Counting Change
posted July 6, 2001
I need to begin with a confession. I'm a pretty low-maintenance girl. I get a lot of my clothes from thrift shops and actually have overturned orange crates functioning as plant stands in my apartment. I rarely go to movies and can't remember the last time I went on a "real" vacation. I am, however, a sucker for high-end electronics, and have pretty much what I want. I have a whole baggie full of hair torn from the heads of men who, in the course of my many moves, have struggled to set up my complex stereo system. My headphones cost $265; I have wet dreams about the $3,000 Denon receiver I once listened to; and I drool over high definition TV. The computer -- well, after four years, it's still a thing of magic (though I am a tad confused as to why it can't tell time).
I'd be a liar if I denied that I'm hooked on certain elements of the 21st Century -- but, I am also painfully aware of what all this is costing. It's true, there is no such thing as a free lunch, and that makes me crazy because I love my toys -- and, for the most part, I liked how it used to be better. I'm not sure if what we have is worth what we gave up.
Dinner, for example. A young friend's sociology professor asked how many kids came from families that regularly sat down and had a meal together at the end of the day. She and one other girl were the only ones in the class to raise their hands. People are busy and kids today have schedules that would kill a horse. I guess if you have more than one going in different directions, it's nigh impossible.
In my family we used to play a lot of games -- mostly cards as a kid or something called Aggrevation, which is more or less like Parcheesi. A few years ago, it was Trivial Pursuit (boys against the girls against the kids -- losers do the dishes). Back in the early 80's, it was a common thing for friends to come over for a game of Trivia. We had five different sets of questions. When we were alone, my husband and I would play Cribbage. Except when we go to Gramma's at Christmas and there's nothing else to do, I haven't played a game that wasn't on a screen in years. I've suggested it a few times, but people look at me like I'm soft.
Another favorite evening was sitting around listening to music. When was the last time you got together with other adults and just grooved on tunes -- with or without a soundless television?
And let's not forget the Sunday drive. When I was a kid, that was a high point. We'd hop in the car and head out toward the country or take a circuitous route up over Avon Mountain to visit the cousins, making turns just because we'd never been down that road before. Somehow playing "cows" just doesn't compete with a Gameboy -- besides, most of the bovine beings are gone, their fields replaced with housing developments. Gas is expensive, most roads look like every other road; and, more to the point, who has time?
The more I write here, the more I remember. Going to the pony rides, family trips to the ice cream parlor; all of us going berrying, then coming home and having blueberry pancakes or strawberry shortcake for dinner; neighborhood ice skating parties on Hickey's pond; and even people who didn't have kids buying tickets to the school play. As a real little kid, if we didn't go for a ride on Sunday, we went to my "other grandmother's." The cousins (Larry and Wayne) would be there too, and my grandmother's sister, Gert, and her husband Uncle Walter. We'd play Michigan Rummy because that's how Sundays were. You'd go to church, have a Sunday dinner and get together with the rellies -- all of whom lived fairly close by.
We had progressive dinners, come-as-you-are parties, and kids fooled around with the phone. Now, I ask you, when was the last time anyone inquired if your toilet was running? For those of you who don't know, when the sincere person on the other end of the phone would say, "Why, yes, I think so, dear," we'd suggest they go chase it and laugh like hyenas. In light of today's rowdiness, it seems quite tame, but we couldn't wait for parents to leave so we could do it. It was so deliciously naughty.
The other thing I remember is roots and stability. I was in high school before anyone moved out of my immediate neighborhood. We were sort of like an extended family. I knew to be home at dinner, but no one worried about where I was because we all felt safe. There was no such thing as a "latch-key" kid. Somebody's mother was always home, and they were more or less interchangeable. When the kids across the street lost their daddy, my dad stepped right in, taking little Donny fishing, teaching him how to shoot, tossing a baseball around. On holidays, there would be parades, and the tail end would always be little girls pushing doll carriages decorated with crepe paper. Memorial Day was significant because all the names represented by the crosses were familiar ones.
I grew up in a place where just about everyone in town knew me. Now, if it weren't for names on mailboxes, I wouldn't know who shared this five-apartment Victorian. We nod on the stairs, but no one ever says, "Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?" I actually did once, but it was never reciprocated and now we still just nod. The labor-saving devices we were all so excited about didn't, in fact, make us less busy. Now we have laptops so we can take our work to the beach.
I know that the point of power is the present moment and that the wave belongs to the future. I love my electronic eye and ear and mind candy. In spite of that (I'm almost embarrassed to say), lots of times I'm still really homesick for the past. We have more expensive gizmos, but it seems that we've lost our connectedness to one another and the places where we live. I have good friends, but they are far flung and most have never met. That isn't the same as a community. Now when I think of community, I think of the people on my Internet mailing list. Don't get me wrong. What we have is great, and I enjoy it as much as the next guy. I just think it cost too much.
Share one thing you miss about the old days.
