I was surprised to realize it and I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it turns out that I actually loved my old cell phone, the one that started dying last week. We had a comfortable connection–I dropped it a lot and it never complained.  It’s interface (whatever that means) was sensible and I could actually read words and numbers on the screen.  It was the first phone I ever texted with. That’s intimate. My new one is smaller and uglier. Not a good way to go.

 I am shocked that I have feelings about cell phones.  I scoff at the people on tv commercials who personalize their phones like old paperbag bookcovers we used to scribble on in grade school. Yet almost immediately to try to make it less ugly, I put photos in the screens of this new one. 

I was bummed to think that all the text messages I’d saved would be lost to me forever once I switched to a new phone. Messages in a bottle that can’t be opened. Now that’s a sad image for our times. Have no idea why they can import contacts and photos, but not text messages. Doesn’t make sense.

I am insane enough that I retrieved several messages before my old phone’s last breath and typed them into a word document. Here are some of my all-time favorite received messages:

“never mind about the volleyball”

“white pizzaaaaaa” 

 “chocolate SANS nuts”

 “We can always hope” 

  “maybe your song could start  ‘I don’t like sweet iced tea so why am I in Tennessee?’ 


“poor you guys! sorries. at least you’ll be in Worcester when it’s over!…”

 “Im assassinating”

Cryptic is cool. Nuf said. Sadly I can’t share an all time favorite pix message of the ugly window of a medical supply store in town, but each one of the above is an instant message to my memory bank and conjures up entire scenes, days, eras, relationships. I’m slow enough that I love reading some messages over and over and get a chuckle every time. Brevity is the soul of wit…and occasionally, what?