time travel

someone needs to invent a big mechanical device that we could check out of the library.  with the gadget comes a round luminescent calendar dial and a great big crank, topped off with a hand-stitched leather knob.

what would i do?  set the dial to, oh let’s say 1997.  then grab that knob and pull it with gusto.

time travel, my life is spinning in wacky light speed and one day, just one day, to tiptoe back into just one yesterday, as i don’t want to be greedy.  but what a day that would be.

three robust, cherubic little children, cuddled all up on the couch with me, blankets tucking in everyone like mexi-melts, a big salty bowl of fresh popcorn, the vhs machine humming and ready to go as i press the clicker to ‘play’, and then, magically, if only for two silly simple hours, we’d watch “old yeller”, in a time-capsuled winter afternoon.

 

M WOOD SIGNATURE

 

9th inning

09.03.11 it's our kind of town

 yesterday i was in the kitchen with hallie and corey…all of us in the same space but in entirely different universes, thanks to our addiction to our smarty pants iphones.

i heard corey mention, in whispered tones, “the cubs” to her fabulous pal, athena marie.  without missing a beat, i said, “9th inning.”

now, my saying this is, much less knowing this, about as bizarre as doris day joining a harley gang.

corey looked up with a stunned look on her face.  i said, again, “it’s the ninth inning.  noel’s there. i just got a text from him.”

“NOEL’S AT THE CUBS GAME?” she screamed, “i didn’t KNOW!”

okay, first of all, you may have had to be there to get how funny this little weird exchange was. we don’t really talk about sports.  ever.  (poor noel, so outnumbered in this siren-filled domain) but my point is this: our gadgets takes us out of our lives over and over again, and yet, they also pull us together, into each other’s moments.  maybe good, maybe bad, maybe both.

funny that she wasn’t really interested in the game, or the cubs, or anything, actually.  i think the teenybopper conversation was cued in to what some boy happened to have posted on fb, and control central over here had picked up on the radar.  fascinating news.  everyone’s comings and goings and now we  can see WHO THEY’RE WITH and WHAT THEY’RE EATING too.

how did i exist without this vital information before this moment in incomprehensible techno times?

just so you know, i’m as bad as the teens.  i love fb.  as you know, hallie and i created a profile for astro yesterday.  he has about 50 friends, and the requests are coming out of the woodwork: college kids, parents of my kids friends, cousins: everyone wants IN on astro’s fabulous life.

yes, i use fb, blogs, tumblr, twitter, linkedin to help earn my living which we all know i really need, what with these crazy college kids racking up the bills.  so, i’m embracing it, i really am, but i also think that i have to enforce a gadget time out every now and then.

sure, as a parent with one and almost two children living in chicago on their own, i feel pretty glad knowing they are literally a finger tap away.  but it’s just that: they get to live in the city, the tot gets to live out here in the country with me (not sure if that’s good or bad, for her!), and i worry that we’re all missing our NOW when we steer our attention too often to everything else that’s happening away from us.

so, i may incorporate this in a maternal lecture tomorrow while we’re all lugging boxes, chairs, bar stools, dishes, books (yes, nice to include those for a college students casa) and all of the knickknacks that are going to cozy up hallie’s new digs.

shut off the things.  breathe in your view.  take a walk and be open to what’s just around the corner, with no warning, no tweet to direct you, no message to fill you in before you get there.

just take a chance and be.  free.

elvis

m wood elvis

my elvis isn’t all that schlock.  it’s not the scary bejeweled white suits with those enormous collars. it’s not those oversized 70s sunglasses.  it’s not the kitschy vegas wedding chapel.  it’s not the pork chop sideburns and platform shoes.  it’s not the guns, the pills, the dizzyingly buzzed about junk that came at the end.

no, my elvis is sublime.

he rocks around that clock, pelvis-ing in front of ed sullivan with a flip of jet black shiny hair.  yes, i know he dyed his hair, but hey, so do i.  he’s a southern boy with a maple syrupy voice.  and that’s just when he’s talking.  he’s sexy-lunging at that yellow bathing suit with matching high heels ann-margret…prancing around that vegas pool.  he’s trying his best to melt the steely, stiff everything of that over-rated nancy sinatra.  he’s making a million hearts swoon right along with shelly fabre.  he’s cliff diving in acapulco to lure ursula andres into his cabana!  go, elvis, go!

