Monday, January 28, 2013

The Scanner

When I was a young girl, I remember being at my Grandma's house and hearing the low hum of static.

My Grandmother, Joyce, had her fire and police scanner radio on all the time. I wonder what happened to that black and silver box that always confused me. I didn't understand (at that time) how she could sit and listen to that radio and do crossword puzzles all day.

Joyce was never shy to whip open her front curtain to see what was going on in the world. Again, what was so interesting outside, just cars and people walking by. At my age, there were so many more important things to do, like play with my Cabbage Patch kid or play with Grandmas's coasters that were old rug samples (boy, do I miss those).

And at this moment, I laugh out loud at myself. My favorite chair is right up near the window. The curtain opens within arms length of my perch. And on my lap, the familiar sounds of my childhood.

The beeps, the static, the muffled sounds. The device is different, the words and events being reported are scarier, but the routine is mostly the same. Instead of a radio, it's an app. Instead of a crossword, it's crochet. Instead of Snyder, it's Amherst.

Instead of Joyce, it's Carrie Joyce.

Yes, I carry my Grandmother in my middle name.

Clearly, it's destiny.

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