S.O.S.

"Can U hear me,

or shall I text louder?"

If time is money, then I need a loan. No, I haven’t received any bad news about my health. As far as I know, I’m progressing nicely into middle age. That’s just it. I feel as if I’m from the Middle Ages. Time passes me by in a sleek modern jet while I frantically try to keep pace in old bi-plane. As the time flies by, I am constantly amazed with all of our so-called “modern advancements.”

It seems as if it takes more time to get things done than it did “back in the day.” This reminds me of an e-mail I received from one of my sons. He wrote in code—with initials or acronyms—not words. It took me 10-minutes to decipher IMO (in my opinion), ADBB (all done, bye bye) and AFAIK (as far as I know). CUL8R was easy, but CUZ just gave this writer a headache.

Time is fleeting. I get that. Times are changing. I get that too. I don’t get why it feels as if someone has cut the 60-minute hour in half. It’s not as if I haven’t tried to keep up with the “times.” I wear designer jeans, I’m a wiz at Tivo and I love my iPod. Occasionally, I tune into “top 40” radio stations to hear what’s on the charts and I workout three times a week. In other words, I try to make every second count…even when the second hand on my watch threatens to resign.

Since I don’t have the option to resign, and I’m too young to retire, I recently decided to retire the watch. Unfortunately, time is relentless. It’s everywhere. On my cell phone, in my car, on my computer, and for some reason, there’s a clock on my microwave. Isn’t the timer (and obnoxious buzzer) enough of a reminder that my precious moments are slipping by? Apparently not. That obnoxious buzzer is telling me that my hot cup of tea is ready and if I don’t drink it soon, something might explode.

I’m not into soap operas, but one long-running series opens with the announcer saying, “Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.”* This hourglass analogy is comforting—as in a peaceful way to mark the passage of time. There’s no tick-tock and, more importantly, no obnoxious buzzer. Therefore, when my kids asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I requested the biggest hourglass they could find. My youngest son responded with, “What’s an hourglass?”

Needless-to-say, there was no hourglass for me. Instead, they gave me a cell phone with the most current “texting” options. Great. I can barely keep up now and they expect me to recondition my stiff and stubborn 40-something-year-old thumbs and learn a new language so that I can send text messages. What’s wrong with voice mail? Better yet, what’s wrong with actually speaking with someone? You hear their voice; they hear your voice.

I posed this same question to my sons. I said something about Alexander Graham Bell rolling in his grave at the irony of using the telephone—which replaced the telegraph for texting. When they responded with blank stares, I reminded them that the telegraph was an outdated form of communication for sending abrupt and abbreviated “text” messages, and that the telephone replaced it because of its ability to transmit the sound of voices. That’s when I encountered their synchronized (and all-too-familiar) eye rolling. I desperately went on about texting and the demise of the King’s English. More eye rolling. I finally gave up when one of them (and I try not to remember which one it was) reminded me, with more than a bit of concern, that the United States isn’t a monarchy and doesn’t have a king.

OMG HHIS SOTMG

(Oh my goodness. Hanging head in shame. Short of time, must go.)

*Days of our Lives

(Dedicated to Priya, Shankari and, of course, Kacey!)

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta