“Find My . . .”

                                                                              

“Where’s my watch?” Panic flooded through me when I noted my naked wrist. I glanced into the clean clothes piled on my bed, lifting and shifting in careless desperation. I backtracked into the bathroom, glancing at the countertop where I place it when bathing. Nothing.

Not too concerned yet, I attacked the mound of sheets in the laundry room, as it would’ve been a possible hiding place. Closing my eyes, I visualized whipping them from the dryer. Finding nothing, I got on my knees to search the floor while listening to the load tossing in the drum. Hearing nothing, I popped open the door, dragged out the nearly dry towels, and searched frantically through them. Nothing. I eyed the washer, hitting the spin on its cycle as I watched, and shot out a silent prayer that it wasn’t in that load. It wasn’t.

By this time, I recruited my husband to help with the search when he asked the obvious question, “Have you checked Find My with your phone?”

Of course, I hadn’t. I grabbed my phone and queried, “Siri, find my watch” with confidence its location would be revealed immediately. Nothing. As I’d never used this app before, I noticed it had a PLAY SOUND option, which I tapped. Still nothing.

Shaken, I convinced myself that I may have lost it outside. I’d watered both yards and rewrapped three hoses. My watch band could have caught on one and slipped off without me noticing. Phone in hand, I retraced my morning routine feeling dread as I found absolutely nothing again.

My anxiety notched up with each silent minute with my phone in hand. With absolute certainty I knew I’d set my watch on pause while at the park doing the weight machines, but maybe it dropped into my KAVU pack when I’d taken out water. Returning inside, I inspected it quickly. Nothing. 

“Could I have lost it on that last stretch of my walk?” I mumbled to myself as I  pulled on sandals and retraced my morning route. 

Eyes scanning the ground before me, I walked all the way to the park. Nothing. Discouraged and defeated, I called my husband to retrieve me there as I could’t muster the energy to climb the final hill near our house. 

Once home, I decided to retrace my movements one more time while my husband insisted on taking my phone with him on another park pass. 

I sat on the bed, reached inside the black bin before me, and lifted out each item.

My watch hid under the final piece I withdrew!

Relief flooded through me, and then a wave of foolishness to realize that the first moment I’d noticed my missing watch was the very place it lay hidden.

But another problem surfaced. Why hadn’t my app revealed my phone immediately as it never left the room? I’d thought that the Find My app had loaded automatically when I’d replaced my watch in December. It hadn’t. At the moment, our attempts to remove the old watch and add the new one have failed although we’ve gone through one step-by-step process after another. I suspect I may have to reset my watch, which I refuse to do as I prefer to leave my watch history alone. I joked that if I misplace it again, I’ll just have to buy a new one!

Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

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“June’s Mission”

Over the course of this last year or so, I’ve shifted to dancing throughout our home for a thirty-minute exercise routine. Some days, I’ve asked Siri to start an indoor walk and done loops around larger stores and our local mall, which contains unique specialty stores along with larger chains and offers a fun route. Occasionally, I’ve ventured to the park, which was closed for months on end when all of the parking lots got repaved. Last year’s July’s flood and its scars on our neighborhood have receded, but other losses make strolling on one street too hard. 

It slowly dawned on me that I no longer feel unease for missing my longer outdoor walks. Although both of my knees can handle our neighborhood’s small hills, I felt no guilt for missing the long walk challenge since I almost never missed closing my exercise ring with other activities.The journey to and from the park on Saturday convinced me that I need to focus on this longer walk, and other sweeps through our neighborhood, again. 

For this next month, I set the challenge of trekking at least a mile each morning. I must to return to that mind space where missing my walk tinges my day with a shade of guilt. The routine and ritual, lost to me because it was easy to slip into tricking myself into believing all exercise is equal has to be mentally reset.

June’s Mission proves simple—outdoor walks. If I want to add a dance to my favorite songs, or tack on an indoor walk within a shopping trip, that’s just adding flavor to the mix. A long morning spent in the yards doing gardening gets counted only after my mileage goal is met.

  Every June morning starts with a mission to pound pavement—rain or shine!

Slick sidewalks and more rain ahead!

Ditches filling up!

A little rain doesn't hurt anyone!

