Just Say No to Tech-NO-logy

I am a cynic of sorts. I think it's the result of life experiences. Nowhere is this more apparent that in the field of technology. When is enough too much?

It all started when I was in college in the early 80's. I took a course in FORTRAN. Basically, it was an early introduction to computer programming. Back then computers were on the threshold of bursting into all of our lives. I had no idea what to expect but I studied really hard. For our final project we had to write a computer program including two unknowns and the results. I picked the topic of windchill. Both temperature and windspeed create different windchill temperatures. I wrote the program carefully trying over and over to create the perfect result. In the end it worked beautifully. After hours of work all one had to do was input the temperature and the wind velocity and the resulting windchill would appear. Wow! What a timesaver! I received a great grade. Now I see how all of this insanity began.

Isn't it just easier to make a graph of temperature and wind velocity? All you would have to to is look at the resulting windchill temperature on the graph and you're done. There's no going to the computer and waiting for it to warm up. There's no internet exploring to find a windchill program. There are no pop-ups showing how you can win millions while waiting for the graph to appear. It's really cool knowing how to get this information on your computer, but do we realize all the time it's taking? It's quite silly if you ask me.

A few years ago we bought my brother-in-law a Palm Pilot. We watched carefully as he input all of his information into that tiny machine. He had already learned the special alphabet that made input so much easier and, being a tech expert, it didn't take long for him to get it done. He showed us everything that could be done on that Palm Pilot. You could do calculations making it easier to do those nasty equations that we have to do. You could look at your calendar and see what appointments you had. This thing was SO AMAZING! Several months later I went out and bought one for myself for my birthday.

I started by inputting all of my friends' addresses. It took forever using the tiny keyboard screen and puny plastic writing thing-a-ma-jig. I hadn't yet learned the alphabet so it probably took me longer than a Palm Pilot expert.

By the time I had done all of this work I was burned out. It took me several weeks before I began inputting all of my upcoming appointments on the calendar. Again I spent quite a bit more time on this than I expected.

The Palm Pilot had a charging dock so there was no need to replace batteries. How convenient!! Unfortunately I put the little pain in the donkey in the dock the wrong way. The leads didn't touch and I only realized this after a few days. When I turned it on, there was nothing. There was no trace of all the information I had so carefully entered.

Now I know that just using an address book and a wall calendar works just as well. Simple calculations are much easier to do on paper than pulling this thing out and hoping you input the right numbers. Needless to say this 'thing' is now in my drawer; a reminder of my lost effort of trying to be techno-savvy.

Fast forward several more years. I wanted a laptop computer so I could do our finances in Quicken. I knew that having all our financial information in one program could get a quicker snapshot of where we stood.

After the installation of the program I began to study it. The program showed me how to import information from my bank or credit union. What a time saver! The push of a button would give me everything I needed to analyze our financial situation. I pulled up the list of participating banks and credit unions that were able to send this information.

Our credit union wasn't there. Bummer.

I had to manually input all of our transactions. Instead of a time saver, it was a time waster. I could have easily just looked at our register on our credit union's web page to see what our balances were. However I bravely continued to input every single transaction so the program could calculate our finances.

All the program did was spit back all the information I put into it in different graphs. I could have done that on paper.

Finally, our credit union came into the new millenium. All I had to to was put our user name and password into the program and our information would magically appear on the screen. Unbelievable! Not only that, but it would categorize each payee so we could see the data on each area of spending. It would show gas costs, groceries, clothing, doctor co-pays and water bills to name a few.

The first time I downloaded all of our information, I quickly went to the graph analysis to see where we were spending.

To my surprise we were withdrawing from the ATM the most. This was quite strange since we might take out $20.00 once or twice a month. I went back to the check register. The program magically assigned categories to each payee and I found that most of them were wrong. I then went back to the beginning of the register and fixed each transaction category to show where it was supposed to be. After an hour of tedious work I was done. My graph was much more accurate.

The next time I downloaded our bank info there was more erroneous information. The grocery store was showing 'gifts given'. The gas station showed 'groceries'. Frustrated, I waited until my brother-in-law came back into town.

I asked him to show me how to fix this problem. He went into the program and tried to show me. He didn't have much time so I tried to concentrate on what he was doing. When he left I had no idea what he did.

