In this day and age of disposable items, cell phones rank high on the list of things that are replaced on a regular basis. As technology changes, so do cell phones; what is new today may be passe tomorrow.
I'm good with passe, as long as it makes phone calls. I have been holding on to an original Motorola Razr V3, living like it was 2004, avoiding the extra monthly data charges. It did what I wanted it to: made and received phone calls. The camera 
was a bonus feature that I used occasionally. I don't text, so the numeric pad was fine for adding names to numbers in the address book. We were comfortable with each other.
It was, however, inevitable: my long-time friend and companion began to falter. Little annoyances at first, like the back falling off, were not a huge problem. Eventually the rudimentary form of Java it contained stopped working and I could no longer play the sample games that came with the phone. When it started thinking there was no SIM card installed when there was, I knew it was the beginning of the end.
But what to do? I was left behind years ago by the smartphone train, an abandoned caboose on a spur line no longer used. Shelling out additional fees every month for a data plan is not in our budget, which severely limits the choices. I could buy an unlocked brand-new Razr over the Internet for around $50, or I could take one of the free flip phones my service provided. I checked every angle and option, working on what we call "Lucy Plans" (after Lucille Ball and her antics on "I Love Lucy"): what if I get a free phone and then try to sell it on e-Bay so I could by a Razr? How about turning off and on the existing phone every few minutes to make sure it is working? What about selling plasma every month to pay for a data plan?
Eventually the zero cost plan was followed and I was the owner of a new phone that wasn't a Razr. Cindy, as she has for years, sat patiently on the sidelines of my indecision and waited for me to make a choice. She also volunteered to trade phones with me, as she had no attachment to hers...a Razr V3xx. To paraphrase Captain Kirk at the end of Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, "my friend, I've come home."
Every year in August, as the Earth passes through rock and dust fragments left behind by the comet Swift-Tuttle, last time it came near the Sun, these small particles collide with the Earth’s atmosphere, burning bright, creating a blazing yet momentary streak of light across the sky.
There were no meteors to be seen this year from our vantage point. The Perseids, one of the more consistent meteor showers, were hampered by the full moon and a thin scattering of clouds.
Vacations as a child were almost always camping, which meant night skies were never hampered by city lights. I remember many nights in various states with my dad, my mom, and my sister, gazing into the night, watching the stars roll by (and sometimes listening to the radio).
Even without the meteor shower, the sky was a beautiful sight. Despite the full moon it was still filled with visible stars. I leaned against the car and gazed into the night, looking at light that traveled through time to get here, gazing at the sky’s majestic beauty, remembering when...
Sunday we will attend the Madonna del Grappa picnic at Lower Manning Park. It is the picnic of my fore bearers, all revolving around good food, good friends and how we ended up in Santa Barbara.
The pinochle games played
by older men, the accordion player who serenades the group, the wine that is shared. As children we would pay our dimes and get into the "cake walk", trying to guess the number that would be called when the bell stopped ringing, hoping we would win, but just not the dessert our family brought.
I have fond memories of the picnic baskets of my parents and grandparents, traditionally only brought out for the various Italian picnics over the summer; heavy wicker and wood hampers filled with durable plastic plates and silverware, tumblers for cold drinks and wine and enough tablecloths to cover several benches, reserving our spot amidst the other tablecloths, butcher paper and signs.
The deep-pit barbecues will turn out chicken, ribs and sausage to be served with the traditional polenta, salad and bread. There will be too much food to eat, but the point of the picnic was never the food, much to the chagrin of those who insist in lining up early and being first to receive their food. The point was, and is, to relive those memories of picnics past and set the stage for future picnics, insuring opportunities to celebrate our heritage and relive memories.
Unintentional eavesdropping. It's what happens in the airport, waiting in line at the theater, walking through a shopping mall. There are dozens of web-sites dedicated to what you overheard in various cities across the globe, in your office, in public.
Things are hardly ever in context when all you hear are several words from an incomplete sentence, missing the balance of the conversation.
The best conversations I don't intend to listen to occur at the Farmer's Market. Heard last week:
"...my roommate, who surfs, has taken to drinking rye whiskey with Coke and uses frozen strawberries for ice cubes..."
"...do you think that was a fake arm?"
"...you should really consider starting your own state..."
"...is this natural hemp?"
"...are you sure those red things are okay to eat?"
"...walking out, shutting the door of your house, not even saying goodbye to him, leaving all your clothes, everything, and starting over..."
"...her Facebook page is to sterile..."
Why do we listen? Are the lives of others that interesting? What causes conversations to be remembered while others fade rapidly into oblivion?
I've let the post sit for almost a week, hoping the time would help me tie things together and come up with an appropriate ending. Much like the dangling conversations of those around me, this is incomplete, waiting for another sentence or two to fill in the blanks and put it all in context.
was a bonus feature that I used occasionally. I don't text, so the numeric pad was fine for adding names to numbers in the address book. We were comfortable with each other.
