The Last Time

The last time I threw-up was in my tiny apartment in Paris.  Before that, it was in Chicago when I was watching Dances with Wolves.  The last time I drove a scooter was in Cozumel.  And the last time I made a snowman was on the running path along Lake Michigan.  But I have no idea when I last heard Donny Osmond sing Puppy Love.  I'd love to know who I was talking to the last time I stretched the curly phone cord straight and slid it under the door to talk in private at the top of the basement steps at my parents' house.  And it'd sure be nice if I could remember the last time someone called me "miss" instead of "ma'am."

I started thinking about "last times" on my run yesterday.  (Hopefully it wasn't my last.)  I usually run the first half mile uphill.  Then I think I deserve to stop to stretch on the weathered wooden fence at the top of the vineyard.  But yesterday, when I was just about to die (where the uphill road bends and I'm in a little cavern of cornfields) some bikers came up from behind.  "Ciao Bionda!"  "Che bella!"  "Guarda che passo!"  "Che brava!"  (Hey Blondie!  You're beautiful!  Look at your pace!  You're great!)  It was such a pleasant surprise that I forgot I was dying and in need of a break.  A little encouragment goes a long way.  An extra two miles to be exact.  I just kept running past the fence and started believing that I really did have a decent pace and I was great.  As for being blond and beautiful?  The blond part's true (in a certain sense), but I'm not so sure about the beautiful part.  Bella is a part of every Italian man's vocabulary.  In fact, I'm almost positive I heard a 2-year old boy say "Ciao Bella" as I ran past the other day. That one went on the list of firsts.

So, the bikers passed and I kept running and thinking about "last times".  I realized that one day I won't hear "Ciao bella" anymore.  I'll just notice that I haven't heard it for a while, but I won't be able to remember when the last time was.  We're seldom aware when things are happening that they might be happening for the last time.  Major events, yes.  They often come with fanfare and photos and friends and we're aware of the finale.  But the little things that are part of everyday life just slip away unnoticed.  Like the last time I ate SpaghettiOs, the last time I locked my bike on the stop sign in front of my old house or the last time I wore the wool MSU band coat that I bought at The Salvation Army in 1987.

I finished the run thinking there are some things that I really have done for the last time and it made me sad.  But when I got teary about the last time I'd played my piano and my last game of beach volleyball and the last time I drove a convertible under the full moon with the heat on high I realized that those are on the last time list only because I've let them be.  I just have to do them again, and then I won't have to wonder when the last time was.  

As for the last "Ciao Bella", I'm not so worried anymore.  I'd forgotten that I live in Italy now where there will never be a shortage of "Ciao Bellas."   You don't have to be young and beautiful to hear that one.  And fortunately ciao means hello and goodbye in Italian, so if I'm lucky maybe it'll be the last thing I ever hear.
  


The only time you mustn't fail is the last time you try.  Charles Kettering.

The Importance of Being (Dis)Connected

My first mass text came at 12:02a.m. on New Year's Eve about ten years ago.  I remember feeling special for having been thought of by an old friend at such an intimate hour.  Moments later I learned about the feature on phones (that only my grandma and I hadn't known about)  allowing one message to be sent to the whole address book.  The feeling of joy for having been remembered had passed before the last line of Auld Lang Syne was sung.
 
I never got another mass text in the US, but with all of Italy's extra holidays, it's a regular occurance here and it bothers me more and more with each beep-beep.

I'm not sure why someone would think it would make me feel good to get the same generic message they've sent to the rest of their address book.  There's absolutely nothing about ME inside their wish for a Happy New Year or Happy Easter or other happy Italian holiday.  They didn't write "Send Tenley a text" on their  To Do List, they wrote "Send mass text."  They didn't have to search for my name in their phone and remind themselves if I was listed under my first name, last name, nickname, teacher or l'americana.  They weren't thinking of me when they added the little smiley icon, because had they really been thinking of ME they'd have known that my phone is so old it prints those little faces as squares.  There's absolutely nothing in a group text that makes me feel special.  Instead of giving me a modicum of merriment for having been wished a happy holiday, it really just makes me mad. (And I think it would've made Andy Rooney mad, too.)

Italian teens keep track of how many messages they receive on holidays.  It's kind of like being liked on Facebook.  Italian adults interrupt conversations to read these texts.  And if they haven't already sent their own mass text, they respond individually to the ones they receive.

Sometimes senders forget to sign their names.  If the number isn't memorized in your phone and the message comes unsigned you don't even know who's (NOT) thinking of you.  What do I do if this happens?  I ignore it.  What do my Italian friends do?  They send an equally generic reply to avoid being rude by not responding (even if they have no idea who they're be being rude to).  I don't consider this connecting.

I was once wished well in a mass text by the secretary of a school that had called me a year earlier looking for a teacher.  She had apparently saved my number (even though I'm sure she'd had no idea who I was) and I had saved hers (in case I needed a job some day). I'm sure she didn't intend to send holiday greetings to someone whose number she'd found in the want ads.

Easter is an important day for mass........and mass texts.   This year I was with a friend when his phone rang.  He responded, as most Italians do (no matter what they're doing).  They answer their phones when they're at your house for dinner.  They answer their phones when you're at their house for dinner.  They answer their phones when they're swapping secrets in the bar, sharing tea in the kitchen and hiking in the mountains.

Eavesdropping on this Easter conversation, I realized that the caller hadn't intended to make the call. He'd just sent his mass Easter text and a technological glitch had saved the last number the message was sent to.  His phone was put back in his pocket and an accidental call was made to the last person in the address book.  He heard a voice and admitted that he didn't know who it was.   He awkwardly explained that he hadn't meant to make the call but had only intended to say Buona Pasqua (Happy Easter) in a mass text. The brief conversation was filled with,  "How are you?  Ok?  How's your family?  Is everything okay with your family?"  And then it was all repeated by the other.  It lasted 30 seconds.  Both parties were at a loss for spoken words.  I think they could use a lesson from Homer.  "Words as empty as the wind are best left unsaid."  

So, if  "Contact Tenley" is on your To Do List, I certainly won't be insulted that I'm a To Do List item. Lots of people are busy and sometimes have to be reminded of important things to do.  But if I'm only a part of the "Send Mass Text" on your list of things to do, please don't include me.  It will only remind me that I'm not quite important enough.

Charles Dickens said, "Electric communication will never be a substitute for the face of someone who with their soul encourages another person to be brave and true."   The face of someone, not the Facebook.  If this was his thought on "electric communication" in the 1800s, I'd like to hear his thoughts on mass text messaging.  I've never read one that was really written from the soul.  I think Dickens would agree with me and Mr. Rooney.  We could all use a little Auld Lang Syne (days gone by) every now and then.



The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.  -George Bernard Shaw