I live in a town with a lot of well-off people. The burglars have figured this out. I bought a locking mailbox that sits on the street with two other mail boxes. Mine has been tampered with twice. Once they bent down the metal to reach their hands inside and get a 2020 calendar, a T-shirt, a bunch of bills (which they did not pay) and other stuff I don’t even know about.
I fortified the metal underneath with wood. The second time they tried to force the lock.
If I ‘m going to be out of town over a Saturday night, I text my kids, asking them to bring in my mail, since the burglars usually strike early Sunday morning, like 4:00 a.m.
Texting is great, but sometimes things get lost in translation. Texting is something you can do while doing two other things.
When I am watching the evening news while also checking Facebook, if I text you, please don’t call me. I will simply text you that I will call you at 6:00 when the news is over.
I like Lester, as in Lester Holt on NBC. He tells it pretty straight, and a person can’t always get that. For instance, someone posted on facebook that there is no crisis at the border with minors coming here in droves. According to Lester, there really are thousands of un- accompanied minors at the border, mostly teenaged boys, sent away by the families in an ever-growing-more-dangerous third-world country like Guatemala.
One of my kids went to Guatemala years ago, and there were armed guards at her hotel. She was not allowed to leave the hotel grounds unless accompanied by a Guatemalan. The country continues to be hostile toward Americans, White people, and any native male who won’t join a gang.
But I digress.
My kids prefer texting. It’s short and sweet. Sometimes I call, but I often get a better response when I text. I have two male friends who won’t respond to their children’s texts. They want phone calls. We all want phone calls, but I will take what I can get. I know my children well enough to hear their voices in their texts.
Another child of mine shared some good news on a group chat. I asked question after question when I found out at bedtime — mine, not hers. This morning my son asked me if my last text was code to a sleeper agent?
I had texted the Morningstar is in the garage freezer.
I’m not sure what a sleeper agent is, but I found it funny. He can be so funny but usually not around me, more around his sibs.
All I was doing was telling my youngest where to find her vegetarian sausages that were on sale at Costco the last time I went there. I bought her a 32-pack for $7.00. A couple Christmases ago, I paid $5.00 for a six-pack of them at Lucky’s. My kids scarfed them down that holiday, so worth it.
But now, they are really worth it when they come in a Costco jumbo pack, and I get a joke out of my son, to boot.