WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge: Mind the Gap

Smartphones: blessing or curse

One day my son paid us a visit.

“Look dad, I have got a new phone.” Of course, my son would not say “look mum” in this case as mum was still happy with her hand-me-down mobile phone, the third in a row of hand-me-downs from dad.

“I thought you had an iPhone” answered dad.

“No, not any more, I did not like the typing pad. I now have an android.”

Listening to this conversation I had to look at my son carefully. No, he did not resemble ET. He had an Android telephone. My son continued.

“Hey dad, have you seen this app, it’s free?”

I was now completely lost. They were speaking a foreign language which I had not yet learnt. They have apps and androids. Their telephones did not ring any more, or play a simple tune, they spoke, they vibrated, they hummed and buzzed. They were alive.

I was on a learning curve at the time, although I did not dare to intervene in this hyper-technical conversation between two communication experts. I decided to wait for a quiet moment with dad or son to ask my silly questions.

In the meanwhile I spared a few thoughts for the senior members of the human society. How do they find their way in this new system? I do not think they do, unless they have telecommunication experts in the family, as I do. Mr. Swiss is quite good at explaining, he knows just how it all works. Unfortunately he is more interested in showing me what he knows than how it all works. He explains it all with the mobile in his hand at a distance (I am not allowed to touch it) and this all in our house language of Swiss German. I suppose it is called distance learning.

Now and again I travel into town by our local train. On the return journey from the main station, I might have to wait, so I take a seat. The seat is often shared with members of the younger generation, teenagers taking the train home after school. In my younger years we would have a conversation talking about newest fashions or music. This is a thing of the past. A few of these younger commuters are sort of swaying to the music they hear through the ear plug attached to their cell phone. Those not listening are looking at their smartphone. Some are flicking over pages from Internet showing a selection of newest fashion models, perhaps they have logged into their Facebook side, or perhaps they are talking with a colleague per telephone, of course with live visual communication.

One day, my hand-me-down normal average mobile telephone was broken. It was not working. “No problem” said Mr. Swiss and the worse happened, he had bought a new iPhone of the newer generation and gave me is older iPhone.

“Ah” I said.

“You can have it, it is quite easy to operate. Look”. I did not dare to interrupt and after about half an hour he found I now knew how it worked. To be quite honest, I found it quite a good idea. I saw myself waiting for the train and doing what the others did. I now belonged; I was no longer an outsider. I could play with my touch screen, even surf and write messages. Of course, I had to learn all this.

It was then that I received an e-mail from the Swiss Telecommunications congratulating me on my new phone (they already knew?) and telling me that I would have to pay more for this super modern new service. I could discuss with them online, or pay a visit to their local shop. Mr. Swiss told me it would cost more, although he had the minimum. He was not the surfer type with the phone. He actually used it to call people and receive calls.

The next day armed with my new hand-me-down super-duper iPhone (type 3) I paid a visit to the office in town. After a conversation with the young man I decided why be satisfied with a hand-me-down type 3, when for an all-inclusive price I could have it all. Free local telephone calls, free surfing and tons of apps – no problem. I now belonged, I was in the smartphone telecommunications network. Naturally a type 3 iPhone was no longer what I wanted, so I organised the type 4. A type 5 is now available, but I do not like the shape, so at the moment I remain with type 4.

I returned home and Mr. Swiss asked how it went.

“You can have your hand-me-down type 3, I now have a type 4.”

There were a few moments of speechlessness and then the technical questions began. Of course my capacity for loading photos was not so much as Mr. Swiss I did not even think of asking at the shop, but no problem. I have all my photos in Flickr. Flickr have an app, just upload it onto the phone. I do not take so many photos with my phone, as I always take my camera when I go anywhere.

Last week-end my son visited again with another new Android phone. Each time I see him he has a new phone. Now I could join in the conversation, although I actually started the conversation.

“What is the difference between the Android and the iPhone” was my super intelligent question. Before Mr. Swiss could begin to answer, my son filled me in on the details. It is a matter of using iTunes/Apple. My son uses Google on his Android. It seems I could import all my contacts from Facebook into an Android: with Apple that it not possible. I have approximately 900 contacts in Facebook and only really know only about 10% personally. I decided this would not be an advantage. After further discussion, I remain with my iPhone 4.

So, have you noticed? I can now discuss like all the in people that have a smartphone. In the meanwhile I have got myself a mini iPad. I have become an iPerson. I even now play online games on my iPhone while waiting for the local train. I belong.  

