Thursday, July 30, 2020

THAT WAS THEN . . . .
J S Bach

(We're all enmeshed in a time and climate of change--like it or not. There's always going to be a "back then" that we refer to, maybe even cling to. I'm not entirely converted to modern times, but neither am I rejecting them. So here's a post I did a few years ago about how technology itself has changed, and how it has changed our lives. We may not embrace it in whole-hearted fashion, but we can celebrate what it does for us. It means looking for the benefits. So what else do we have to do?)

In my low-tech youth, we were considered fortunate to have a telephone at home. The first one I remember was in the country, and we had a three-party line. That meant two other homes had phones that would ring when someone called us. And, obviously, ours would ring if someone else on the line received a call. Each ring was distinctive: one long, one short; or one long, two shorts; and so on. The temptation was to pick up even when our own ring wasn’t the one we heard—to hear what other people were saying. I was only six or seven and too young to submit to temptation. I can’t vouch for other members of my family.

At that time we had a rather nice radio, big floor model, on which I listened to The Long Ranger every evening at 6:30. It was my bedtime (the prevailing childrearing wisdom in that long-ago era decreed 12 hours of sleep for children—which I never got because I couldn’t go to sleep at 6:30 PM and sleep till 6:30 AM. But that’s another story). I loved listening to the radio while lying on the living room rug, staring into the cloth-covered speaker. (Sorry, I don’t remember the brand.)

For other entertainment, we had movies, both Technicolor and black and white; live bands for dancing; and homemade music—guitars, fiddles, and accordions, along with singers of varying homegrown talent.

Television was in our future, as were fax machines, home computers, and laser technology in medicine.

In the 1970s and 1980s I began to notice what I now call mid-tech events. The law office that hired me had a Mag-Card typewriter that recorded boilerplate paragraphs on flexible plastic “cards” the size of a cashier’s check. The boilerplate was coded with stops—the machine would stop and the operator could insert information, perhaps the name of the person making the will, deed, or affidavit, or the names of legatees.

In a short time we had one personal computer in the office for the real estate secretary—she typed long legal descriptions, and having once proofread it with another person, she could save it for future use on a number of documents for a transaction. A big time saver.

Next came the word processors, stand-alone machines that did primarily text, but had a couple of bells and whistles, such as calculations—adding up a column of figures being one I recall because I used it often. And loved that feature, math not being my greatest talent.

As is often the case, one computer led to another, and before we knew where we were, we had a small mainframe. This was nothing like room size, more like a two-suiter suitcase standing on end. From that one little server, we could operate three or four other workstations.

Ah, as you see, we’re getting into modern terms.

During all this technology advancement, we learned that we could do a whole lots more work with less effort. No one was out of a job, but we could take on more business because the documents could be prepared more quickly.

So—if technology changed the workplace—no, I really should say “when” it changed the workplace—what happened out in the rest of the world?

My observation is this: technology didn’t change people. That is, not their emotions, their relationships, their challenges in life. We still fell in love, lost friends or made new ones, saw our family members die and mourned their passing. The death rate, the divorce rate, the disinheriting of heirs—none of that was affected by technology.
Stories, stories, stories...

The universal truths that have come down to us through literature, visual art, music—all these have continued. If they had not, how could we, in our 21st Century lives, appreciate the literature of the Bible? The Sistine Chapel ceiling painted by Michelangelo? Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos?

Love found and love lost . . . betrayal . . . forgiveness . . . redemption . . . sacrifice . . . they’re all found in the Bible, in the ancient literatures of other cultures--they're always with us, as they were then, and, I suspect, as they always will be.

We can see and feel and hear them through the books we hold in our hands or read on our e-reader; through a concert in Lincoln Center or on an iPod; on a gallery tour by foot at the Metropolitan or sitting at home, online.

Low-tech, mid-tech, high-tech—does it matter? I doubt it. What matters is that we continue to celebrate all the facets of life, in whatever century we live, with whatever tools we have at hand.

They’re all gifts. Give thanks for them.

Portion of Michelangelo's painting
on the Sistine Chapel ceiling

Thursday, July 23, 2020

A NEW PLAYLIST

A NEW PLAYLIST

Music has always been a part of my life. When I was three I played records (remember 78's?) on our small machine. Most were probably cowboy songs, because my dad was a big fan of cowboys. (He'd worked in Colorado in the 1920s, so that would explain why he was enamored of all things Western.) My playlist included Tex Ritter for sure. Hank Williams came later.

My grown-up tastes are eclectic. For a long time I couldn't listen to anything but jazz--mostly the cool jazz of the 1950s. Then, as often happens, tastes change and I went in for classical (a misnomer, because that's a particular period, not a general category)--and there my choices ran to 17th and 18th century composers. But later, I fell in love with the 15th and 16th centuries as well. This playlist was--unbeknownst to me--a godsend: "classical" music is considered good listening while trying to learn, and the Baroque period is best of all.

In my teens, I actually liked some of the music of the fifties, but not rock 'n' roll. Could never get my head around why that was good or fun or appealing to listen to. What is now called Easy Listening was more my style. These were intended to calm me.

And then there were the Hollywood musicals--or the Broadway musicals--and I was hooked again. Here I found great word play--Alan Jay Lerner and George Gershwin two of my faves.

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The above history is prelude to my current Playlist: Songs to Work To.

If you've been keeping up with Thursday's Child, you'll know my youngest child is now living with me here in Northeast Indiana.

And if you've ever, even once, moved from one place to another, you'll understand the scenario:

--boxes everywhere
--boxes stacked three or four high
--furniture trying to shoehorn itself into the available space
--soft goods--clothes, bedding, pillows--piled wherever there's a flat surface
--multiple lamps, electronics, office supplies, dishes trying not to look lost

Somehow, what is supposed to stay (not be sold or donated) has to be looked at, sorted, decided upon, and finally (if all goes well) find its niche. This is not a quick process, and sometimes not even enjoyable.

Without especially planning how to manage, my daughter and I have evolved a series of songs to help with the work.

"There's a Place for Us" (West Side Story) - we get the feeling items are singing to us as we look for a shelf or drawer or corner for them; we sing it ourselves.

"A Few of My Favorite Things" (The Sound of Music) - open a box, find some of the treasures we've stored away, sometimes for years; remembering what it was we liked about that piece, or remembering who gave it to us, or where we bought it. (Was that the time we visited the Smoky Mountains? Or was that when we went to Peru on a pilgrimage?)

"Que Sera Sera" (The Man Who Knew Too Much) - this is our go-to tune for times when it seems nothing is moving forward--not our country, not our pandemic society, not the sorting/discarding or the  displaying/storing decisions. 

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So far--thinking positively here--all is going well, if slowly, and we look forward to a day when every single thing, favorite or not, will be in its place.

In the meantime, you might hear a chorus of "Whistle While You Work," (Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) if you drive down our street. Feel free to whistle along!