that little wall indentation -- I think purposely uncomfortable to dissuade one from long term sitting. And in my house ... next to the phone there was an egg timer. That annoying little thing was a "touch" thought of by my Dad, a man of few words --- most of the time.
Here's the scenario. The phone would ring. Either my sister or I (usually me) would run to answer it in the polite way we were trained to do. Back then phones belonged to a residence, not an individual. If the call was for me or my sister, my Dad would put his newspaper down, get up from his chair and quietly flip the egg timer. His silent message ... if you can't get it "solved" in three minutes, perhaps in person would work better. Ah memories....
On sort of a related note... I miss Ernestine. One ringy-dingy... Two ringy-dingy....
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