While I was cooking dinner the other
night, my husband came into the kitchen with his laptop and asked
me to approve (or not) some graphics for a project he was working
on. I re-focussed my eyes from the steaming pots to the laptop
waved under my nose. I commented favourably and he continue working
until dinner was ready. I am appalled at how accessible and intrusive
technology has become.
I've fought against it most of my life:
amateur (ham) radio sets taking up my leg space in the car, aerials
strung everywhere, a laptop on the dining-room table most of
the time, two TV's going all day to watch the Olympic games.
There seems no end to it from morning till night. In the middle
of brushing my teeth a cordless phone is thrust into my face
and no amount of shaking my head and gargling puts off the inevitable
I have tried putting my foot down. I
declared the front room an electronic-free room and it is to
some extent. There is a large screened TV and occasionally a
CD player makes it's way on to a little table. But generally
it is a calm, quiet room. When my grandsons were younger a variety
of gadgets were plugged into the TV. Car races, shoot ups, and
sport noises dominated until they left, then the lounge room
was serene once more. Now when they come, one grabs the laptop
to check his "myspace" and the other one throws himself
into the lazy boy and texts non-stop as fast as he can on one
of his two cell phones. The only time my fingers worked that
fast was when I was in business college learning to touch-type
so many words per minute. I doubt my grandsons would even know
what I'm talking about.
Even the other day in Church I noticed
a young girl texting madly, openly. Then I heard the muffled
singing of a cell phone from a man a few seats away. Oh God,
I moaned, what are we coming to. A cell phone in a coffin? Yes,
that has happened too.
Before I set out in my power wheelchair
for a quiet zip around the park, my husband reminds me "Have
you got your cell phone for emergencies?" Yes, I pat my
left hand side pocket. Cell phone. "And the garage door
opener? I might not be in when you get home." Yes, I pat
the right hand pocket. Garage door opener. Off I whiz with all
my electronic gear in place. Why fight it?