As I was walking in the woods today at lunchtime I realized that the old fashioned budget book I had at home with the hand-written entries might be the answer. The hours I had spent trying to make things easier did the exact opposite.

I'm used to the fact that I will never embrace all the technologies that are available. It seems that new things keep being introduced not to make our lives easier but rather to increase the revenue of the companies that make them. Cynical? Yes, of course. But I know that these corporations have to survive and making these things look cool brings in the bucks.

I like the idea of paper and pens. These can't be lost in cyberspace although I lose things in house-space too. I only know that it works for me. I spend much less time in front of the computer now getting nowhere. It frees up my time to do other things that have been neglected such as raising my children.

This technology has made us rely on a little machine instead of ourselves. There are lots and lots of people that will disagree with me but in the end I'm sure I spend much less time on the computer than they do. And my spreadsheets won't disappear.

I was born in the wrong century.

I Can't Find 'It'

I still haven't found it.

What is 'it'? I think it's a place that exists in my mind where I can find true peace. That's not to say I don't feel peace now. I do! I've got everything I want. It's just that, at times, I'll see or hear something that reminds me of a house that I've been dreaming of. This is really going to be getting deep.

I don't know if I'm the only one. Have you ever heard a song that brings you to a peaceful place that never existed? Did you ever smell something that was so familiar yet you can't figure out where you've smelled it before? Have you ever seen a piece of furniture or a picture of a kitchen sink that made you dream of a place that would finally let you exhale and relax? This happens to me all of the time.

Looking back I faintly remember being in my great-grandparent's house down the street. Perhaps it was that familiar smell and appearance that comes to mind. Or maybe it's the kitchen in my great aunt's house with the tall dark cabinets and the old-fashioned hardware. I have memories of my other great grandmother sitting in her old victorian house. She came from Poland and spoke little, if any, English. My mom would take my sister and I there to visit and my great grandmother always gave us ginger ale and egg biscuits. She would talk to my mother endlessly in Polish while we sat there quietly. My mom didn't understand Polish but that didn't matter. I can still faintly remember the old furniture and elaborately carved staircase. She had a old-fashioned butler's pantry with the tall glass doors on the upper cabinets. The kitchen was very basic with old linoleum on the floors. I never really enjoyed going there but, looking back, the memories of that house bring me peace.

As I was growing up I always pictured having a home with some of these features. I wanted the worn floors that had been endlessly walked upon by my relatives. I wanted the smell of old wood that was used as trim and stairways. I'll see fabrics from the 30's and 40's and yearn to sew these into curtains and bedspreads. If I had a small kitchen I'd love to put a small table next to the window with a gingham or checked tablecloth and a small vase of daisies. Outside the kitchen a screened door would lead to a small yard with a clothesline and a small flower bed. A few lawn ornaments would complete the picture.

I'd put up wallpaper reminiscent of the that point in time when victorian was all the rage. My 'fancy' china would be displayed in a hutch that smelled of old times. I'd have chenille bedspreads in one of the bedrooms along with a hurricane lamp on the night table.

I don't know why this style sticks in my head. It wasn't like I found great comfort in these homes. Actually my great aunt liked us but we had to sit quietly while mom visited. My great-grandparent's house down the street is now quite dilapidated. Even when I was small and my great aunt and uncle lived there, I would go over to play with their daughter. I could tell that it was starting to crumble. On their back porch was a player piano that was beautiful in it's day, according to mom. It sat there for years decomposing until they sold it.

So why do I yearn for these times? I wasn't even alive then. Even if I was, they were extrememly difficult times. I don't know why I romanticize over all these things. I haven't yet found the reason. All I know is that when I sense any remnant of those times, I find a great sense of peace.

I also realize that, even if I could create this dream house, the reality wouldn't be the same. You can't recreate something and expect it to bring you the peace you yearn for.

This is yet another strange part of my being. Normal people don't even think of intangible things when they create their home environment. The house itself creates all of their memories and dreams. I love my house. My kitchen is the closest I've gotten to recreating some of the ideas in my mind. I have old-fashioned signs up on a shelf. The wallpaper I chose is quite simple yet vintage looking.

I'm always dreaming of something else. As I get older I'm beginning to realize that whatever 'it' is, will never come to be. That's not being negative. It's being realistic.

