I was thinking about Suzi's pocketbook on the bus the other day when I took out my phone to look at the time, and the lady sitting next to me remarked, "Your generation has no need for watches, do you, you're always looking at your phones." Of course I thanked her for the "your generation," because my real generation was raised with some manners, but then I remembered how "off" I feel on those days when I forget the phone, or can't wear a watch for whatever reason. Or when the phone just takes some personal time, turns itself off, and hides out between cushions. I'm one of those people who needs to know the time.
Suzi occasionally wears antique or elderly watches because she loves them. Sometimes I wear one too. Thing is, they don't really keep time, even if you wind them carefully and properly. They're lovely and decorative, but you still need to look at the phone to stay on time.
Here's what I'd like - no batteries, no winding, no charging.
Yes, they are portable sundials! Really! I saw them at the Metropolitan Museum of Art this morning. The small one is about the size of a smartphone, the larger one is not quite the size of an iPad. And the smaller one would be perfect company for the other adorable gadgets in Suzi's bag.
Later, back at my desk, I found an email from our current Internet-phone company out at Flintstone Manor, apologizing in advance for a month or so of predicted "sun outages," in the event of which we should just wait for the sun to feel better and not call the cable company. No, the sun will still be working, but its workings, whatever they may be during the predicted period, may interfere with satellite service. This is perturbing because our provider is a cable service, not a satellite service. I'm adding this email to my collection of "Fables of Utilities and Transport, Old and New." And I'll wait to see just how disturbed the sun really is before I start pining for a little gold and ivory 16th century pocket sundial.
