It seems so easy to fall 'out of the loop' these days. Either you can't find it or you're not endowed with the appropriate 'social media' to play. In fact, the very words 'social media' have taken on a life heretofore not de rigueur. (At least, not in MY generation's lexicon.)
My husband and I spent this past weekend in our 45 year-old cottage on the Outer Banks of NC. Our son and his three children - aged 14, 8, and 12 plus the eldest's best friend were thrilled to be along, surf fishing, surfing and shell-collecting. One evening, our son and I took two of the sated, heated crew with us in the same car a walkable distance to fetch ice cream creations for the whole crew.
I listened as the 8 and 12 year olds updated my son 3 times regarding changes and sizes of the crew's selections requested by the stay-behinds. In that I'd only heard two of the fetchers' voices, I turned to look at them to determine the source of these telepathic communiques.
Tbey sat quietly, heads bowed - as though having suddenly come upon royalty - staring at their cell phones while their fingers did the talking. (Being from an distant, older era where progress was telephonically applauded when we arrived at a point that announced we now could "let your fingers do the walking", their smooth and accommodating transmissions indeed gave me pause.
This because 1) I was so impressed with their ease and accuracy - to say nothing of speed. Didn't have time.
And 2) I was stunned into a panicked silence - most out of character - because of my personal, quiet, demoralizing panic over the knowledge that that the question, "Grams, you're sticking with pistachio, right?" was imminent. Truth be told, I was developing a shrewd strategy, soon to be VOICED of simply 'nodding' and mumbling -"Uh, Huh".
Therein lies the rub. It was but a few short decades ago, in my case anyway, that a seemingly 7 foot tall, black-garbed nun stared down her hooked nose, pointing with a long wood 'dart' at my visage, as she spat, "Did you say something?" She would invariably receive "No, Sissst!" through clenched teeth, pigtails wildly snapping back and forth to punctuate my saintly negative.
I suppose one could surmise that, decade-hopping notwithstanding, SILENCE STILL RULES. (But if your powers of observation remain intact, you'll note the stealth with which the inability to express oneself in simple, yet complete and parseable sentences, is creeping past us, unnoticed.)
Later, Lorane. . . .
