I don’t like to talk on the phone. Never have. As a matter of fact, I detest being on the phone.
That’s the reason it shocked me when Mom and I ended a phone call a few days ago and I realized we had talked for about an hour and a half.
An hour and a half? That’s about 88 or 89 minutes longer than most of my phone conversations.
This was a special situation, though.
I’m getting three little books ready for publication, and Mom is serving as “editorial consultant,” i.e. typical mom.
On this particular day, we were going page by page over the phone, talking about corrections, changes, suggestions and so forth. It was a somewhat complicated procedure because I had made some minor changes, just enough that our versions weren’t exactly alike.
After about an hour, Mom asked, “Why don’t we take a break, go get something to eat, then come back to this?”
And that’s when she realized this wouldn’t work; we weren’t in the same place. We weren't even in the same town!
She said she had been thinking of several places where we could go grab a quick bite to eat before returning to our work at hand.
That’s something rather difficult to do when you’re over 100 miles apart, don’t you think?