Copyright 2026 Elizzabeth Abrams Chapman

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"Packing Panic"

 

            My tradition to pack away Christmas decorations on the first day of January meant I bounded out of bed extra early last Wednesday. This year, I simplified things a tad by unloading bins into only two rooms. The living room contained Bears, Nutcrackers, various stuffed animals and pillows along with the tree. The dining room displayed half of my Santa collection.

            I cleared the table top first to open that area for all of the tree ornaments. This year, I selected my son’s collection from his childhood, the ornaments we’d picked up on vacations, and special pieces we’d gathered over the years. These decorations I placed in new bins that matched the ones I purchased last year. The tree skirt, stockings, and items I use every year had their own new stackable container, too.

            Even with my husband’s help, it still took endless hours to replace each item back into its designated place. I focused on the living room slowly and carefully packing way each item. A quick glance at my watch reminded me to take a water break after working for a couple of hours. Our slow and steady work resulted in five bins packed neatly before I glanced at my wrist again to check the time.

            My watch was gone!

            Panic froze me in place. Which bin? Where had I last checked the time? Which container had something that would’ve tugged at the band and pulled it off? I envisioned us having to unpack the entire morning's work. 

            Taking deep breaths, I glanced at the bin I’d just completed and ruled it out immediately. It had smaller decorations that came in their own, original boxes. I swept over to the Nutcrackers. The largest Nutcracker, wrapped in an old throw, could’ve snatched my watch. Disappointment flooded me when it wasn’t there. I pulled out a box that I’d used new tissue paper to wrap about six Nutcrackers. Tugging out each one, I found nothing trapped in their soft coverings. My heart sank at the thought of unpacking more bins. Before repacking the box in my hand, I glanced inside. My victory whoop sang.

            My watch was there!

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Coming Late to Tech”

 

            While everyone around me updated phones with each configuration of the devices, I held on to my iPhone 4 with tight resolution because it still worked. The more phones cost, the more I convinced myself that I could wait. My trusty iPhone 4 never failed me, but in 2021 my son convinced me that it was time to rejoin the world with newer tech. I welcomed an iPhone SE that I basically used exactly like my old, limited phone—calls to my family, texts to friends and family, and very few apps all neatly arranged into categories like SOCIAL, PRODUCTIVITY, or ENTERTAINMENT. Basically, I hummed along the same phone usage as I had for the previous dozen years, except for the camera. I fell in love the convenience of having a decent camera that fit in my pocket or purse.

            Fortunately, my son pushes me onto new tech that forces me to stretch into different areas. For last Christmas, he purchased a pair of AirPods for my long neighborhood walks, which I took with nature as my background beat. Each morning, I’d select from YouTube favorite musicians that put pep into my pace. He also gifted me with an iWatch 9.3.1 for my birthday.

            Learning how to use the watch proved more of a challenge. On one of my first walks, I unknowingly swiped at or tapped onto the little green walking person and accidentally recorded that walk with all this wonderful data. When I tried to replicate gathering the information for my walk the next day, the tech defeated me. Once I arrived home, with watch in hand, I farted around until I saw the option for LIST. 

            “I love lists,” I thought. Selecting that option made all of those small icons that crowed my watch face change into a respectable and manageable list that let me discover WORKOUT. Dancing around the bedroom with excitement, I saw the option for “Outdoor Walk” and selected it. I never ventured beyond that choice.

            Another overworked knee (too many times up the steepest neighborhood hill accompanied by sweeping leaves from the house front) meant nursing the injury and not returning to my daily walks. Our family Christmas gift, an exercise bike, came to the rescue to help me get back into healthy knee shape. The first time on it, I wore my watch and left it on the “Outdoor Walk” option. I felt pretty silly when I scrolled further down the options and found both “Cycle” choices. Yesterday, though, I ventured down the choices on my WORKOUT option and discovered “Dance”.

            With AirPods in place and Nickelback blasting, I danced from room to room for thirty minutes! I pulled into muscle memory for old drill team routines. 3 Doors Down and I swirled and pumped. Evanescence accompanied me though adding small weights to my spins and twirls.

            This new tech allows me to have accountability for my exercise goals, but it also adds an element of fun. I don’t know what today will bring, but I fill thankful that this new tech becomes part of my daily routine.

 

Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman