Now I can’t Instagram the scene in front of the high school, where the football team is sharing the field with a flock of geese, with the bon mots, “Kinnelon Colts vs. Canadian Geese.”
I can’t check my e-mail before I get on the elliptical machine at the gym, so I won’t find out for two hours that Hotels.com is offering a deal on rooms in Vegas for as low as $22 per night, which will conjure up images of crime scenes from the TV show, “CSI.”
To find out how long I’ve been lifting weights, I have to look at a clock. On the wall. But only after I give up on trying to read the watch on the guy next to me, who’s lifting his arm up and now down and now up and now down and now I’m dizzy.
I can’t text my brother with a funny reference to something from our teenage years that I will forget shortly after I get into my car.
I can’t look up a recipe, so I’ll stand in the middle of the supermarket produce section, flummoxed, because I forgot to pick out something to cook for dinner. I will choose meat, potatoes and broccoli, because when you leave the house without your Internet-in-a-pocket, you have no choice but to resort to cooking like it’s 1972.
I can’t Instagram the children’s portable chairs with the cartoon monkeys on them that are lined up atop the freezers in the ice cream aisle.
I will have no idea what time it is, so I’ll rush through check-out, only to wind up at cross country practice pick-up in the high school parking lot 30 minutes early.
I will watch the cheerleaders practice, and I’ll laugh when the Canadian geese leave the football field en masse, honking along the way as if to complain about noise coming from the cheerleaders.
My ice cream will melt while I stare out the window at the hawks circling the trees.
I’ll put my feet up so I can get some sun on my legs, while I listen to the radio, tapping my foot and closing my eyes.
I will sigh a deep, relaxing sigh.
I will drive my son home from practice and search for my phone, so I can check my e-mail, texts, Twitter feed, Instagram updates and Facebook wall posts.
And I will quickly miss the best two-hour vacation ever.