sure, i grew up watching those cheesy musicals.  the formula was etched early on.  once elvis moved through a few pretty powerful dramatic parts, that lousy colonel (if i could get my hands on that guy….) aimed his solid gold star towards the jackpot of pouring one dimensional musicals after another. the box office seemingly couldn’t get enough, (until, with a thud, it did…) and frankly, neither could i.

here’s a plot: poor boy who can sing is inadvertently mistaken for rich boy, meets girl, sings, falls in love, throw in a zany chase scene or two, kiss the girl, or get awfully close, until girl discovers true identity, then more songs, another zany chase scene, some dance moves, more singing, and then, hallelujah, land the girl.  oh, sometimes have cute kid with an accent act as his sidekick…that’ll bring in the families, too!  see elvis dressed up as a waiter, surf instructor, bullfighter, army guy, crooner, beach boy, race car driver, water ski instructor!  who cares!  keep those cameras rolling and keep those dollars rolling in, too.

i found him darling, goofy, charming, sexy, sincere, and adorable.  so much so, i raised my children watching these zany movies.  and you can be sure they each have their favorite. which then, predictably, compelled us to drive down to graceland to see it all right up and close.  this is where he lived.  this is where he died.

funny story.  driving down to memphis a few years ago, corey lost a tooth.  now, at 7, this gal owned a black guitar (“just like elvis”), and was a major force to both our trip, and our booking the “elvis suite” at the heartbreak hotel.  i mean, when in rome…

after clobbering the gift shop with all of their college savings, touring the inimitable “lisa marie” private jet (where else is avocado shag carpet so delectable?), we made our way up to the house.  the plan?  try to pry the bannister of the jungle room railing up enough to put corey’s tooth inside.  no luck.  that thing was solidly built, wouldn’t budge.  on with the tour!

tooth in pocket, we ooo-ed and aaa-ed through the gold records, costumes, round bed (!! round bed?!! naughty!), business office, knick knacks and on-site museums.  we could have gone on forever, and were told that there are about 500,000 more elvis relics in storage, waiting for a place to call home (meaning: a place to be viewed by insatiable people like us)…but the tour was ending.  our final stop?  the memorial garden, really quite lovely, with a bubbling fountain and beautifully landscaped gardens all circling elvis’ grave.  my kids were somber, the little darlings, but also eager to leave corey’s tooth in a place of importance.  and where else could that be but, well, a few feet away from that dear southern boy’s final resting place: snugly tucked into the bursting flowerbed!

now, i know this is a campy story.  and i know that the final chapter elvis presley’s life was a bit of a scary carnival, insert the sad part here if you have to.  i can’t even type it.  what i think of when i remember him is how much of an impact he made in music, in bridging styles of one sort of music into another, locking it in permanently and stamping his very own forever tattoo onto rock’n'roll.  bluesy, thrusting pelvis, love, lust, longing, heartbreak, diggin’ pretty girls.  then the technicolor fellow, dancing and cajoling and masquerading in all of those sweet, simple, yes, formula movies.  boy gets girl, sings, happy ending?  who wouldn’t love growing up to that?

so, here’s my spin.  granted, i’m not the kind of elvis fan who buys those collectible plates, or locks of his hair from questionably ethical barbers.  i’m just a girl who grew up liking him.  and sometimes, my mind wandered, and i conjured up a little theory.

you know how they say that timing is everything?

since the years that he’s died, i’ve been paying attention to well, the world.  what it used to be like, and it’s evolution.  current culture in 2011 is an entirely different beast in so many ways, and i’m not talking technology.  no, what i see are a series of steps in american behavior and fads that all came, just a bit, too late.  follow me.  it’s a simple list.

