Growing up Without a Cell Phone and other things we never would have dreamed of when WE were kids

My sister sent me this email recently called "Growing up without a Cell Phone."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes a little, as the previous week, our local Junior Achievement volunteer had just visited our 5th grade classroom to talk about technology and its advances in the last few years.  The kids seemed to have a little trouble grasping the concept, so I offered to try and help put things into perspective.

"When I was ten," I began (and could almost see the glazing over of eyes), "not every house had a microwave oven.  Cell phones didn't exist. When cell phones came into existence, they were these huge things with an antenna and were so expensive that most people couldn't afford them."  I remember watching an episode of "Charlies Angels" and seeing one of the Angels grab a cell phone from a car and thinking how cool that was.

When I was ten, I continued, not every house had a dishwasher.  Dishes were washed by hand. 

The fifth grade class looked horrified.

When I was ten, there were no computers  - at least, not at home.  I was in the 8th grade the first time I saw and used a computer at school, and they were far different from what is available in classrooms and homes, now. 

Caller ID didn't exist on telephones.  If you wanted to know who was calling, you picked up the phone and answered.  Many homes didn't have answering machines.  If you weren't home when someone called, they just called you again and again until you answered.

VCRs and DVDs and CDs didn't exist.  If we watched movies at home, it was because they were broadcast on one of the 4 channels you could get on your t.v. if you didn't have cable - CBS, NBC, ABC, and PBS.  If you had cable, you could get a few more channels.  HBO was brand new when I was ten, so likely there were a few more t.v. channels available by then, too.

Music was played on a disc called a "45" or a "33."  We played them on "record players."  We listened to cassette tapes on these things called "tape recorders."  Those had a fast-forward and rewind buttons, and if you were really hi-tech, a "pause" function.

The fifth grade class listened in astonishment.  And we hadn't even touched on remote-controlled tv's.  In a box of stuff we got from the in-laws one time, I came across an early television remote. I laughed because it came with a cord.  Having trouble picturing that?   The cord plugged into one end of the remote and the other end of the cord plugged into the television.  Here's a sample:

 

"And that," I closed, "Was techonology just about 30 years ago when I was your age."

And now, the abbreviated and edited email about Growing up Without a Cellphone:

• 
  
  We didn't have the Internet.  If we wanted to know something, we went to the library and looked it up in the card catalog and found the book we needed.  The card catalog was housed in a cabinet with small drawers that held 3x5 index cards arranged alphabetically by author, topic, or title.

• 
  
  Email didn't exist.  You wrote your letters by hand, or on a typewriter and then you put them in an envelope, got a stamp, and found a mailbox to deposit it for mailing.
• 
  
  Child Protective Services didn't care if your parents beat you.  Well, I'm sure that's not completely true - but spanking was a lot more acceptable "then" than it is "now," and furthermore, if a neighborhood parent hollered at you or threatened to spank you for something you did that wasn't right, you can bet your parents would know about it before you got home and they sure weren't going to call Child Protective Services on your behalf because chances were good that you deserved it if the neighborhood parent yelled at you.
• 
  
  If you wanted to "steal music," as the author of the email states, there was no Napster or MP3 - you walked to the store and shoplifted your own music.  Ok - I don't condone this, but still find it a bit amusing.  Good luck stealing 45s or an actual ALBUM.   
• 
  
  Or, you could wait all day for the DJ on the radio to play the song you wanted. Then, you held your tape recorder up to the speaker on the radio and pushed "RECORD" and hoped nobody walked into the room and made any noise because it would record right along with the song. High tech, we were!
• 
  
  Call waiting wasn't around, either. If someone called and you were on the phone, they just got a busy signal.  Oh - and regarding cell phones, if you were gone when a friend called, you were gone. They either tracked you down by getting on their bicycles and searching for you, or they didn't. No big deal.

• 
  
  Video games were just getting started.  We thought the graphics were incredible - like nothing we'd ever seen before.  The Pac Man graphic (left, below) is an example of what our video games looked like.

