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| Well, here’s what I think about being unplugged. |
I love it. I love to be unplugged, to wax philosophically over what our nation’s ultra-connectedness is perhaps doing to our children, to our elders, to the society at large, to the shape of our culture forever and ever, Amen. We talk about it often, over coffee or conferences or long drives.
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| And the rest of the time, the lady at the art show reprimands us for texting our sister and we blush knowingly. |
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| Some kids these days, she’d said. Can’t see past their screen, I tell ya. |
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| She’s right, I think. She’s wrong, I think. |
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Last week, I used my phone to schedule an appointment for an upcoming trip to the hair dresser. I made my family’s dentist appointments. I sent flowers to my sister. I wrote a birthday message to my friend, I checked in on a friend in Holladay, another in Sandy.
I booked dinner reservations and a bed and breakfast. I ordered dish soap refills.
And then I put my phone in my purse and sat on the passenger seat as Monet finished her conversation in the convertible.
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