1. barbra streisand offered elvis the lead role in her remake of ‘a star is born’

2. elvis, thrilled, accepted it, certain it would revive his career

3. that lousy creep the colonel (who goes by that handle, anyway) made him turn it down

4. elvis died

ok, i’m not saying that barbra had anything to do with his death.  but what i’m seeing is that she actually could have done something to save him.  yes, we all know a person has to do this all by themselves, but come on, it’s not like his friends, doctor, girlfriend, or that foul colonel were lending a hand to….redemption.

what i think, and what i wish is this:  elvis said yes to barbra.  then he fired the colonel.  then he got to show the world what he had, and that he wasn’t going anywhere.  yes, the script could have used some work, and i don’t even want to start in on kris kristoffersen and that croaky voice…but just stay with me.

right about this time there was a big social shift: a former first lady named betty ford went public with her addiction.  she beat it, talked all about it rather than shrouding it behind a false face, and opened a rehabilitation center.  in other words, she made it cool to tell the truth, admit a weakness, and ask for help.  hello: ann-margret: book a room for your sweet elvis, stat!

now, another fad was standing to attention, the sequence is perfect.  jane fonda is kicking and dancing along with that funny weird richard simmons…headbands and sweatsuits, the accompanying cacophony of disco music: telling all of us to get up and start exercising.  it’s cool!  it’s trendy!  get in shape!

therapy?  stand in line!  try it, you’ll like it!  let’s talk about our feelings, conquer our fears, work on our issues, clear the cobwebs, wear a badge: i kicked the habit, i have control of my life, i’m healthy, strong, and ready to emote and move upward and onward.

organic food?  healthy eating?  hello????

i know, i can’t turn back the clock.  but i really think i’m right.  if the kid had had an ounce of southern gumption left in him, just an ounce, something leftover from being vultured, pandered to, manipulated, catered to, mis-managed, and just plain tired, well, i just wish he’d stayed around just long enough to hitch a ride on the get well get fit get fired up train of the late 70s.

then maybe, instead the frozen in time, end of the line elvis that adios-ed 34 years ago, we’d all watching a silver fox version, driving women into passion-crazed frenzies on the vegas strip. sure, with a little less hair, but with that love me tender plea that we all willingly would follow.

diary

how fascinating is this?

it’s a big saturday night, 4th of july weekend, the pulse of fireworks exploding outside of my window (although, it’s the 2nd, NOT the 4th, people…).  the world is out and about, merry making and carrying on and consuming large amounts of liquor.  and why not?  it’s a big birthday.

when the u.s.a. had it’s bicentennial, (that’s 1976 for those of you who ditched american history class),  i remember being called to duty by my friend kim.  big stuff, 200 years old, and we had to go to the village hall to blow up balloons.  hopefully, not by draining our lungs, but with one of those creepy clown helium things.  that was the same year that all of the fire hydrants in town were painted to resemble the founding fathers.  as i said, it was a big deal.

now we’re toasting another birth of our version of freedom, which, as far as i can say, is a pretty fine bit of living.  granted, the stores are too big, the billboards too plentiful, cars lacking the right amount of chrome, the road rage building at an alarming rate, and politics?  lol, don’t even get me started!

but, it’s the big 4th of july weekend and in-between festive goings on, i’m also hanging around at home doing a bunch of work.  tonight finds me wrapping up my day by dealing with writing my blog.  i took a sip of courage by pouring myself a lovely glass of mouton cadet, cozied up in bed with my laptop and piping really loud music into my ears (don’t tell my kids).  sorry, but i have to drown out those crazy firework boom boom booms to focus.  as i’ve said before, writers have it tough: where does this inspiration come from?  look at me: turning to liquor and b.j. thomas to get this done.  pretty crazy.

so, before i tear off into a fascinating bit of fluff centered around the theme per the above title, i wanted to report that i’m fully aware of how cool this current way of electronic life is.  as i was beginning to type away, i remembered that i have to upload an appropriate m. wood illustration to headline this blog.  without getting up!

i dug around on my laptop for a good sketch.  came up zero.  almost uploaded a repeat drawing (not good, no excuse for that, after all, i draw for a living and that seems cheap), and almost uploaded another one of my five million architectural sketches.  i couldn’t figure out how to ‘tie’ that in to what i’m going to write about, and then remembered: omg, it’s 2011 and i have all of these neat gadgets!

