At exactly 8:28 this evening, after returning from dinner and Christmas light viewing with my daughter and grandson, I threw my purse and antique, red, flip top phone on my bed, and let Athena, my dog, out. Shortly thereafter, I inadvertently knocked the phone on the floor between the foot of the bed and my grandmother’s (the one I never knew because she died long before I was born) cedar chest. Rather than moving the chest, I retrieved a long handled duster and gave it a swipe, thinking the phone would fly out intact. Unfortunately such is not the case. First, the back of the phone removed itself from the rest and flew out. I tried once again and the rest of the phone flew out. I picked it up and the notice read, “Insert Sim Card”. I looked at the phone. Sure enough, no Sim Card. Subsequently, I moved the cedar chest, pulled out the bed, retrieved a larger duster and totally cleaned under the bed. I even went to the garage, got the flash light, and looked under the bed everywhere. Still no Sim Card. Finally, in disgust, I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of zinfandel, The Seven Deadly Zins to be specific, and continued to read “There Will Be No Miracles Here” by Casey Gerald. How apropos, except I have never suffered like he has (or if I have, I have conveniently forgotten), I am not black, nor male, nor gay, nor poor (he probably is no longer either), and, comparatively speaking, I am very old.