Is it Really 2002?
Posted December 31,2001
It didn't feel like Christmas to me, and it doesn't feel like New Year's Eve. It isn't that I'm not out partying--I have often opted for quiet, solitary New Year's Eves; but there was always a feeling to them--a sense of semi-momentousness. It doesn't feel like that tonight. This could be any Monday night. Perhaps it's because I've seen so many of them that the novelty has worn off.
I find it amazing that it is going to be 2002. I grew up in a world where 1984 was the science-fiction future and you weren't supposed to trust anyone over thirty, so it's understandable that there would be a bit of cognitive dissonance here. Back in the fifties when I was a kid, we used to fantasize about now. We were very future-oriented because we thought the future was going to be this great place where laborsaving devices would give everybody lots of leisure time and we'd all be doing so much better than our parents.
Who knew?
It's a little disconcerting to think of my childhood world, which lacked so many of the things I absolutely rely on and can't imagine being without. That world contained no computers, microwaves, VCR's, or stereos. TV was black and white. People talked about how someday you'd have to pay for it, but it wasn't taken seriously; and if anyone had told us, we'd be able to sit in the living room and watch just about any movie we wanted, we'd have flipped out. Hell, I remember when we got our first washing machine that didn't require you to fish the clothes out of the tub and pull them through a ringer. The first time the buzzer went off, I freaked, thinking it was an air raid siren and ran up the cellar stairs so fast I smashed my little toe and almost broke it. Nothing in my life had ever buzzed like that. Milk wasn't even homogenized in those days. The cream would rise to the top. You had to shake it before you poured a glass or it would be skim. It came in glass bottles with little waxed cardboard caps. The idea of a phone in the car was totally out of reach. We were still enthralled with the "princess phone" which wasn't big and gawky and black. I was probably ten before phones were anything but black.
Driving was fun because there weren't any interstates, and even roads like Route 66 that passed for highways were interesting. Snow blowers hadn't been invented yet, and no one had professional snow removal. When the white stuff came down, everyone would be out with their shovels. Frozen dinners were a whole new concept and were called "TV dinners." Plastic wrap that stuck to the bowl had just pushed waxed paper aside and was considered remarkable. There were no Mickey-D's. When they first opened, they were a real novelty and the sign out front said "Over a million sold." A million! That was a big enough deal for them to post it.
Nurses wore starched white uniforms and cute little caps. Doctors made house calls. There was no fluorine in the water, so in school, we'd have treatments, where we'd sit in the nurse's office with our mouths filled with cotton saturated with the stuff. If you needed some penicillin, you got it at a drug store, which invariably had a soda fountain.
I lived in the country and at Christmas every house had a wreath, which people either made themselves or bought from the Girl Scouts. Can you imagine having that kind of time? I don't know anyone now who makes her own wreath. And we didn't know about fat! We cooked with shortening and thought eating steaks and chops every night was good for you. If anyone back then had had an electric pencil sharpener, they'd have invited the neighbors in to ooh and ah over it. Cars didn't have seat belts and lots of things were described with the word "modern."
When I was a little girl, you had to be the age I am now to write a piece like this. Now things change so rapidly that ten year olds can do it. You have to marvel at the ability of the human mind to adapt and you have to wonder what part such rapid change plays in all the ills that plague our society.
I read something this morning that has been niggling at me all day. The last article I wrote way back at Thanksgiving inspired me to check out some of David Steindl-Rast's newer stuff, and in his book The Music of Silence he says "The economics of affluence demand that things that were special for us last year must now be taken for granted; so the container gets bigger and the joy of overflowing gratefulness is taken away from us."
That gave me pause. Perhaps the biggest difference is that back in those days, before the technological revolution, our vessels were smaller and each new thing was greeted with excitement and amazement. "Conspicuous consumption" was one of those newly coined words, and it didn't relate to many of the people I knew. You bought something, you expected it to last. My mother's toaster is so old, the wire is wrapped in cloth. My fourteen-year-old nephew, on the other hand, is on his fourth $400 game system. It's an amazingly realistic thing with incredible graphics and sound effects, but by his birthday in May, it will be ho-hum, and he'll be hoping for bigger and better.
Perhaps the specialness has worn off holidays because it's worn off most everything. Or perhaps I'm just getting old. The real question is what am I going to do about it?
Come on! You must have something to share about all this.
