Domino Effect
It is unquestionably easy to become a slave to technology. The very process of attempting to simplify data storage creates questions and problems I never encounter when I merely toss papers into a box to sort later. Admittedly that system also has drawbacks beyond the obvious fact that I can’t locate, let alone remember, 80% of what’s in all those cardboard containers. Besides the risk of a fire hazard, it looks like I’m erecting a monument to hoarding.
Whatever degree you rely on computers to organize your life, this happens to be one of those areas where I profoundly envy other generations.
Any seniors who have reconciled themselves to refusing to tackle computers at a stage when they would prefer to live free of ‘instruments of mass frustration’ probably possess a Zen-like peace I lost long ago. Then there are those sharp-minded people of my parents’ generation who, by comparison, fearlessly pass me in the slow lane with their accomplishments. I’m embarrassed to be a shrinking reflection in a rear-view mirror on the Information Highway. Just when I dare to presume that I am getting a handle on things, the technology I finally mastered enough to be considered at least functionally adept becomes outdated, quickly toppling away like the next domino precariously balanced on end.
Younger people who have never used a typewriter or written a letter by hand seem to be born understanding the mystical power of the almighty gigabyte. They never owned boxes of photographs and negatives stacked in a closet or trays of slides collecting dust. Dare I even bother mentioning 8mm or 16mm movie film and projectors? They haven’t experienced graduating from record players and transistor radios to 8-track music tapes and cassettes, followed by CDs and MP3 players. They embrace change smoothly and without hesitation when confronted with replacing VHS movies with DVDs, and now Blu-Ray (whatever that is).
Did you lose any sleep over all the hype and countdown to switching television from analog to digital signals? I’ve heard there are 3-D television screens being produced now. I wonder if I’ll be able to get 3-D glasses in prescription bifocals.
Hush!
Is that the sound of another domino hitting the table?
Personally, I’m suspicious about change. It’s uncomfortable. I am afraid of making a mistake that can’t be undone. What if I scan all those photographs, dump the film and originals to save space in my house, only to discover the technology of the future (probably being developed somewhere by a 12-year-old as you read this paragraph) would work better if I started from the irreplaceable articles I tossed in the garbage two weeks ago instead of my digital copies?
Film and photographs merited a nearly sacred respect in my home. My father was a photographer. He ran his own portrait studio and darkroom when I was young. Mom retouched the emulsion on negatives and ‘spotted’ photographs to remove scratches, dust spots and even unwanted freckles. A home darkroom even occupied a corner in the garage (can’t ever remember seeing the car parked in there, however). That’s where Dad taught me how to develop film and print in both B&W and color. Properly storing film, slides and photos was a way of life.
As I face the task of converting my mind-set to the 21st Century, I tell myself that Dad would have absolutely loved all this. I’m sure of it. So I’ll try to bravely march forward and chip away at the literal mountain of information I need to organize.