“I’ve secured the black-eyed peas,” came the text from my sister Beck.
Do other siblings and spouses and close friends have a special text language as well, beyond the ‘lmao’ and ‘tmi’ and ‘lol’?
As quickly as interacting with the big wide world can make me a strange pitiable outsider, a text exchange with my sister can instantly make me a giggling cherished VIP.
Mom, too, wanted in on the texting silliness, I recall, but the technical aspect bored her before she could master it on her trusty flip phone. Her first text, and every subsequent text, to Beck said simply, “Cabbage.”
Beck was still living on the West Coast back then, and had introduced Mom to texting during one of her visits home. I’m sure the maiden text had something to do with what was to be picked up on a grocery shopping excursion, but only that one word was actually sent.
After that, my techie librarian sibling would be checking out a book for a patron back in her library in California and would suddenly receive a text from Mom.
And she would know that Mom was reaching out to her and they’d have a good long chat on the phone at the earliest opportunity.
Black-eyed peas! It’s time to freak out about planning and shopping for and cooking a special New Year’s prosperity-welcoming dinner for our little family and I haven’t even written my 2022 Goals or decided on my resolutions yet! Ack!
This is so unlike me!
You know my passion for desk supplies, organizational gizmos and productivity tools. You can imagine what the prospect of deploying my prized possessions in the service of GOAL SETTING does to me. My sleek black 2022 planner and jaunty new IN-box, knowing Christmas gifts from handsome supportive husband (HSH), are mere inches from my elbow as I write to you this moment. I’ve written pages on and had several engaging discussions with my maker regarding my vision for 2022. Chore boards, dry-erase markers, folders, clip-boards, online mood board apps await me, murmur amongst themselves, checking their watches.
Usually the final days and hours leading up to midnight New Year’s Eve would find me feverishly re-writing affirmations and mission statement and goals. If I don’t complete my goal-setting by the stroke of midnight my desk will detonate. Or so it seems. Usually.
But this year, I have been distracted by yet another gift from handsome supportive husband – sound equipment! A microphone, a head set and a souped up hard drive. Apparently, my blog recordings left a bit to be desired in sound quality. And for sure, trying to read my posts in one take, due to no capacity to edit them, was a bit frustrating. One phone call, one chair squeak, one throat dangler would send me back to the beginning.
Let me tell you, a hidden microphone embedded in my iPad is no where near as cool as my new microphone. Or mic as we say in the biz.
You know how a bouquet of flowers will inspire you to tidy your desk? I tore my office apart, dusted, vacuumed, emptied out old hard drive and feng-shuied the heck out of my workspace in record time, so ‘we’ could set up my new recording studio.
How I love to be in front of this microphone. That’s probably geeky to admit. It’s just magical, hitting a button and then hearing something I made come out of the speaker.
One fall day in 1970 something, my Dad came home from work with a large present for the house. To our delight, he un-boxed a sparkling Zenith stereo, complete with recording capabilities and blank 8-track tapes. Oh my!
Beck was more impressed with the improved play of her vast record collection and the ability to blast American Top 40, but I looked for every recording opportunity. Hearing my voice come out of the speakers bathed my brain in endorphins. Well, it released my inner ham. Dad’s Christmas morning recording that year revealed some shy supporting actors and me.
“Dy-no-mite!” I exclaimed after one present.
“Heyyyy,” I said, opening another. I was rather enamored of Jimmy Walker and Henry Winkler at the time.
Sigh, good times. By the way, Beck’s intel is that Mom was decidedly not pleased with Dad’s surprise use of the tax return check. Their arrangement was Dad worked outside the home, gave his check to Mom and she made the whole thing hang together week to week. She probably had some boring plan for the money, like putting it on the tax bill or buying another bond. Thankfully, I was oblivious as usual to the sub-plot.
Back to 2021, almost ‘22. Now, thanks to H.S.H., when you opt to listen to the post, you will actually be listening to my PODCAST. I’m tingly all over.
Whether this morning finds you refining your resolutions or securing black-eyed peas. may you have a happy, healthy and inspired New Year!
To listen to What’s in Your IN-Box click here.