“It's easier for a rich man to ride that camel through the eye of a needle directly into the Kingdom of Heaven, than for some of us to give up our cell phone.” ~ Vera Nazarian
Oh, I wish the above statement weren't quite so true, but I have long been and continue to be a slave to the digital world. Just like I have an addiction to coffee, I have an addiction to electronics. I freely admit I am a technology whore. I
This morning I was mentioning to Barb (one of the Group Two-ers) that Mike had lost his cell phone a few years ago.
"I've never lost mine," I bragged. "I have misplaced it in the house several times, but I always call myself."
You know, I should know better than to say stupid things like that. The last time I did—about seven years ago—I said that I have a lead foot and have never had a ticket. Not two days later, I was lead footing my way on I-40 in Nashville and got stopped for going a little too fast to get out of the way of a speeding semi. (The ticket never got recorded, so I never had a problem. That is quite another story, though, and it's not right for right now. Remind me sometime to tell you how I avoided traffic school, points, and a fine.)
A few hours later, we were at a wonderful hermitage up in the mountains, and I wanted to take a photo of a pool of water that formed from run-off by a mountain stream. It was crystal clear. I could see straight through to the bottom. I took a drink from the stream and reached for my camera which, you have probably surmised, was not there. I didn't panic immediately.
Oh, crap. Why lie? My heart started racing, and I opened my purse and yanked everything out. No phone. Peppe and I ran back up the hill to the van and looked. No phone. I retraced my steps down the hill to the stream. No phone. Everyone else came up and started looking. No phone.
"Did you switch with someone?" I think Nancy asked.
"Did you put it in the back?" someone else asked.
"Did you do this?" "That?" "The other thing?"
"No." "No." "No."
I tried not to cry. Peppe dropped Novelia and everyone else off in Raiano for gelato, and he and I headed back to the last place we had stopped. I knew I had used the phone in the car before we stopped there to look at photos I had taken at the stop before. We got behind a Fiat Panda that puttered down the two-lane road, and as soon as he could, he passed. Onward we hurried until we ended up behind the carabinieri (a type of police) and had to keep the speed in check. I was trying to be calm, but I was on the verge of tears. I told Peppe about talking to Barb this morning about not having lost the phone before.
"Stupid me," I said. "I cannot live without the phone. I need it in case someone in the groups needs me."
We finally turned onto the street where we had pulled over, and I scanned the street. I saw nothing but asphalt and stone. Peppe stopped the van and I got out and looked back to where I was standing.
Nothing. My heart sank.
"It's not here," I tried not to whine at him. "I have no idea what happened." I noticed that he was bending down, and the next thing I knew, he had my phone in his hand.
"You found it!" I was ecstatic. "You found it!" I hugged the stuffing out of him.
When we stopped earlier for people to take a photo, I must have had the phone on my lap, and when I got out, it fell without my noticing it. If you look closely at the photo, you can see that the face of my phone did not fare well. Someone or ones must have run over it. But, the darn thing works fine. I just have to be careful because the spider cracks are a little sharp. Until I get home and get a new phone, I'm going to have to either tape the phone or put a screen protector (if I can find one) over it. But it works.
" Tutto è bene quello che finisce bene. (.All's well that ends well)," Peppe told me as we headed back.
PS... The pork chop was 30 euro.