I sat on my front porch with a small jigsaw puzzle, a painting of a Carolina wren. I was listening to the "Hidden Brain" radio program on my cell phone.
After fitting a piece into place, I paused. I had Maine Public playing live on my phone. If I had missed the broadcast, I could have listened to it as a podcast. I could take a break, if I chose, to scan the QR code on the puzzle box, to learn more about the Carolina wren.
Of course, a text from a friend could arrive. I might even get a severe weather warning.
Why do we even call it a phone anymore?
I just checked my “recent calls.” The last one I made was last week. No transactions in or out since then.
In that same amount of time, I watched and listened to various programs on my phone. I searched for answers to questions that arose out of my reading or writing. Or, to be honest, tackled that perennial query, “Where have I seen that actor before?”
While at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens recently, I identified the songs of six birds in two seconds using the Merlin app.
I also took a lot of photos, using my, um, phone.
Maybe I should start calling it my “phone of all trades.”
I used Maps to get to the gardens, even though it’s a straightforward route. While on a trip to Massachusetts in April, Siri tried three times to get my husband, Paul, and me to take an alternate route. She sounded like she was getting hysterical, demanding that we go another way. We shut her off and ended up stuck in horrendous roadwork traffic.
You’d think I’d have learned to listen to Siri after the same thing happened to me as I drove Interstate 93 through Boston last fall.
Now I’ve decided it’s wise to seek her advice for even the simplest of trips, as she does seem to know if there are snafus ahead.
Every once in a while, when I consider my reliance on technology, I think, “Are you really the same person who learned to type on a manual Smith Corona?”
As a kid, I sat in the rear of my family’s Plymouth station wagon and shouted out directions to my father from a AAA “TripTik.” The booklet would have been specially prepared for us, outlining the route to Florida. I think I remember it noted “speed traps.”
It was useful, if you had a nerdy child who enjoyed navigating while lounging amongst suitcases, coolers and at least one of the family dogs.
When I am traveling alone, I want my GPS to tell me when next to turn left.
In the past week, I used my phone to find a favorite biscuit recipe. I played “green noise” on the Calm app when I couldn’t fall back asleep because somebody in my neighborhood thought it would be fun to set off fireworks after midnight.
I sometimes do my French lessons on Duolingo on my phone, although I prefer to use my iPad, because it has a detachable keyboard. Typing lines like “Je ne sais pas s'il va pleuvoir aujourd'hui” is just not fun on a phone.
However, I’m glad to have the phone option when I need to do my lesson while waiting for an appointment, say.
My phone has replaced some things. The dictionary, thesaurus and encyclopedia, for example. Most recently it has replaced field guides. I will take pictures of plants just to see what they are. I snapped our venerable (at least 80 years old) pear tree just to see if AI would identify the type of pear it is. I did learn it is a European pear, which was interesting, as I had suspected it was Asian. That’s as far as I got.
Corvids regularly show up in the yard to scoop up any birdseed that has fallen on the ground. Are they ravens or crows? Snap. The AI says ravens.
But I still watch shows on a television, because it would be silly to try to share a tiny screen with Paul. We tried it once. We were at a rental cottage and the Wi-Fi went out. We were on the last episode of a series and couldn’t wait to see the ending. Really, we should have waited.
Sometimes I read on my phone, but it is only when I have no other option. I prefer print, or e-books on my iPad.
Although I use my phone constantly, I don’t feel like I’m addicted. I don’t carry it with me around the house. I use it for specific purposes. I don’t doomscroll. Still, I do feel adrift if I don’t have access to it for more than a few hours, such as when we lost power in a storm last December.
I’m attached, and that concerns me a bit, but not enough to make me go on a cleansing “phone fast.” Suppose our resident cardinals show up in the yard? I must try for a photo!
I tell myself that should a time come when I am completely separated from my phone for whatever bizarre reason, I know how to use a cookbook, a dictionary and a SLR camera.
My only question: Could I still buy film?
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