Cell phones

    I've always been fairly hostile to cellular phone. Since the crisis with my dad erupted, I've had to live with one constantly. Lately, it's quit ringing, and I can see a day when it will be no big deal if I happen to forget to bring it with me.
    When Dad changed nursing homes, he no longer had a room phone, and setting up a new account with the phone company seemed like overkill when we had no idea how long he was staying. As luck would have it, brother William had an extra cell phone, so I put some minutes and days on it (It's a prepaid, almost a twin to mine. Trakfone or some damn thing.)
    It works, and he can make calls. Unfortunately, his hearing is terrible, and he also usual has the TV blaring. So often, the phone goes to voicemail. He wasn't able to retrieve his voicemail. Yesterday, I found out why. Whoever programmed the phone at the factory put in the wrong number for voicemail. They left off a couple of digits, so the call would never completed. I couldn't change that, but I did put the right number in his address book.
    Sister Anne taught me that holding down the 1 key will normally get you voicemail. This would be true, except that's still the number only with two digits missing. Now, however, I've figured out how to program speed-dial, so today I will do so, putting Margaret as 2 and voicemail as 3 and anyone else Dad wants on the other keys. (Can't reprogram 1; go figure.) Did I mention that I'm not very familiar or comfortable with cell phones? Getting there.