Incredible journey of iPhone discovery

SCHLURP! (Photo by Jill Scarborough.)

“Do I dare bless ***** with another steaming-pile of turgid prose?
I’d rather not, I told her I’d give her a break.
But ***** recently got an iPhone, and like me seems to be discovering its joys.
And I’m on this incredible journey of iPhone discovery to south FL, where it seems a smartphone is needed to exist.
***** and her husband *** ******* were majordomos in my high-school class — I graduated in 1962. *** was star end on our school’s football team, and probably excelled academically — I don’t remember.
***** may have been “Humanities Scholar,” equivalent to a valedictorian, our school’s feeble attempt to be unique.
Whatever; she did extremely well.
I was just a bottom-feeder — no idea what I was doing — destined for ‘Nam.
Except I had other priorities.
I encountered ***** at our 50-year high-school reunion, and learned she’d been a computer-programmer.
Well of course; she reminded me of my wife, who died over four years ago. ***** was smart enough and savvy enough, and above-all self-driven enough to figger out some deeply-buried programming misstep throwing things awry.
My wife was in law-book publishing; I don’t know about *****.
I probably coulda done that myself — I like playing with ‘pyooters — but I’m also a railfan.
I been chasing trains all my life, but I also vastly enjoy this here MacBook Pro, also my iPhone.
Especially figgering ‘em out.
Our plane, an Allegiant Airlines A320, drifted toward Fort Lauderdale over the Atlantic.
Our descent began over 89 bazilyun tightly packed bungalows, many with red stucco roofs, many with postage stamp-sized swimming pools.
I come from a rural setting — my neighbors aren’t right next door. I hardly ever see ‘em; they’re 500 feet away.
I’m from Wilmington’s (DE) suburbs, but my wife was country. I came to prefer country living.
South FL is the most densely packed agglomeration I’ve ever seen.
Skyscrapers in Fort Lauderdale were also visible.
I (we) fenced at least half of our 4.7 acres — at least half of that is wooded.
I can let my dog out without fear of her getting hit in the highway. Loud Harleys blast past at 80+, throttles to-the-moon! (A crotch-rocket will crank 100+, wheelieing.)
My next step was car-rental, my biggest leap since my wife’s mother’s 100th birthday in De Land, FL last year.
For that my wife’s brother carted me around.
It ain’t easy; I miss my wife immensely. My wife’s mother’s 100th was my first trip. Over three years had passed.
I had a stroke 23 years ago due to an undiagnosed heart-defect. My wife thereafter covered for me.
I’m left with slight aphasia, difficulty getting words out for speech.
People tell me I talk fine, but I’m aware of it; especially my stoney silences.
I arranged car-rental in advance through the airline with National.
Or so I thought!
After a long hike through the airport, National sent me packing!
What to do? After a few minutes, and calling my niece, I ambled over to Alamo. They rented me a car.
So long National! In words of our newest prez: “You’re fired!”
Next was getting to my niece in north Fort Lauderdale, not far from Cypress Creek.
The intent of my trip was to visit my niece.
She’s my sister’s only child, and now has two children of her own. My sister, younger than me, is now gone.
I thereafter set up my iPhone’s GPS, airport to my niece.
Around-and-around the airport I drove, at least twice. Multiple views of the “Departure Area;” look-out for the fish-festooned county bus (HONK)!
“Turn right in 300 feet.” I’m approaching many right-turn options; I’m supposed to get out and measure 300 feet?
Finally onto I-95 north per the GPS-lady: “Exit to Commercial Boulevard.”
I called my niece. “Not there,” she cried. “Cypress Creek Road.”
“I’m already on Commercial, per the GPS-lady.”
“You can do it from there, but we always use Cypress Creek Road.”
Next was 31st Street. My niece was suggesting I use 31st Street to get over to Cyprus Creek Road.
“I’m driving into the sun, so I can’t see the signs.”
So much for 31st Street; GPS started “recalculating.”
Back-and-forth! This way and that! Loop around; around-the-block.
“South FL is a grid, north-and-south or east-and-west,” I was told.
“Then how come the street I’m on is diagonal?”
Finally, using GoogleMaps GPS, I was on her street, but passed her abode at least three times.
When I pulled in their dog roared at me, then gave me a hearty welcome (above). “Oh, a dog-person, eh? SCHLURP-SCHLURP-SCHLURP-SCHLURP!”
Then “SLUP-SLUP-SLUP!”
“Any other visitors allow this?” I asked. “Ya ‘bout knocked me over.”
The next morning we carted their daughter to a softball practice. She’s only seven, I think, and only a beginner.
Six or seven young girls, and a couple coaches.


My niece’s daughter Katie. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Daughter’s flowing hair was getting in the way. “She needs a pony-tail,” my niece said to a coach.
“He can do it; he has daughters of his own.”
Next was the “dog-lake.”
South FL is so crowded dogs are not allowed in parks. Instead there are “dog-parks.” To run yer dog, ya take it to a “dog-park.”
Except this place was a small lake, what up north we’d call a “pond.” It was privately owned, and charged admission.
My niece’s dog, Lily, a smallish female German Shepherd, knew where she was, and started whining as we approached.


