Sure, we get annoyed when someone answers a cell phone and interrupts our conversation. Sure, we feel pangs of invisibility when we are deserted for an incoming text message. Okay, we may even wish you’d (and you know who you are) would just stop surfing the net while I’m talking to you. But . . . I have to admit that when I’m on the sending or the receiving end of the equation, I feel completely differently.

A couple of weeks ago, I was visiting the US and found my internet connection most comforting. I Skyped Italy almost everyday to talk and see Emerson. It’s interesting to note how facial expressions are so important in communication. To see him smile and hear laughter at the same time is something of a modern miracle to me.

I remember when I was a kid, first there was talk of “computers taking over.”  That was on the heels of microwave cooking, which destroyed the typical, homemade dinner—and the American family as we knew it, or so it seemed. So technology often times is/was a mixed blessing.

Then TV went technicolor. I still remember the NBC Peacock fanning its tail feathers, showing the magnificent range of color capability. Then there were the late ’70s, when I went through a couple of semesters in graduate school where keypunch was the only way to communicate with a computer. One wrong punch by the typist on the keys meant that the program simply would NOT run. So, as you can see, I’m no stranger when it comes to interfacing with technology and the constant change that it brings into our lives.

Somehow, I thought of the telephone as something different. It never occurred to me that the phone could or would change. We had a handsome black rotary style clunker and I still remember the sound as I dialed. And, the telephone numbers began with a beautiful word. Our prefix was “garden,” and Em’s was “melrose.” Sure, there were party lines, when Mom had to ask our neighbor to relinquish her death-grip on the phone line so she could make an extremely important call. She’d ring her sister and then the nosy neighbor would quietly pick-up her phone again to listen in. Mom always heard the click. I remember her saying, “Wait! I think someone’s on the line.” When the neighbor’s attempt to listen in was thwarted, she not-so-gently replaced her hand set to its cradle with a loud clack. Mom typically held the phone about a foot from her ear to avoid the jarring sound of Mrs. Allen slamming down the receiver. But a phone with a screen? Who’d want such a thing? Why, you couldn’t answer the phone in your PJs or without having at least combed your hair.

In the mid-1980s, Em brought home a “portable” computer in its nifty not-so-little backpack. The company wanted him to work from home, as well as in the office, So they “issued” him this sweet little machine. The first portable Macs weighed over 15 pounds (not exactly a sweet little machine). But, we were hooked. We were already anticipating the demise of the typewriter, its messy ribbons, and various correction products. We loved the ability to make changes immediately with no tell-tale signs of our botched attempts.

But last month, while I was thousands of miles away, I was thrilled to have the ability to stay in touch. I sent Em an email, alerting him that I’d try to call via Skype soon. I imagined the slight smile on his face as he typed his humorously romantic response, “I will patiently await the hour of our digital embrace.”

Posted on August 13, 2011

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