Do We Have To????

It seems like one of the hot topics people are talking about these days is the inactivity of our children. Everywhere you look kids now have hand held games and Playstations and Wii's. If they're not playing with those they are staring at the television. My husband thinks our kids are addicted to these things, but after a short time they want to play outside. My son is really into sports so he'll go outside and shoot some hoops or catch a football. My daughter likes TV a little more but turns it off if there is a possiblity to go out and play. They also like books. One of my son's favorite memories of camp last summer was laying in the hammock reading. My daughter will sometimes sit on the couch reading. By today's standards I think they are doing quite well.

Last weekend we decided to go up to our camp in the Adirondacks. This was greeted with whining and complaining since they had never been there before in the winter. When we told them we were the decision makers they packed their clothes along with their game boys and books. Our camp is not insulated, but we have a gas fireplace. There is no running water in the winter and our driveway is full of snow.

"Hey, guys", I said enthusiastically from the front seat of the car, "just think of this as an adventure". I was greeted with blank stares. Having been there is the winter when I was 13, I knew they would have a good time.

We arrived there Saturday morning and had to park at the end of our driveway because of the snow. We all had to pitch in to get our supplies out of the truck and into the old camp. This was not easy since there was no path through the snow, but we slowly got everything inside.

The camp was freezing There was frost on all the windows inside. My husband turned the propane on and the stove was soon warming the kitchen.

After we got settled the kids put on their snowsuits and went outside. Our place in on a hill so it was perfect for sledding. Since the lake was frozen they could slide down and keep going on the solid ice. I think they were surprised at how much fun it was. As they were sliding I saw two deer run across the lake to one of the islands.

After a few runs the kids wanted to walk across the lake. They were amazed that this was possible since they had never seen anything like this before. We walked over to one of the closer islands and looked around. We had only seen this island from our place and from the water when we were in our boat. Our kids walked faster than us and sat right on the edge of the island.

"Hey look!" they said, "we're the first ones in our family to ever set foot on this island!" They were right. Since it is privately owned we had never gone there in the summer. However in the middle of winter it was empty. The quiet was strange. We're used to the sound of the lake as the winds blow over it. Not long after, they went back to the sled run.

After veering off the course a few times my husband started shoveling snow on each side to keep the sleds on track. White dog and little brown dog were unwilling passengers on the sleds. They looked pleadingly at me as they flew down the hill.

After a while I went inside to organize all of our stuff. Since there is no insulation we closed the doors to the bedrooms and living room to keep the heat in the kitchen. The cramped quarters were not conducive to keeping things neat, but I did my best.

My daughter came in first. Her feet were soaking wet. I helped her take off all of the layers and got her dry clothes. There was long dog rope in the kitchen so I made a make-shift clothesline. It was filled quickly with wet snowclothes. My son came in later and the kitchen looked even more like a boarding house.

Since there was no running water the bathroom was unavailable. This didn't seem to bother the kids. They were thrilled to go outside and experience the joys of nature when answering nature's call.

The next day they couldn't wait to get up and keep sledding. I was watching them for a while when I suggested we make a snow fort. They had gotten those plastic snow block makers for Christmas and the snow was perfect for packing.

I started building the fort layer by layer. I must admit I was having a great time but they soon grew bored and went to go sledding again. I kept building for a while until my back and legs got tired.

The kids complained when they saw me go into the camp, but I promised them I would be out again later. Once inside I put on dry clothes and sat next to the fire. I had brought a knitting project I never had time for at home and sat knitting in the peaceful camp. I kept waiting for them to come in for dry clothes but it never happened.

I went outside to check on them. "Where's dad?", I asked.

"He's in the hammock", was the reply.

I looked under the deck and there he was. His eyes were closed as he quietly swung from side to side in his parka, boots and gloves. He claimed to be watching the kids, but that's not what I called it. It was good to see him so relaxed.

By afternoon we had to make the kids come in and get ready to go home. They were inconsolible.

"Can't we take tomorrow off and stay one more day?", they implored. That was quite a switch from the complaining the day before.

"We'll come back again", we assured them.

It reminded me of my childhood when we stayed outside and played all day in the snow. We'd be outside for hours and only came in when we were soaked or hungry. Those were the days when children loved to be playing all of the time and not staring at handheld games or TV's. While we were at camp they didn't want to come in to play their Game Boys. They only watched videos when it was dark out.

