The Past

The Past...

What is the past?

Can people change?

Do things really change?

I have been immersed in the world of Bridgeton and the Gilded Age, and I am rewatching Downton Abby again.  I seem so mesmerized by all the dresses, china, silverware, and the dancing. I look at our world, and so much of this sort of thing is gone. We don't even call each other anymore.  While some of it seems a bit over the top, I think we should have some of it back.  I think it would make life a bit better and more civilized. 

Communication

What if we actually wrote letters?  There was a time when it was really the only method of communication.  Most letters started with a mention of the weather, then health.  Some included recent events and even a bit of juicy gossip.  While I would appreciate a well-carved writing desk with a dip pen.  A chance to gaze out and appreciate the well-manicured garden. Sealing wax is probably not needed, but it would really jazz things up. 

A phone call might even be nice. One where one knows a number, picks up a receiver, and dials some numbers.  On the other end, the person answers, only to be surprised to find out who is calling. No auto-dial, no photo appearing on the screen, no number blocking, or auto messaging an excuse as to why the connection must wait. It was just a simple phone call to a friend. 

Maybe we could just drop by for a cup of coffee or a short visit.  Maybe a visit that is spontaneous and not planned in a week.  No expectations of a grand charcuterie board or host of fine pastries.  Just good old coffee and maybe a stale donut.  

As things currently work, our new technology seems to be pushing us further and further apart.  We screen our calls. We set up our communication devices to notify the caller when the phones are on silent. People walk down the street looking at their phones wearing large noise cancelling head phones.  We are drifting further and further away from each other. Ease of communication has become isolation. 

Somehow, we no longer talk to each other, ask personal questions, or even know the questions to ask. I am a question asker.  I ask all sorts of things of everyone.  Where do you live? How did you come to live in the Spokane area?  Where did you go to school? Do you have a family?  What's your favorite Asian restaurant? Have you ever done Bloomsday?  Do you remember the winter of 1969? Did you see John Denver at Expo 74?  They go on and on and on.... What I have found is that my daughter is horrified by the litany.  I, in turn, can not believe what she does not ask her friends and co-workers. How do we find out about people if we don't ask them questions, or write letters, or call them?

 Heavy Sigh

Sometimes I just need to purge the angst that floats in my soul. Sometimes one gets so busy they don't have a moment to think.  I have been trying to pay more attention.  Maybe rushing through life and pushing the bad stuff away works better. 

I think this down-and-out feeling on Christmas Eve is just a culmination of a year of imbalance.  I know things have been very disjointed and disorienting for several months.  Things I have valued and learned over the years are evidently not valued by many people.  The loud people.  Those extoling the virtues of hate, intolerance, and basic lack of sympathy.  Judges have been bought. Education is mocked. History is ignored. Science is discredited. The poor are not tolerated.  Immigrants are rounded up and treated like cattle. 

As a history major and a person with an amazing memory for many things (do  you know where my phone is right now?) I am so distressed.  

As I watch things unfold in our world, the distress does not seem to be fading.  It only amps up.  There are so many important things happening in the greater world and in my world. I just wish I had enough fortitude to face it all.  To read the papers, digest the events, and think about the consequences, but the events come so fast and furious that I am unable to even put my head up a bit to look around.  As a result, my world is shrinking.  I read less, go out less, engage with fewer people, sleep more, and watch less.  I find that even while watching something as simple as The Gilded Age, I have to stop when I can see there is going to be some conflict or issue that will make a favorite character uncomfortable.  I have become the child who rewatches the same movie or cartoon over and over because surprise is too much to handle.   Lots and lots of deep breaths are required.  Everything seems to trip me up.  

This entry was started in December and is being finished on April 13, 2026.  See, it is taking way too long to be able to lay out what is going on in my head.  Back to the Gilded Age.  Grandma Foster would have loved all the clothes.  Not that she was around then,

but she was certainly a lover of great fashion.