I have spent the last 30 minutes outside, cell phone in hand in various contorted positions throughout the backyard and neighboring field. All in an effort to send a text to my Big Girl.
Am I the only woman outside the area of Verizon usage in the Putnam County area? I like to fancy myself on the cutting edge of technology. Except for assistance from my 15 year old in downloading ringtones, and my co worker in learning how to save a texted picture to my SD card, I can get around the internet on my smartphone.
The problem is that smack dab in the middle of cow country, between the beautiful Lake Sinclair, and the fields of lazy horses next door, Verizon just disappears.
Sending and receiving calls is nearly impossible. Wayne has been known to plow right over the top of innocent bystanders at the refrigerator, as he barrels out the door to his “office” (aka the side of the bed of his truck) where he receives all business calls until approx. 9pm, after which time, he retires and your gutter and siding needs go straight to voicemail.
I on the other hand, jump from room to room shouting “Can you hear me now?” until the line goes dead.
When the weather is just right, and the slightest breeze carries those invisible cell phone waves across the fields, a phone conversation can be had, but those are rare days indeed. Most of the time you can find me on the porch standing on one leg, tiptoed, with my arm stretched over my head, cell phone in hand. To hold it all together, I have a tight lipped grimace and give the smallest stretch upward. Maybe, just maybe, that magical text wave will catch the spark from my phone and shoot it into cyber cell phone world.
So don’t think I’m avoiding you if I don’t answer your calls at night. I’m just enjoying the lack of technology out here in the sticks, and to tell you the truth, most the time, it’s pretty nice.