Lily in the dog-lake. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

At lake’s edge other dogs were running freely, mainly retrieving balls, etc tossed into the lake by their masters.
Zoombita-Boombita! Occasional growling and humping.
Dogs careening this-way-and-that, merrily cavorting.
My right thumb started infecting as I left Rochester. I hoped it would hang on until I got back.
But it was swelling, and began to hurt.
I wanted to lance it, but my niece’s husband suggested “urgent-care;” better-yet.
Off we zoomed, but the first place we tried was closed on weekends.
Um, HELLO; I thought the whole idea of urgent-care was to cover weekends. (It was Saturday.)
Here it is, dear readers, we’re in south FL: unholster smartphone.
GOOGLE-TIME!
“I need the nearest urgent-care open on Saturday,” hubby said to my niece.
He had already Googled his own smartphone. Now my niece was helping.
Urgent-care didn’t lance; just a prescription for antibiotic.
Next was a surgical-strike to my wife’s brother and his wife about a half-hour north. That brother is now 75; I’m 73.
We’d eat out at some fancy restaurant in Boca Raton.
Brother-in-law texted me the restaurant address, and it was underlined in his text.
“Click that!” my niece exclaimed. WONDER-OF-WONDERS, it fired up the same GPS-lady my GoogleMaps uses, but was Apple’s “Maps” app, on my iPhone when I got it. (GoogleMaps was from the App Store; suggested by my ‘pyooter store.)
No matter, took me right right to it, in some deepest, darkest funky place awaiting the next hurricane.
The only drama was finding a place to park — brother-in-law had to use valet parking.
The area appeared to be from the ‘50s.
“Seems like the onliest way to exist is south FL is to operate a smartphone,” I noted.
“That’s only the youngsters,” brother-in-law observed. “No smartphones for oldsters.”
The next day, a Sunday, we visited one of the sightseeing piers out into the Atlantic from Fort Lauderdale beach. It was my niece and her son Ty. He’s 13.
A grizzled fee-collector warned to not feed the pelicans.


Ty at pier entrance. (Photo by BobbaLew.)


“Aye-aye, matey.” (Photo by BobbaLew.)


Surf and sand and flesh. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

“EEEEEUUUUUW!” my niece wailed. “That’s chopped-up shrimp on the railing; fishermen are chopping bait out here.”
We then ate gelato and bought a souvenir tee-shirt.
“We gotta come here more often,” my niece said. “It’s a neat place, and northerners come to visit. —We live here.”


Ty and his mother next to the gelato emporium. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

On our way home we passed both a Maserati dealer and Ferrari dealer. Ty, like me, is a car-guy.
Or I was. ” What sense does that make? Stuck in traffic fiddling the radio in yer 200-mph car. Can’t chase trains in a Ferrari or Maser. Where’s the road-clearance? No farm-tracks for them things!”

HOME TO THE FROZEN TUNDRA
iPhone alarm at 4 A.M. Over 600 smackaroos to Courtyard Marriott. (I think the reason I’m loaded is because I don’t like spending money.)
Three times around airport before finding rental-car return, plus one off-route.
Amazingly I didn’t lose anything, although I tried awful hard. Glasses, pens, lumbar support, keys, etc. Over-and-over: “Where are my glasses/keys/whatever?”
Also I never fell, and my balance is dreadful! —I think that was more paying attention to where my feet fell; like careful at curbs, escalators, etc.
At the car-rental return I suggested I might need a motorized Skycap to get me to the security check. “Skycaps have to be reserved in advance at your destination.” Hmmmmnnnnnn....
“Why thank you ma’am; sounds like yer a gumint employee.” —I hiked it.
I managed to parry all this madness without my usual cheering-section: “Thank you, National,” missing this-or-that, “reserve Skycap at destination,” etc, etc.
Every move we made was chronicled by text. Even though miles apart, we knew where we all were — utterly beyond the pale 50 years ago.
What I noticed most was how everyone in south FL was using a smartphone. Even the geezers — they were probably playing ‘pyooter-games, or hitting porn sites.
People awaiting their plane in the airport toying their smartphones.
Restaurants, gas-stations, groceries, church.
Anything untoward or unexpected happens; drag out smartphone.
My brother-in-law, his wife, and me, all awaiting din-din at the funky restaurant, fiddling our smartphones.
“Forget Lambos Ty, the future is yer smartphone.”
(Although what will it be next year?)

• “Jill Scarborough” is my FL niece I was visiting.
• My wife died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her immensely. Best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I sure needed one. She actually liked me.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke. It slightly compromised my speech.
• A “Lambo” is a Lamborghini (“lam-bore-GEE-nee;” as in “get”), a mega-priced Italian sports-exotic, competition for Ferrari and Maserati.