Our society wonders why our children have become overweight. It seems obvious to me why. They don't move enough and they are snacking on high calorie foods. It's sad to think in the future a lot of them will only have memories of sitting and winning at Playstation. Personally I don't find that very appealing. I'm hoping my kids can look back and have real childhood memories.

I just wish parents would think about this and realize that they aren't doing their children any favors with all of that high priced technology. All of that knowledge can come later but once childhood is over, there's no going back to that time of innocence and wonder.

What a waste.

This Land is MY Land

OK. I have a childish mentality sometimes. It's not very often that I let myself lapse into this mode, but every winter it comes back when the snow falls.

During my lunch hour I usually go to a local nature park to walk the trails. It's not that I really enjoy it but I know that with my family history it's essential to my health. My doctor told me it could prevent a future heart attack or the diabetes that runs in my family.

I do enjoy spring and fall, however, when the weather is cool and the snakes aren't out yet. My one major phobia is snakes. It drives me nuts when people assure me that the local snakes are not poisinous. I don't care. They still slither around and startle me when they're in my way. I'm constantly looking ahead on the path to see if an S-shaped object is in my way. I have to stop an assess the situation to see how I can get around the vile creature without having it taunt me. Anyway, I digress.

The first year I walked in the winter I noticed that most of the trails were only open to cross-country skiers. I would walk on the pee-wee trails that allowed walking but these paths were tiny. I'd have to go around and around to get in my 2 miles. It was then that I decided to get snowshoes.

That first year I was able to go on two more trails that allowed snowshoeing. This worked well although these trails were also quite short.

The next year I discovered that these paths too were closed to snowshoers. I had enough of these cross-country skiers with their skin tight pants and nordic knit hats. I felt like a second class citizen with my puffy ski pants, my ten year old puffy LL Bean parka and my clumpy snowshoes. One day I went inside the building to talk to a naturalist. I'm normally not an assertive person but I found it necessary to confront this abomination.

"I'd like to speak with a naturalist, please", I said confidently to the woman at the front desk, rising to my full 5 foot 1 inch height.

A few minutes later a man came over and introduced himself. Again, I got my nerve up.

"I've been walking here for quite some time now but I'm not happy. When I first noticed that most of the trails did not allow walking in the winter I spent a lot of money on snowshoes. Now most of the trails don't allow snowshoes either! This is ridiculous! You rent snowshoes here but there is nowhere to go! What are we supposed to do? Why do the cross country skiers get all of the good trails? I pay my membership fees every year but I can't go on most of the trails in the winter!!!"

The naturalist listened attentively, seeming to be unsympathetic to my ramblings.

"Well", he said, "once we groom the trails for the cross country skiers we can't have anyone walking or snowshoeing on them because they ruin the trail. It's hard to ski when the trail is rutted."

I think he expected sympathy from me for these poor people. Heaven forbid their sport be ruined by those of us who prefer a different type of exercise.

"I went out last year and bought these snowshoes so I could go on more trails", I exclaimed, "but now you're telling me I can't go on them. Just what are we supposed to do?"

The lady behind the desk smiled and said, "You can go on this trail around the meadow. That's open to walking and snowshoeing!"

"I'd have to go around the trail four times to get the exercise I usually get on my favorite trail!"

She looked at me sympathetically. "I'm sorry," she said, "but that's the only choice right now".

I had enough. My face was turning funny shades of red and purple (just kidding) and I raised my voice again. "You mean to tell me that I spent all this money on snowshoes to go on the trails, which you encourage, and now there's nowhere to go???
That's crazy! Is there anyone else I can talk to?"

The naturalist calmly told me, "No, I'm the one to talk to. I'm sorry, but there's nothing else to do. I am considering making a dedicated trail to snowshoers next year so they have somewhere to go."

I wanted to tell HIM where to go, but I left leaving quite unsatisfied. The rest of the winter I silently circled the meadow over and over again. The next winter I saw a sign.

'This trail open to showshoers ONLY' with a sign pointing the way. I must say it was quite a nice trail. It went through the woods, down hills, across meadows and back to the parking lot. The trail is two miles long and gives me a great workout. Unfortunately the evil child in me still exists.