i grabbed a pen, always sitting on my bedside table, whipped out a sketch, grabbed a few markers and threw in some color, and THEN, (this is so brilliant), i took a photo of it with my iphone, emailed it to myself, (didn’t catch the retro “you’ve got mail!” announcement), opened the email, downloaded the file, cleaned it up on my laptop art program, and just now, uploaded it to this blog.  without EVER leaving my cozy bed!

so, now that we’ve established the amazing bits of the hear and now, i will get to the point.

i’m going public.  not in the way that linkedin and that fb game company are…this is a much smaller poof to the stratosphere of our crazy information hungry people.  no, what i’m about to do is just a blip, but to me, really sort of amazing, exciting and terrifying.

my diary is going online.

now, this isn’t just my diary, as in, current.  at this point, let’s say that this blog is kind of a daily reportage of my fascinating life.  no, what i’m talking about is that i am going to take every single one of my diaries and transcribe them entirely onto another blog.  well, actually, i’ll probably be paying my youngest daughter (fastest typer in the family) to do the work, or at least some of them.  whoever and whichever of us is willing, it’s all going to live in the kookie world of the internet.

spare the drum rolls.  really, it’s not that big of a deal, so i don’t mean to lead you astray.

starting in 1972, right up to the here and now, the minutia of my daily life as reported earnestly in each journal!  can you even imagine the laughs?  i mean, just the bit about blowing up the balloons for the bicentennial parade is sure to have top billing from the summer between sophomore and junior year of high school.  along with a bunch of crushes on boys (nothing exciting there for the high school years: i couldn’t get a date to save my life!), fascinating details such as picking my dad up at the train station, doing chores during commercials, and intricate reportage about the health of our five dogs will all be in there.

i’ve been thinking about this for a long time.  i’m not entirely sure why i’ve kept diaries for so many years (do the math: i’m 51).  they’ve come along for the ride, from childhood bedroom (a plot twist to come was the life-changing move from one room to another, overlooking the pool!), to college dorm, back home (couldn’t get a job after college), to all four apartments, houses….i’ve lugged them all and each year the stack grew by one.

i guess they’re a big deal to me, lucky to have fabulous friends throughout my entire life, but let me tell you, the only friend who knows it all, well, is that big fat stack of diaries.  purging my angst-filled teen emotions in a ruddy nasty penmanship, launching off to college thinking i was such a know it all, those single years in the city, omg!  (that reminds me, i’ve made a note on my new blog splash page that the names will be changed to protect the innocent bystanders of my life, so no one worry or freak out.  you are safe.) and then on to marriage, motherhood, divorce, ridiculous adventures after all of that, oh, and then there’s this whole work thing.

look, my mom is an anthropologist.  i’m looking at this as a sort of historical, sociological, emotional, cultural dig.  i grew up surrounded by curiosity and studying cultures and human behavior…pretty fascinating stuff!

i think i’m the most curious of all.  after all, i’ve lived with me every single day of my life, i can’t shake myself!  but i don’t think i have a sense of my own evolution.  it’s fascinating to think that, by laboriously typing out day after day after day (except for when i skipped) for nearly 40 years of my version of my life, i can see it all in one place.

granted, there are some doozies that i don’t want to read, much less remember or acknowledge.  i’m far from perfect.  there are a few diaries, i know their covers this moment without blinking, that i’ve avoided re-reading.  painful stuff.  stupid stuff.  or embarrassingly emotive stuff.

now, we all know that i have three children.  and i’ve also said that, chances are, they all might help me type this stuff out, or at least, dictate to me while i type!  who knows, i haven’t worked out the nuts and bolts yet, and am stalled on my july launch (i love using that word) as i loaned my first diary to my old grade school pal who’s mailing it back to me from wisconsin, and it hasn’t arrived yet.  but, back to the kids.  you may think: why on earth would i want to share my mistakes with them?  why do i want them to see steps in the wrong direction, going back in time, their understanding the consequences already just by living through many of them?

