So I told Jack I was turning over a new leaf now that I have all the modern day technological requirements – I just got a new MacBook Air and iPhone 5, and am going to start blogging more often. My reluctance for consistency in the past has been because I travel quite a bit and having to lug around my old laptop was kinda like carrying around a bowling ball bag. I say that because my Granny was a bowler, right up to just a few years before she past away. She was on a bowling team with her girlfriends and had her very own ball and bag. In fact, her bowling ball even had “Granny” engraved on it. As a kid I remember picking up her bowling ball bag and thinking it was so heavy. Hence, my reference to my antiquated laptop that felt as heavy as a bowling ball in a bag.
I’m realizing as I’m typing this that my Granny was only in her late 50’s and early 60’s (although she seemed so old to me. I guess my nieces and nephews think the same of me....) during those years when she and her girlfriends were loading up in her big Buick to drive 12 miles from the small cotton town in west Texas where she lived, down Hwy 385 to Levelland (a practical name for a town in the South Plains) to giggle and cut up with her lifelong friends while drinking Coke in bottle with a straw and playing her little 5-foot 2-inch self out and hoping for a strike. They were a competitive bunch, and a lively, fun-loving bunch, too. That was my Granny’s definition of a wild night back in 1969.
How things have changed. But at least I am happy to say that I have kept a part of my west Texas roots that I will never shake, although I have tried. Boy have I tried… Just ask Siri. While I’m trying to take advantage of my new phone and the ability to text by voice activation instead of typing, I have learned that Granny is still channeling through me. I’m guessing Siri is definitely not Southern because when I say things, Siri types thanks. When I say peace, she types pace. When I say leak, she types lake.
And to think that this computer lady embarrasses me when she can’t properly decipher what I’m saying. I mean, come on – she’s not a she, she’s a computer! Goodness, I’m getting intimated by a computer, who I forget is not a woman and who makes me feel less than sophisticated myself sometimes…. In my mind she is some fancy lady from from somewhere like San Francisco who kind of rolls her eyes when I speak to her.
What I really think is happening is Granny whispering in my ear shall not you forget from whence you came.