My trail criss crosses the cross country trails at several points. When I have to cross THEIR trails I can't help but stomp on the smooth ski tracks. It won't kill them to have a bump in their way. It's really pathetic that I get such satisfaction in their misery.

I still feel like the red-headed stepchild when they look at me behind their sporty sunglasses and fashionable winter garb. But I know that when the snow melts I can take back what is rightfully mine. My favorite trail will be glad to see me again and all the interlopers will be long gone. That is, until they run past me in their $200 running shoes and tank tops.

I guess I'll have to share.

The Greatest Gift

Over the past few years I've purged a lot of 'stuff' from my house. As I do it, I'll remember all the memories these things brought me. Several times when I've moved from house to house I'll find an old record album from my high school days. Back then there were no video tapes, only records. This one was recorded during the New York State Field Band Championships in 1978. The music from the four highest scoring bands was recorded. That year, my senior year, we won first place in our category among New York State marching bands. I remember how hard we worked to get there. I was in the percussion section and had been for years. I played the xylophone in the band and after five years had become quite good at it. That year our percussion solo highlighted the xylophone in it's performance. I remember the pride I felt when my playing was recognized. That year, our drum line was voted the best in the state.

I looked at the old record album each time I cleaned. Several times I was tempted to throw it out but something always made me hold onto it. I felt that someday my children might appreciate hearing their mother solo in a packed stadium.

Fast forward many years.

I was cleaning again a few weeks ago and saw the album. I remembered that my mother still had a record player in her living room so I took the album with me when we went to visit.

"Do you want to hear Mommy play the xylophone in the band?", I asked them. Their eyes lit up. "Oh yeah!" they replied. I put the album in the player and started it.

Immediately I remembered back to that day it was recorded almost thirty years ago. It didn't seem possible it was that long ago, but I could clearly hear each instrument. When it came to the drum solo I said, "Hey kids, here it is!". They pulled their eyes away from the TV for only a few seconds before watching it again.

"Can you hear Mommy?", my mother asked from her chair.

"Yeah," they replied, their eyes glazed over.

When it was over, I quietly put the album away. Then it hit me. I was the one who lived that experience. I was the one who put in so many hours practicing. They just heard a lot of music that could have come from anywhere. They didn't understand the level of competition we were facing.

Over the next few hours I thought about it. I wasn't feeling sorry for myself but so many things I had accomplished in my life filled my brain. I was so proud when I got accepted to Cornell University. After a LOT of hard work and effort I graduated. My diploma was mounted on a piece of mahogany and it hung on my wall for years. My old t-shirts and sweatshirts with the Cornell logo are carefully stored in my closet. All the pictures and things I had collected those years are in a box waiting for who-knows-what.

Then the tears came.

My poor husband was there when I let loose.

"No one cares!" I cried.

"What are you talking about?"

"The kids could have cared less about my championship competition. They have no idea how hard I worked to get there", I choked. "No one knows how hard I worked to graduate from a college filled with extraordinarily smart people. I had to work a lot harder than them to keep up!"

The strangest thing about all this was that I had no self pity. It was more of a realization about life. We all have things we are proud of and the only person who really appreciates our efforts is ourselves. It's nice to have some recognition, but it's better to have the self-satisfaction of a job well done.

My poor hubby just stood there looking at me. He knows that I tend to ramble and get dramatic when I'm upset so he just listened.

On Christmas morning our kids woke us up at 7:00. We went downstairs and watched them open their presents. It's so wonderful to see the excitement on their faces. When the mayhem was over I looked at the pile of gifts that were waiting for me.

My kids gave me such thoughtful things that they had picked out themselves. Then I started opening the presents from my husband. He got me two crystal ornaments I had asked for so I was thrilled. Then I looked down to see another gift he had for me.

Curious to see what was inside I opened it carefully. It was a shirt box. I opened it to find a beautiful red fleece jacket. Embroidered on the top was 'Cornell University'. Under the jacket was a car sticker that said 'Cornell Alumni'.

Just when I think my husband can't be any more thoughtful, he does it again. He knew how important it was for me to remember my past.

The greatest accomplishment of my life was not excelling in music or receiving an Ivy League diploma. It was finding a person that truly cares about the feelings of others; especially mine.