What sound do modern phones make?

September 24, 2015

The trouble with writing is the trouble with writing. Some days I can say I did the right thing to leave it alone. I can’t seem to leave it alone. I don’t want to leave it alone. If so many people are writing these days, why can’t I seem to find them? I do read the paper. Our town has three: The Billings Gazette, The Outpost, and The Last Best News. Well, maybe even four or five “papers.” Some are online these days. I love them all. I subscribe to all three. I recommend them.
My kind of writing, well, isn’t really writing at all. Not in the grandest sense. Not in the way that I normally think about writing. Instead, mine is stupider. Something or other surprised me today. Life is like that. Something always happens.

The phone woke me at a quarter to 10 today. Phones don’t ring anymore. I don’t know what they do. Burble? Edward Barta said he had some posters for “Art Walk” for October 2 and wanted to bring them by my house. I didn’t want to admit I was still in bed, and I hoped I could go back to sleep. I lied and said I was just heading out but I’d be back this afternoon. Edward asked how soon I was heading out. I lied again and said, “Oh, in about half an hour.” Edward asked if I could pick up the posters at his house. He would wait for me.
He got me out of bed. Of course I muttered about the nerve of someone calling me. Without notifying me first. Wait. That makes no sense. I got dressed. Soon I was glad for Edward’s call.
Turns out the posters are beautiful. Rabbit Knows Gun is displaying art at our church. I got maybe six posters. Where will I put that many?
I headed over for gas at the Holiday Station. I pulled up head-to-head with a beat-up old black sedan. I figured I’d better write down the license plate number. I thought such a beat up looking car might run into mine when it pulled out. Wait, I thought. I never do that. Write down plate numbers. So I didn’t. After I’d filled the car a wispy white woman with a — I don’t know — five-year-old child, a boy, got into the car I didn’t write down the license plate of. By then, I was backing up to leave the station. I wondered if the child even had a car seat?
I got to Albertson’s. Picked up a bunch of meat. Sale: two for the price of one. That meant the butcher had to individually wrap the steaks into six packages. Took him a long time. We remarked about that, one to the other. Got corn. Got chips. Potato chips for my sister, who is visiting today. Normally I don’t buy potato chips. I doubt if my children ever eat them. I used to eat them when I was a child. So did my sister.
I looked for a bottle of sangria. Couldn’t find, so I grabbed a six-pack of Uberbrew “White Noise.” The guy who owns the brewery stopped me in the parking lot as I was putting the beer in the trunk. “Makes a lot of noise, does it?” he asked. I shrugged. Laughed. Thought, what the f—?