From my raspberry post, I was reminded of how far communication has come and the fact we are living in what future historians will surely label the Communication Age.
Six year old kids that have their own cell phone, and kids texting and twittering every event of their day, no matter how mundane. Adults who spend hours in Facebook, MySpace and Yahoo and any number of “social networks” available; who can find any information they are looking for with the typing of a couple key words. (How I found Terry and his BlogSpot.) News feeds per our interests are fed directly to our phones, not even a need to turn on the TV to stay up with the news we are interested in. The only reason to go to Western Union is to send Jr his monthly allowance while in school. Kids as well as adults that find sitting in front of a computer and playing World of War Craft takes every spare, and not so spare, moment, that used to be spent falling into water tanks, or being stung by a yellow jacket while playing and filling up on freshly picked berries. Surely this is progress.
In my genealogy file, I have letters and short telegrams (original twitters?) of five sons trying to stay in touch with their estranged mother from all points of the globe. Envelopes from a son who is an artist, and sends his mom a new drawing on every letter. Letters from sons doing their patriotic duty from on board a destroyer in the Pacific or in a radio shack in the Aleutian Islands. News of winning a contest to find the fastest typist in the country (on a 1920′s manual typewriter no less) (what is a typewriter?) A complete history, or at least 20 years of history, permanently captured on pieces of paper, post marked envelops and yellowing telegrams, held for posterity by family members. Surely today’s information is so much better!
All that history and mundane updates for the lives of our children, all lost in the ether at best, or in some government database at worst. Not to be read by posterity unless, of coarse, we give reason for someone to launder our dirt. Then the world will read it all!
You tell me. . . Is this really progress, or am I just an old fuddy duddy, living to much in the past?
An idle thought from a not so idle mind. . . .
