The Loss of Simplicity indeed
Mr Porretto is kind enough to mention me here; and mentions my yearning for simpler times.
He’s right, I often make that comment, to many people. And I’m certainly not the first to feel this way. I have mentioned here before how much I enjoy Alone in the Wilderness– and I’m going to have to break down and buy the damned disk someday. Also, anyone who has read the Foxfire Books may have read the story of Ben Ward. These are men I admire greatly, and if I could, I would follow their example. No, I’m not a luddite, nor do I want to be Amish, but I have a longing for that lifestyle. To drive a 1949 Ford pickup. And have a Tudor sedan in the garage And wear Bill’s Khakis and canvas coats, and listen to the radio.
Now, I’m not beyond making my life easier, so modern lubrticants, bearing steels, etc. will all be part of my repertoire, but the basics will be basic. Not because things were better then, because in many ways they weren’t. But they were simpler.
“Alone in the Wilderness” is great. It’s just too damned cold up there.
Hell, I like simplicity myself–’72 pickup, ’81 Caprice, 2 ’82 Honda bikes, a yard full of chickens, a pasture full of sheep & goats (the landlord’s) behind my place, etc. I watched “The Usual Suspects” last night on tape, and before that I don’t know how long it’d been since I turned my TV on.
Yes, I know–looking at it, that doesn’t look very simple; but I can repair all my machines without outside help, and the most high-tech thing in my house is this computer (running XP). No cable or satellite, no plasma TV, nor any of those killers of brain function. I’m hardly Amish, but my life is pretty peaceful.
What he says is sadly true.
…and, I’m too old to take a chance any more. Not enough time left to get to know someone’s real self and still have time to enjoy a life with them.
Beware the modern oxymorons. Anything pushed on you “for your convenience” is always for the convenience of the seller, not you. Any “time saver” is guaranteed to double the time you need to devote to it.
My father never had a pager, much less a cell phone, wouldn’t use an answering machine, had no e-mail, and died before the Blackberry and iPhone. TV was for sports and the occasional Wayne movie. I wish I had a fraction of his free time. One of his favorite stories was how he and a few of his mill friends went to a ball game, and the foreman called his father’s house looking for him for a call-in. He lived at home until he married – his father was disabled by the mill, leaving him as his sisters’ support. The conversation went like this:
(foreman): Where’s (n)?
(grandpa): He’s not home right now…
(foreman): Where did he go, when is he coming back?
(grandpa): Now wait. My son is a grown man. He goes when he goes, and he comes back when he comes back. If I don’t ask him to account for his every minute to me, and I’m his father, who the hell are you to ask me when the hell he’s coming home? He will be at work when he’s scheduled, like always.
Nowadays, try to get away from work. Every one of us is tethered to an electronic device, giving every swinging Richard from work instant access to put us on a “hey you” detail. Because the pager and cell phone are time savers, put out there for our convenience.
I share your wish for a simpler time.
I have occasionally flustered and frustrated others who wanted me tied to a telephonic leash by telling them, with a BIG smile, that I don’t have a cell phone…or a pager…and I never answer the phone in the evenings unless it’s from a number I recognize as belonging to a personal friend.
Contrary to prevalent practice, you CAN make your off-duty time your own, with a bit of willpower and enough clarity to separate genuine necessities from others’ conveniences.