It’s been twelve days since my last post, which is an eternity in bloggertime, and especially in aspiring bloggertime. I know this because for four-plus years I was director of content at a PR firm in Chicago, IntraLink Global, where we urged our clients to post daily, at the very least, and more often if it was humanly possible.
But knowing that didn’t keep me from being lured into a technology holiday that was initially involuntary and ended up being a hard new habit to break. When my iPhone and Pale Ale collided in my golf trolley a few days into my stay here, the only thing that kept me from immediately cashing in the upgrade for the next gen iPhone I was eligible for was Greg Ramsay, who told me he had a phone line he’d been paying for that wasn’t being used.
As I waited for this phone to materialize, I started going places without a phone and realized anew that this was a possible thing. I am not currently employed and have no kids so I don’t really have to be “reachable,” I realized. Then being unreachable started to feel pretty damned good. I played so much golf I ran out of Advil and had to switch to Panadol. I continued my new pastime of birdwatching without a field guide and just giving these Tasmanian birds names that I make up based on appearance, song or whimsy.
During this little break from everything except cooking for the guests here, I also realized that I’ve become obscenely dependent on GPS, which isn’t especially surprising as I readily admit to being directionally challenged. (Best U-turner in the upper Midwest!) As it turns out, there continue to be road signs posted that are meant to guide drivers who look at them and generally pay attention to their surroundings. Yesterday, giddy on this newfound power, I mapped out a route, memorized the four turns required in this hour-long sojourn and guided myself without incident to a Coal River Farm cheesery, where I picked up supplies for what should be an epic macaroni and cheese at our Memphis BBQ Saturday night.
More posts forthcoming! Both from Memphis and from here. Mick knocked together a sweet found-object smoker yesterday, and the house is already perfumed with slow-smoked plumb wood heritage pork.