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Over Coffee
I did something recently that left me feeling disconnected at first, and maybe even a little frightened. I– who in 1978 left Tennessee to come back to Florida with less than $300, three kids, and all our worldly goods crammed into a 12-year-old Ford Torino– have over the years, been dubbed pretty fearless, as fearless goes.
Yet cutting off the constant communication of an ever-present flood of ring tones, buzzers, pagers and messages including, “You’ve got mail,” somehow made my heart skip a beat. I was suddenly adrift in a world of silence, without the ability to speak to someone in an instant, or pick up a call or message while pushing a shopping cart through the grocery store.
At first, it was alarming. What if I needed someone or something? What if someone needed me?
But slowly the tightly-connected world began to fade away and I noticed that I liked the feeling that I could remain undisturbed for as long as I wanted; that I could choose when and where to listen to my messages and return calls and emails.
When did the ability to be reached in an emergency turn into the pandemonium it has become?
Still feeling rather unsteady and engulfed by this new freedom, I began to hear the birds splashing in the birdbath in my flower garden and the wind whistling through the Gregorian chimes on my front porch.
Oh, there have been plenty of times I chose to be alone, maybe to think out the wording of a column or news story or write a book. But over the years, as each new technology arrived, I thought my world demanded that I buy a piece of it and even when doing jobs that require concentration, I kept all these devices near me in the “on” position.
How could I manage after cutting the cord on my cell phone? I’d had the same number for 15 years. And how could I turn off “call waiting” on my landline, and get rid of the sound that accompanies the arrival of new email? (Can anyone really carry on two rational conversations at the same time? And am I the only one who loses my train of thought when interrupted by beeps?)
I couldn’t believe things that started out as conveniences had turned into millstones around my neck. I couldn’t wait to tell my family about this new feeling of freedom.
The day after I cut the cords I found that one of my sons had just done the exact same thing! Having that conversation with him (on my landline) drinking this week’s treat– berry-flavored Columbian coffee with real half-and-half – I knew that no one could suddenly interrupt; not that they necessarily would at what was a very early hour, but that they couldn’t. The idea was liberating. Choosing my preferred time and place for managing “life” had somehow gone by the wayside long ago. Oh, I love my family and friends and appreciate my editing clients and business associates and all my wonderful sources for local news. But when I’m talking to someone, I want to give them my full attention, not one ear while someone shouts in the other about something totally unrelated to the conversation I’m trying to have.
I’m amazed that I actually prided myself in saying, “Don’t worry, you can reach me 24 hours a day” for so many years. That sounds like a good statement for a news reporter to make, but in reality, it’s not. I’ve seen people get offended when I take calls while they’re trying to talk. What good is it if they can reach me if they can’t keep my attention?
I thought about how slowly this dependence on instantaneous communication had come about. When I was a kid we had one big black phone in the house. We lifted the ear piece from a thin, tall stand attached by a cord. The first phone I remember in our home was in the hallway, and it had no dial. I would pick up the ear piece and our operator would eventually come on the line. I still remember her name, it was Mrs. Speck. I’d speak into the mouthpiece (that remained on the stand) and she’d say “Hi there, Penny. How are you doing today?” and I’d talk with her awhile before asking to be connected with one of my friends. Later, in the early 1960s, I worked three nights a week after school and on Saturday mornings for New Jersey Bell Telephone Company in Asbury Park. As operators, we sat on high stools and finagled with two rows of cords, each call requiring a plug “in” and a plug “out.” I can still see the color-coded plug-boards in front of us that were covered with thousands of tiny round holes going to such faraway places as Newark and New York and Philadelphia. Anything farther away than that required the assistance of another operator, whether “Long Distance” or “Overseas.”
My mother said when she was a kid she had to go to the General Store to use a phone that hung on the wall and made loud noises when you turned a crank. One of my grandfathers was actually a lamplighter, who later in life became employed by the first office of N.J. Power & Light. He said when he was a kid, there were no phones.
Progress is a wonderful thing, but it is a double-edged sword. Communication has certainly improved but the ability to stay connected to the person with whom we are conversing somehow has to be regained.
I’m thankful for the voice mail system that catches my calls when I’m on the phone talking to someone else. I’m thankful for the Microsoft Outlook program that captures my emails. Now I just have to remember to check them when I have time to actually process what is being said. As for the cell phone, it’s in the desk drawer. Verizon lets me go “on vacation” to be sure I don’t sign an agreement with another carrier. I’m not sure how long it will remain there, or if it will ever come back out.
Right now though, I am enjoying the freedom to disentangle the cords which seem to have tethered me to a continuous “On” button.
Even now though, my granddaughter and I have three telephone numbers –our landline, her “personal” Metro PCS (with Internet, mind you) and the minutes I purchase annually for my Saturn’s OnStar system. These, I figure, are more than enough..
*Perhaps you have something you’d like to share. Or maybe you’d rather tell the community about your favorite charity or cause: or sound off about something you think needs change. That’s what “Over Coffee” is about. It really doesn’t matter whether we actually drink any coffee or not (although I probably will). It’s what you have to say that’s important. E-mail me any time and suggest a meeting place. No matter what’s going on, I’m usually available to share just one more cup. Or maybe you’d like to tune into the new radio show I’m hosting, “The Uncensored Reporter.” It’s available across the country on both AM and FM radio but so far I haven’t found out the call numbers for our area so I just direct everyone to
www.themicroeffect.com on their computers Tuesdays and Thursdays from 3-to-4 p.m. It’s a call-in show so maybe you’ve got some ideas or comments you’d like to share on the air. Just click on “Listen Live” and give it a whirl.
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