MULTIPLY Writing Prompt #16: I fought the law

Maria Russo was sad. Her one and only Joey had died. Not her son Joey, he was in good health and was a good boy, always had a place in his heart for Mama Russo. Joey was Maria’s canary. He was a good age for a canary, almost ten years old and he was everything for Maria. He would sing in the morning and she would wake up to his familiar song. He died in the night. If an autopsy had been performed the vet would have told Mama Russo that it was his heart. It just stopped beating, but after so many years, for a canary, this was to be expected.

She put her little canary in a small box, lined with a small silk scarf and buried him in the garden in a nice sunny place. She had the feeling he could carry on singing in his little canary heaven when the sun was shining. Heavy of heart she cleaned the cage and put everything away. It was then that she noticed the remainder of the bird food. She decided to spread it over Joey’s grave. At least he would have his favourite meal growing around him. Her son Joey always bought the bird food and told her he grew nicely as it was top quality seed.

Time went on and she noticed a nice little garden growing where Joey had been buried. She was already thinking about getting another Joey when she heard the screeching of car brakes outside her door and someone pounding on the door.
“Open up, at once otherwise we will be forced to break the door down.”
Maria Russo was an elderly small grey haired lady and was quite shocked by the noise, so she rushed to see what was wrong and was confronted by two men, two police officers and a police car was parked before the door. It was then that a police van also arrived.
“Can I help you officer?” she wanted to say but was cut off midway in her sentence by the men at the door that rushed past her into the garden at the back of the nice little neat house where she lived.
“Here it is men; a nice example of evidence, all growing bushy and almost ripe for picking. The men that had arrived in the van were also now on the scene armed with shovels and started digging some plants out of the garden. Maria was shocked.
“What are you doing? Please stop, that it my Joey’s grave that you are digging up.”
“You have a dead body here as well?” asked one of the plain clothes police officers.
“Did you hear men; the case is more serious than we thought. Looks like murder is also concerned. Put the plants in the van and we will dig further.”
They were slightly embarrassed when they discovered the remains of Joey the canary, but nevertheless it did not deter them from taking the plants away in the van.
Maria Russo was taken in the police car to the station and charged. Her crime was the growing of cannabis plants with the intention of selling the finished product. Maria was shocked and said she was innocent and did not even know that the plants growing around Joey’s grave were forbidden. She found it a sweet memorial to his life and was glad that they had grown so strong and tall. Maria started to cry at the police station and a police lady asked if she would like to call a lawyer.
“I don’t have a lawyer” she answered “but if I could call my boy Joey I would be glad.”
And so Maria called her son.
“Hello mama, how are you. I was coming to see you this afternoon. Is there a problem?”
“Oh Joey, you must help me. I am at the police station.”
“Mama what are you doing at the police station. Were you burgled?”
“No Joey, the police just arrived and took me to the station where I have been charged. Something about the plants growing in my garden, you know where I buried Joey my canary. They say the plants are not allowed.”
“What plants mama?”
“You know those tall ones with the nine leaves on one stem. They say that they are not allowed. Something to do with …”
“What did you say they were called officer?”
“Cannabis Mrs. Russo.”
“Oh, Joey they say they are called Cannabis. Is that bad?”
“Mama, I will be down at the station in five minutes. Don’t answer any more questions, keep quiet and wait for me.”
So Joey called his lawyer, Alfredo Gianni, and arrived at the police station with Alfredo.
“Officer I demand you let my mother go at once. How can you arrest a sweet little old lady on the charge of planting Cannabis. My mother does not even know what it is.”
“Joey, I will deal with this” said Alfredo.
“Joey my boy, and Alfredo, nice to see you both; how is your mama Alfredo and the bambini, I have been wanting to see you for some time. I heard that Gina has just presented you with another son. Send her my best wishes.”
“Thank you Mrs. Russo, I will tell her, but first of all we have to settle the problem of the plants in your garden. Officer, I am sure that Mrs. Russo grew these plants without knowing what they were. Have they been tested for the level of THC?”
“Yes, Mr. Gianni and it seems it is quite high”
“Joey, what’s all this about THC, is that something good for you?”
“No mama, it is not good for you.”
“Do you think that is why my Joey died? Perhaps he ate too much of it.”
“Officer, I hope you are listening to this conversation between my client and her son. It is obvious that Mrs. Russo has no idea what sort of plants were growing in her garden. I am sure this is a complete misunderstanding.”
“Well all I did was to put the remaining canary seed into the garden after I buried my Joey. They made such a nice little garden in his memory.”
“The fact remains that your mother Mr. Russo and your client Mr. Gianni, was growing cannabis plants in her garden containing a high percent of THC; enough to satisfy a lot of people.”
“Joey, I want to go home” said Mrs. Russo with tears in her eyes.
“OK officer, you heard. My client is completely unaware of what is going on and would like to go home.”
“No problem Mr. Gianni, as soon as things are cleared. In the meanwhile she can have a single room in our hotel down in the cellar.” And Maria was taken to a cell.

