Palm Panic.

Last night, I reached for my Palm Pilot to schedule a babysitting date with a friend.  It wasn’t in my purse, and no matter how many pass throughs I made in that mess of a pocketbook…it wasn’t materializing.  I’ve gone through this before, so I forced myself to think through the possibilities.  Did I leave it on the charger?  Did I leave it on the sync cord?  No to both of these.

Big deal, right?  It is, actually.  My Palm contains addresses of people I’ve not talked to in years, it contains anniversary and birthday dates, it contains information about my medical history and doctor appointments, it has notes about the milestones of my children, it holds various pin and account numbers, it is a virtual history of the last 4 years, and to lose it would be an absolute heartbreak.  The day I found out I was pregnant–it’s in there.  The time my hubby and I went to that great new restaurant–it’s in there.  The exact day and time of my mom’s passing away–it’s in there.  A computerized diary…I can’t imagine life without this particular electronic device. 

Late last night, armed with a flashlight, I searched our cars.  There, wedged down in between the seats, along with old candy wrappers and various other floatsom, was my Palm Pilot.  I felt a wave of relief. 

Say what you will about our society being too dependent on modern appliances.  My Palm and I?  True love always.

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