well, i am an open book kind of a mom.  i mean, i use discretion and have only let them tinker in my diaries that were written at their same ages (the deal was: don’t make fun of me, and of course, how could they keep that promise?  i’m still getting teased about the rock necklace…).  i don’t have any purpose for those books.  they just sit there.  why not share the wealth of my meandering through life, and especially in the painful parts, why not let my kids see?  why not teach them to see the big huge scary pot holes, the hazard signs, the jubilant victorious moments, the vulnerability and insecurities i’ve carried with me always?  why not let them see that this is just what life is: one day after the next. some better than others, some the kind that you wish you could erase, others the best that life offers?

so, i’ve set the challenge and i’m going to do it, even if i type with my eyes closed, laughing at my total nerdy adolescence, blushing at my first enormous crushes, shuddering at each red flag that i missed. or at least, the me before.

that’s my big question i think: have i always been me?

if you promise not to tease me too mercilessly, i’m inviting you along for the ride.  we can figure it out at the same time.  oh, and be kind when you see the accompanying music mix, per year, of the soundtrack to my life.  it’s way cheesy.  i said i was a nerd….

so, coming as soon as the postman delivers #1:

http://www.rememberyourwhimsies.wordpress.com

pioneer day

06.23.11 pioneers going out west day

did anybody notice?

i skipped an entire day.  though i feel pretty awful about not popping in on the twenty-second, i have a really good excuse.

really bad scary weather on tuesday night found us grabbing our laptops, fat dog, sneaky cat, etc. and barreling down to the basement…several rousing rounds of ping pong, a bit of an aggressive, competitive side coming out which sort of stunned my children…then a power outage, candles, flashlights, and ghost stories.

i don’t mess around with twisters.  this responsibility points squarely at two things: watching the wizard of oz as a very impressionable tot, and watching a twister fly over our house, again, as a very impressionable tot.  my motto?  is the pleasure worth the risk.  well, sometimes, but in the case of doppler radar, this diabolical stream of storms this spring, and the greenish creepy looking sky, then no: i do not take a chance.  move it, people!

nice adventure.

not so nice when you wake up in the morning and the stove clock is blank, the cellphone is out of a charge and your shower is verboten.  oh, and the fridge stocked with groceries from the day before cannot by any means be opened.  yes, glad to be alive and have dodged the menacing twisters, but really a drag to be blocked from all of that yummy food by a stainless steel door that must not be tampered with.

so, a long day stretched into a longer afternoon.  the only obvious thing to do was run off to the movie theatre and fall willingly into ‘midnight in paris’…yes, woody allen is back.  go see it.

this internet visit is made possible by the kindness of a fabulous pal who’s taken us in for the night. wow, do i realize how addicted to electricity we all are.  not that our time as pioneers hasn’t been enjoyable: and based on com ed’s dismal estimates on repairing whatever broke last night…we will be playing little house on the prairie for maybe another day or two.

what does that mean?  more reading, candle light, a summer bit of outdoor cooking, maybe a board game, cards, and a much earlier bedtime.  not bad at all, once you get the hang of it and just decide: i am going to linger, i am going to slow down, i am going to enjoy the passing of time.

when we were kids, one of our family bonding around the dinner table conversations involved answering the question: if a fire were to ravage the house, what five things would you save?

back then, my list was always the same: all of my diaries, my beanie boy doll (he’s been with me since a hernia operation when i was two…that’s the kind of loyalty i like), my paltry little supply of photographs, hmmm, i’m up to three.  the assumption was that people and pets were already safe.  so i have to come up with two more things that i needed to bring with me to safety, but from this lens way, way, way over here, i can’t remember what i chose.  probably something as ridiculous as my retainer and new pair of clogs.  i didn’t have much of a wardrobe back in the day, (still really don’t), but i do remember a schnazzy pair of palazzo pants that were wildly fashionable.

during this twister scare the other night?  without missing a beat, or alarming the teens, i walked to each room, grabbed all of our laptops, my hard drive (hello, can you say 3000+ illustrations and every photograph i’ve taken in the last decade), and our cellphones.  slipped them all into my jaunty striped dakine backpack. done.  the rest could just fly away for all i cared.