Joey was furious and Alfredo Gianni told him not to worry. Alfredo phoned his brother, Nuncio, who was a well known judge in the town and told him what had happened. An hour later Maria Russo was in her son’s car on her way home.
“Thank you son, for the help. If it had not have been for you and Alfredo I would still be at the prison. Please son, the next time that you have no room left on our family plantation just don’t bring the plants to me. I have too many nosy neighbours who see what grows in my garden. I just cannot bring that story with the bird seed any more.”
“Don’t worry mama, in future we will keep the weed to ourselves.”
“I knew you were a good boy Joey. By the way I have invited Alfredo and his family to dinner on Sunday. You should come as well with the children. It is such a long time since the family have been together, and I am sure we will have a lot to talk about.”

Writing Prompt #16: I fought the Law

MULTIPLY Writing Challenge: The Portal

Pat felt a bit sad after the funeral. Miss Chadwick was the nicest person she had ever met and did a lot for the village. She had the most beautiful garden in the whole area and it could be seen from the road side. A small door which was always open, showing the beauty of what was hidden behind the walls. It was now up to Pat to write an article in the local newspaper about Mrs. Chadwick, but she just did not know where to begin.

She thought back to how friendly Martha Chadwick was and always ready to help. Her garden was open to the school and on many summer days it was filled with children making notes about the plants growing there. Martha had all sorts of plants. She knew no weeds; at least they were not called weeds in her garden. Every flower and bush had its place. If one of the school children asked her the name of what was growing, Martha Chadwick knew it, not only that, but how it grew, when it was ready to be planted and where the best place was. Whether a daisy, dandelion or a rare orchid, she treated them alike and the children reaped the benefit from her watchful eye. Although she was not a teacher, she was a respected person at the school and her advice was often called for in the biology lessons. Pat remembered her days at the local school and how much she looked forward to the visits made to Miss Chadwick’s garden. Now Miss Chadwick was gone and there was no-one that could take her place.

“Pat, how is the article coming along about Miss Chadwick” it was Dave the editor of the local newspaper where Pat worked.
“There is so much to write about her Dave, I just don’t know where to begin.”
“Well you must hurry Pat, the next work is waiting for you and we want to keep our villagers informed.”
“OK, Dave, surprise me, what is lying around the corner. I cannot think of anything of more importance than writing an article about Martha Chadwick. We have such a lot to thank her for in the village. If a villager was sick, she would call on them. She would take our elderly population into town if they could not walk so well and she often brought them their shopping. Not of course to mention the way she let the children of the village play in her wonderful garden and learn about the plants growing there. Why, she even taught the children the meaning of the insect life in the garden, and woe betide anyone that would kill a spider or ant. Mrs. Chadwick said they were living things and had their purpose on this planet as well as we humans.”
“Yes Pat, but when you have finished singing the praises of Miss Chadwick you can transfer your attention to Robert Blogg and his new project.”

“Oh no,” thought Pat, if it was someone she did not want to write about it was Robert Blogg. He was the richest man in the neighbourhood and known for his building projects, transferring land into concrete shopping centres, owning most of the shops himself.
“What’s his next project Dave? Does he want to turn our village into one of his new shopping centres, at least the elderly people will not have to travel into town, if they are still living here after he has demolished their nice houses and cottages.”
“No, nothing like that Pat. Well almost. Mrs. Chadwick died with no heirs and her property has been bought by Robert Blogg. Of course, he will not be living there himself, he already has a villa on the edge of town up on the hill.”
Pat knew the building. A square white house with three storeys – an eyesore on the hill, but where Robert Blogg could look over the village deciding what to rebuild next.
“So what has Blogg cast his eye on this time? Is it perhaps an underground car park for his fleet of cars up on the hill, or a tennis court for himself and his wife in his garden.”
“No, nothing like that Pat, he has decided to rebuild Miss Chadwick’s garden; the part that you can see through the small door. Or course the door will have to be removed as well as well as the surrounding wall, to have enough room for the building machines to enter. Tomorrow the building starts so make sure you are there with a photographer to see the first building operations.”
“You must be joking Dave, Robert Blogg will be demolishing the beautiful garden that Miss Chadwick built for us all to enjoy. The poor woman will be turning in her grave.”
“That’s life Pat, besides do not forget who pays for the most advertisements in our newspaper. Without the income from Robert Blogg we could close the newspaper down.”
Pat decided it was no good arguing any further with Dave. He was a good boss, but like most business men, money spoke the loudest when it came to the business.

