That sinking feeling...

No, not the boat, although it continues to have problems with the electrical systems that the Sea Ray engineers FlownUpFromThePlantInFlorida haven't been able to pinpoint yet - at least it's a sea-worthy craft.

No, I'm talking about that feeling in your stomach when it flip flops because you sense danger
because
something
is
not
quite
right.

It's never a good sign.

Let me explain.

I sent Number One Son who-is-now-a-teen-ager to the town library today. It involves riding his bike along a popular canal path and is no more than 3 or 4 miles. An easy ride. A well-populated, safe route. He's done it before.

He has a cell phone. See previous birthday posts from June if you're interested.

So, I feel confident that this is an okay way to let him test his teen-age wings and taste a little freedom. He always checks in when he arrives and when he is about to leave for home. And I know I can reach him.

I called his phone to remind him to come home to get ready for football camp (*that's a whole 'nother adventure) and he didn't answer.

I texted him. (yeah, I'm hip - I used it as a verb - you *can teach an old dog new tricks.)

I tried to call a friend who I thought he might have met for pizza.

My phone rang. His number was on the screen.

It wasn't him.

Deep breath.

The last time I called a cell phone and the cell phone owner didn't answer it wasn't good news.

See, last March, I called my Dad's cell phone to check on his ride from home from Rochester to Bethlehem and SomeoneWhoWasn'tHimAnswered.

It was a State Trooper, who asked who *I was.

Insert
sinking
feeling
here.

My Dad had had a heart attack and was taken to a hospital in Corning. The trooper didn't tell me, but he was already dead.

Where was I when I made those calls? On an Amtrak train enroute from Albany to Rochester.

Alone.

This time, the person on my son's phone identified himself as a cyclist who found the cell phone on the towpath.

Deep breath.

So, now I'm not so freaked, but I know that I have to track down Number One Son and hope that he is safely ensconced at the library.

Should I worry that he's been kidnapped? Fell in the canal? Angry that he lost his phone?

I retrieve the phone and thank the cyclist, and spy Number One Son's bike on the bike rack outside the library.

Breathe HUGE sigh of relief.

I enter the library and look for him, and as I see him, I can see that he looks a little worried and is looking under the chairs and tables. Aha! He's just realized that he doesn't have his phone when he sees me and looks *really worried.

Anyway, the doofus put the phone in his front pocket instead of clipping the case to his belt loop or buttoning it in his cargo pocket.

I think I have a few more gray hairs.