because what is all of that stuff, anyway?

yes, i look around my house, not very big, but chock-full of memorabilia, proof our our existence.  every wall, nook & cranny has an odd little something, and yes, they each tell a story.  sometimes they even tell a novel or a mini-series.

a hand-painted small dish just to the left of the tea?  venice.  ages ago, heck, they’re all ages ago at this point.  a coffee cup.  i know whose lips touched those.  swoon.  a framed photograph of a stretch of the pacific?  a particularly lovely weekend & then some.  a cowboy hat?  that crazy 4500 mile road trip out west with the kids.  so irresponsible of me, but wow, what a wild adventure.  a silver-buckle belt?  when i dragged the kids to their first (and last) hootenanny.  an old early 60s manual typewriter?  college.  an iron library lamp?  my parents constancy.  a line of champagne corks marching along the top of my mirror?  story after bubbly story.

so, this time around, what can i possibly do with my collected mementoes of my life, thus far?  gather it all up?  wrap this house into a fortress of hardened riveted steel to keep them all intact?

not a chance, nope.  my laptop, my hard drive, my iphone, my children, my fat dog, my weird cat.  my people.  my memories.  my life, all technicolored & stored safely where it belongs: smack dab in the middle of my heart, safe from all storms, all threats, all enemy advances.  eternally.

 

hello, operator

so here goes.

i am beyond out of words, and feel rotten about it.  no matter what i do: push on my temples, don ‘writerly’ outfits, play inspiring classical music, hold a well-worn book in my hands, i have not felt one iota teeny tiny spark of inspiration to blather on about.

it’s not like i don’t know what’s behind this brain clog.  i’ve been working like a dog, drawing and drafting and creating and meeting deadlines, java overload to the point that the caffeine didn’t even do anything anymore except help us to run out of sugar and waste water on a dishwasher filled with coffee mugs. all of those creative juices: gone.  spent.  kaput!

the good news is that i’ve wrapped up a super cool project (hopefully available soon in a store near you), submitted more work towards two really fantastic projects, and had a getaway weekend.

fantastic to report is the fact that, during this crazy work mode i’ve been in, the children have become domestic governors, totally capable of now running their own households.  that’s the good thing about being a single mom with a work deadline: the little critters learn to fend for themselves, one of those two birds with one stone sort of situations.  i go on strike, i tune out and draw and fret and pace and go back to draw some more, and they take over the fort.

it’s this that has me thinking at the moment.

noel just commandeered the job of going to at&t (well, corey went along for the ride) to fetch this neat keen new space-age looking device.  best of all, it was free.  even better, to my discerning eyes, is that it’s really very attractive.  good design, we’ve established, can make or break a day.

so, the nice people who are running alexander graham bell’s company (some say, into the ground), sent us several brightly colored postcards, urging us to dash over to their shops, for a free gift.  redundant, i know, it just bugs me when people use this expression so i am trying to make a point. clearly, there must be trouble at old ma bell’s headquarters, as this satellite sort of device could easily sell in a shiny new box for at least a hundred dollars.  and they were offering it to us for free…!

we knew instantly that we would add “go to pick up the thing at the phone store” to our chore list.  it isn’t a very well kept secret around here: our cell service sucks.  an awful expression, i know, but it’s just the best one to convey our hated telephone life with dropped calls (oops, don’t hurt your toes!) and fuzzy reception.  most frustrating of all, obviously, is that we all own these groovy fancy iphones (hallie even has the 4th one, lucky), the best gadgets ever to make their way into our pockets, but the temptation to fling them through a plate glass window or into the open fire of the gas range became way too compelling.  dropped dropped dropped dropped calls!

so, as i sat here in the living room with a nice cup of coffee, a nice sleeping cat, and a nice new tumblr site, i watched noel fuss around with the fancy at&t gadget.

the thing of it is, i am totally capable of setting it up myself.  further, i was even able to set down my laptop (i mean, all i was doing was playing around on tumblr and uploading photographs…) and hop over to join him in the task.  release him…set him free from the icky percolating rage-inspiring task of setting that thing up.