Pat finished her article about Mrs. Chadwick and the next morning she was at the doors of the garden with the photographer waiting for the machine to arrive and it did. It was a large caterpillar waiting at the entrance, its motor making a loud noise and fumes poisoning the fresh air. Pat could have cried, it was like a monster waiting to pounce. Robert Blogg was naturally also there, he could not miss the chance of his photo being on the front page of the newspaper. The caterpillar charged at the door and wall but nothing happened. Part of the machine broke off at the front and the garden could not be entered. Pat told the photographer to take a photo which he did and Robert Blogg started shouting at the operator, his face becoming a deeper red than usual. The machine operator had a closer look at the wall and found that it was still standing, there was not even a scratch on it.

“What the *#@/--* is going on” shouted Robert Blogg “ you can’t tell me that one of my machines cannot break that wall down.”
Suddenly only laughter could be heard. It was coming from a group of children that had just finished their morning school and were watching.
“Looks like Miss Chadwick doesn’t want her garden to be dug up” said one of the boys and everyone laughed.

Robert Blogg decided he did not have to make a fool of himself in front of the village so called his machine operator to one side.
“We will now get another machine and drive into the garden from the other side, up the path to the house and then enter from the back.”
By the time the second machine arrived and was put into place it was evening and the builder’s people went home, so the first destructive actions were postponed until the next day.

When Pat got back to the newspaper her boss Dave wanted to see the pictures she had captured.
“I can’t use this Pat. Robert Blogg seems to be quite excited and all I can see otherwise is a broken machine.”
“I am afraid the whole operation has been postponed until tomorrow Dave” she said, but could not help hiding her smile.

The next day Pat arrived at the Chadwick house, but entered the garden from the other side. The new machine had arrived the evening before and the driver was now ready to go to work. There was just one problem. The machine was covered in one huge web which had been spun by numerous small spiders still scuttling to and fro on the machine. Each time the web was swept away by one of the workers the spiders climbed back onto the machine and started on their work again.
Robert Blogg was getting excited.
“So men, start the job, you are not frightened of a few spiders are you. After all they are a lot smaller than you are.”
“That might be the case” answered the driver “but they are more than us, must be hundreds of them.”
“So do something” said Robert Blogg “throw some water at them”. The men found a hose and turned the water on. The machine was soon cleared of the spiders.
“That’s funny Mr. Blogg” said the driver “although we poured water on the machine it is all running down the side of the machine as if the machine was sealed up.”
“Rubbish” said Blogg “so now drive the machine into the garden and start digging.”
Pat once again took a couple of photos of an irate Mr. Blogg and the machine which was again having problems.
“Mr. Blogg” said the driver “the machine isn’t moving. Something is clogging up the works.”
“So, have a closer look” said Robert Blogg “it is a machine, not a monster.”
The men started taking the machine apart but were not very happy. Inside the machinery they found about two hundred snails and they were moving around leaving a trail of slime everywhere they went. The complete inside of the machine was clogged up with snail slime.
“Sorry boss”, the driver was looking worried “looks like we will have to take this machine back and have a complete service done, it’s full of snail slime.”

Pat could not help stifling a laugh and smiling. She decided there was going to be no work done any more that day and climbed into her car and drove off to the office. On the way she passed by the cemetery. Somehow she had a feeling she must visit Miss Chadwick's grave and put some flowers on it. There was a field of dandelions growing near the cemetery so she picked a bunch and put them on Miss Chadwick’s grave. She knew that would have given Miss Chadwick more pleasure than the most expensive roses. She arrived at the grave and suddenly she had to stop. There was a spider’s web stretching from the stone to the earth, but not a spiders web as usual. At the top were two “o o”, then followed a “l” and below there was a ”)” but in such a way arranged that it was plainly a J. Pat had her own thoughts.

So did Mr. Blogg’s new concrete shopping centre get built? Well no, not really. The beautiful wild garden still exists. The view into from the gate is still as inviting as ever. Pat was glad. It seemed that after Mr. Blogg’s house being infested with bats during the week that followed and him finding numerous anthills in his own garden, as well as his car brakes being bit through by numerous squirrels suddenly appearing in his garage at night, he somehow changed his mind. There were rumours that Miss Chadwick had appeared to him in a dream, at least that was the rumour going around the village.

Pat was very happy to write her article about Mr. Robert Blogg eventually. He had donated the garden to the school and decided against building a shopping center in the village. I wonder why?

The Portal - A Writing Challenge