PHONE IT IN

It happened to me: My iPhone deserted me when I needed it most.  Last Thursday, around 11 a.m. DST, I tried to open Twitter Mobile and got this eerie message: NO SIM CARD DETECTED. In the upper left hand corner, where it should have announced I had full LTE internet coverage, it said, "NO SIM." What was happening? In a panic, I tapped my Facebook Page. NO SIM CARD DETECTED. Email. NO SIM CARD DETECTED. YouTube. FOR THE LAST TIME: NO SIM CARD DETECTED. It was like a scene out of The Twilight Zone.  "Noooooo!" I screamed as I sunk low in the seat of the car.  My phone was telling me that it did not detect a service provider, therefore, would no longer allow me to make calls or texts, participate in social media, check the weather, shop on-line, read the gossip about Bradgelina, or Instagram pictures of lunch. The worst thing of all? I couldn't go to my Facebook page to ask for thoughts and prayers.

IS FASHION MY PASSION?

I've never been a fashionista, always relying on Coldwater Creek and Lands End catalogs to provide me with practical options.  This means that, on any given day, I either look like I'm ready to crew a sailboat or host a tea party with the other Stepford Wives. Though I have always longed for a signature style, any attempts were futile. I fault Catholic-school uniforms and big-sister hand-me-downs for stunting my personal-style development. Nevertheless, as I am easing on down the road to my 60's, I've decided it's time for me to create my "Silver Look," if you will. Therefore, I have been scanning fashion blogs and Pinterest pages searching for the wardrobe must-haves for the post-menopausal crowd.

BANDS OF GOLD

I love the Olympics. Though I have no athletic abilities of my own (unless swimming with the aid of a pool noodle is considered a competitive sport) I enjoy watching the youth of the world strive to do their best.  When it comes to the Summer Olympics, we witness human beings running faster, jumping higher, spinning in the air longer, and throwing farther. We see young men and women move through the pool like a sailfish and dive like a kingfisher. We watch them in their warm-up suits, tearfully accepting their medals as their anthems play. But, I wouldn't be a diva, invisible or otherwise, if I didn't have my issues. So, before you can shout USA! USA! here's my list of Things I Resent About the Olympics.

"I am judging you."

TURN TO STATIC

We got rid of cable TV. I'm sharing this here so you all might start a prayer chain or incense-fueled thought-circle to get me through the worst of the withdrawal. And, yes,  Of COURSE we have Netflix and Hulu and Amazon Prime, along with a smart TV and Roku. But, those are just technological Methadone to get me off the hard stuff. People, I'm hurting. Do you have any idea what it's like to wake up in the morning, flick on the television all prepped for a good, long channel surf, only to be grounded in the sand by the ridiculous 12 stations of antenna TV? I want my MTV!

YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU AND YOUR KIDS DON'T WANT IT

Two years ago, my husband and I decided to downsize to condo life. Surprisingly, leaving behind a four bedroom home to move into a place half its size was fairly easy. Neither of us are the type to get attached to places or things, so I didn't waste a lot of time clutching the banister or hugging the walls while whispering, "I'm sorry I'm leaving you. You were the best house, ever!" In fact, I only did that for one day and only because I had Adele on repeat on my iPhone. The real challenge came when we looked around at 23 years worth of stuff and realized there was no way it was going to fit into the four closets and attic the size of a Little Tikes Playhouse that qualified as "storage" at our new place. It was all going to have to go. But, where?  For one brief moment, we thought of asking our son and all the young people in our family if they would want anything.

EXCUSE ME WHILE I KISS THE SKY

Prince died, and I turned into a middle-aged woman acting like a fool. Remember those stories of mass hysteria after the death of  Rudy Valentino? I get it. See, for my generation, Prince was our Valentino, our Elvis, our Beatles. We loved him, madly.

"Act your age, not your shoe size."

THE BEA MONOLOGUES

I don't know about the rest of you, but there are times when I can barely sit through a session of TV viewing without at least five or six moments of acute embarrassment. I'm not talking about the shows, as my shame level runs fairly high for those, particularly if a Real Housewife or two is involved. The source of my discomfort?  The commercials! People, what has become of our dignity? When I see an advertisement that deals in bodily functions or fluids, all I can do is shake my head and ask myself one simple question, "WWABS?  (What Would Aunt Bea Say?")

Bea Taylor: Our Patron Saint of Common Decency