instead, i leaned back, decided to start writing this, and enjoyed the show: what a good growler he is, and what an imaginative stringing together of swear words!  it seems mean, i know!  but the best way to raise these kids is to just let them figure stuff out for themselves.  as the muttering was building, i watched as he shoved large pieces of furniture around in search of an outlet, and flinging empty boxes about.

my mind began to drift…

i was grateful to at&t, as i was sure that this special machine was going to solve our telephone problems.

our house is cool but small, with absolutely zero privacy.  it’s actually hysterical, the whole making a phone call debacle, which goes something like this.

there are officially three areas in our house where, if standing perfectly still, reception can be had and a connection established.  thus, calls to the dentist, doctor, school, you know, those boring places but the sort of conversations that can be overheard, were made from either the southern portion of the kitchen, the hallway near the mud room, and the deck outside of our front door.

if any one wants to make the kind of call that needs privacy (love interests, best friends for some really good gossip, or any illegal doings), we can try making a call from the green bathroom (not the blue, lousy reception), or again, outside on the deck.

winter, spring, summer or fall.

it’s a totally natural occurrence, deep in a blizzard, to see one of us stand up, grab a down coat and wool cap, and step outside.  i’m laughing now, it’s so bad but so funny!  sort of a pioneer approach to handle modern communications.  no questions, just don’t forget your scarf.  and close the door behind you, it’s cold out there!

of course, i started to confound the telephone situation a few years ago when, after careful research (sit and listen to house phone ring and notice that absolutely no one got up to answer it), i decided to cut off life with a land line.  gone, out, done, no more, asta la vista telemarketers!  it was an empowering moment, making the commitment once and for all to our four cellphones and the power of the individual, and saying goodbye to our home telephone.  forever.

which then, more drifting off in my mind while noel worked away on the shiny new age antenna thingy, reminded me of my life with telephones.  real telephones.

everyone my age, older, or a dip younger, knows how andy griffith, aunt bea, or barney fife made a phone call.  tap on the handset holder, right?  then they’d ask the operator (what was her name? martha?) to connect them to so-in-so, floyd, goober.  connection established via voice and machine and live hard wires, and miraculously, you’d be talking to someone across town (no doubt with the operator listening in).

when i was young, this telephone scenario was just a step dated for me.  we were in the modern world, and our phones had dials, curly cords, and came in a bunch of fun colors.  harvest gold. avocado green.  a sweet pale blue.

dialing a phone actually meant that you had to turn the dial, select the numbers, place the call.

if no one answered, you called again later.  if someone did answer, you had to introduce yourself, wait forever, and then, if lucky, actually speak to whoever it was that you were calling.  the worst was if you had to leave a message, with a person, who had the potential of being totally unreliable.  what if they didn’t write down your number correctly?  what if they lost the note?  what if they had lousy handwriting?

there were no guarantees.  you put a lot of faith in the hands of the little sister, big brother, babysitter, gramma, whoever it was that answered the family phone.  somehow, it all seemed to work, right?  the telephone business is still going strong, and through those advances (push button dialing! answering machines!  cordless phones!  voicemail!), we’ve all managed to keep in touch.

i’m sad, now that i see how quickly this came and went.  yea, sure, i’ve got my very own iphone in my pocket.  it’s the neatest gadget, that we know.  but my kids, just on the cusp of the end of those old days of using a telephone, probably don’t have one bit of real appreciation for how amazing this new techno world is.  but also, more importantly, i wonder if they know how those old days created a world where you did have to trust more.  you did have to put yourself out on the line more. just the emotional mountain climb of asking someone out on a first date was a laborious amount of sweating, and waiting, being screened by whoever answered the phone, coming up with the courage to actually speak to the girl and ask her out!  all in front of the audience of your family, conveniently perched near enough to hear every word!  right?

now, it’s a text.  wanna go out?  wanna meet me?

boring.  where’s the build up???

so, i can’t do a thing about it, but i can keep dialing up some darling old movies that show the world as it once was, a bit slower, a bit simpler, a bit sweeter.  if my kids are at all sentimental like their old ma, they’ll see, they’ll know, they’ll understand.