We are about to enter the realm of iPhonedom. Hugh's in charge of the driving and directions on this trip. Keith, I guess, is in the passenger seat; at least he's the one with the wallet. Me? I'm the drugged dog in the pet carrier, wedged in the "way back" of the station wagon, in between the suitcases and the cooler.
I just don't get the cell phone. I know that's like saying "I just don't get chocolate" or "I just don't get the Beatles" or "I just don't get Jane Austen." I mean, there are things one cannot and should not and does not live without. But here I am, cellularly inept. Not only does it take me an uninterrupted hour to compose and send a four-word text message, not only do I not know how to take a photo or check email or go online or play music or watch videos with the thing, I have trouble using it to make a phone call, mostly because it's lost, forgotten, or uncharged. I think I could have a cellular disability; I know I'm cellphone-intolerant.
Hugh assures me, however, that all will be well, I will be well, once we're settled in iPhonedom. So what the heck. I like to travel. I even like moving. Just hope the new neighbors will cut me some slack.
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