• 
  
  And it's true - if you wanted to change the channel on t.v., you GOT OUT OF YOUR CHAIR and WALKED OVER to the t.v. and you CHANGED THE CHANNEL by turning a dial that usually sounded like "click click click click click" until you got the channel you wanted.  Unless you had kids, in which case you could holler, "C'MERE! Go change the channel."
• 
  
  Cartoon Network wasn't around, either, nor was Nickelodeon or Disney channel.  Cartoons were on during weekday afternoons usually starting around 4pm and ending by 6pm at the latest, and they were on Saturday mornings and usually finished at noon. We knew when we watched "Schoolhouse Rock" at noon that cartoons were over for the day.
• 
  
   On days it didn't rain or storm in any other shape or form, we played outside.  We checked in periodically at home, rode bikes, made snow forts, roller skated (if you were current with the trends, you had skates like the ones on the lower left.  Ours resembled the pair in the upper left, with metal wheels).  We played ball in the street, jump rope, built forts out of the picnic table with old blankets and sheets, played hopscotch, walked to the corner 7-11 (which did exist then, youngsters) and had a slurpee, we played tag games like Bloody Murder, Statue, and Freeze, among others.  Sometimes we'd eat popcorn (that wasn't in a microwave bag because we didn't have a microwave and and if microwaves were around when I was ten, microwave popcorn didn't come along until a few years later.  We took bike rides and explored other neighborhoods.  We went to the . . . LIBRARY. . .and sometimes walked to the theatre and caught a summer time matinee.  Our parents didn't allow us to vegetate with video games on a beautiful summer day.  On days it rained or otherwise stormed, we didn't usually hang out with friends because when we played at a friend's house, we usually played outside.  Gotta use the bathroom? Better run home.  If you were too far away to run home, then it was ok to go in and use the bathroom - but you had to ask, first.
• 
  
  Nope, we didn't have car seats.  We piled into the back seat (remember riding on the "hump" on the floor?) and sat in the front seat, too.  Sometimes adults would insist on seatbelts, but more often than not, we piled in without any restraints.  We even rode in the backs of pick-up trucks, sitting on old sofa cushions.

No, life wasn't always as clean and simple as a Norman Rockwell painting - but it was pretty good.  

images from Yahoo Images search results

Signs, Signs, Everywhere a Sign

 
This post originally was published on http://www.spanitz.com/, host of Synergest, on January 27, 2009. Because real life intervenes and I haven't had time to compose anything new lately, I hope you'll get a kick out of reading something old(ish).


I never used to think that I was one of those anally retentive people. I'm not talking about those who have problems expelling bodily waste, I mean the mentally anally rententive -- those who just can't seem to relinquish control of certain things.


I hadn't given this much thought until just recently, when a friend was visiting. I was getting a drink for another friend, and noticed the ice cube tray was empty. For those not in the know, "ice trays" are what we dump the ice cubes in when we don't have an automatic ice maker in the freezer of the refrigerator.


Typically, the ice tray remains empty because my Otherwise Wonderful Spouse selectively removes cubes from the cube tray maker thingie rather than dumping them into the big container where anybody could grab a few globs and cool off a tepid drink. This would lead to not only having any ice cubes "being made," but to a perpetually ice-cube free freezer. This annoyed me so much last summer that I wrote in permanent marker on the big ice cube container, "PLEASE REFILL WHEN EMPTY."


It worked for a while, but usually serves to send my Annoyance Meter sky high because I'm the one who usually fills the tray and then refills the smaller trays to make more ice.


Anyway, I pointed this out to my friend and related my tale, and she laughed because it's pretty much the same story at her house. But, she wondered, did I have signs everywhere? Or just in the freezer?


Because, she remarked, she had known someone whose mother liked to write messages on the shower wall, using dry erase markers or some such thing. "Don't forget the dry cleaning," would appear on the shower wall, or some other daily message.


I stopped in my tracks. No, I said, this is the only sign.


I couldn't be more wrong.


Regular readers know I've posted a sign on the front door asking would-be sales-kids to not ring (unless it's chocolate) because I have a hard time saying no. "No sales, please," says the front door.



While doing laundry the other day, I realized I had a sign on the washer and dryer, each. One reads, "WHITE CLOTHES", the other reads, "COLORED CLOTHES."


What on earth, you must be wondering. Well, in my defense, I have to say it was to save my sanity. 98% of the time, I do the laundry at this house. 98% of the time, despite my best efforts to lead by example and have obviously WHITE piles of clothing in one place and obviously DARK or COLORED clothes in another pile, the rest of my household remained stubbornly color blind until I posted the signs.

So far, the sign system works in the laundry room.


Another sign is posted at the bottom of the basement stairs. My friend also noticed this one, because again, she has the same kind of issues at her own house. My sign reads, "Tidy up and turn off the lights before coming upstairs."


Sigh.


I know what you're thinking. Crazy cat lady. Crazy cat lady.


I admit it! It's probably true! But, when you have kids, sometimes a reminder that isn't accompanied by an annoyed hollering voice can work wonders. And the lights almost always are shut off before anybody comes upstairs.


Ok, it's time for one last sign. This one is on the back door, which leads into the garage. "Please leave all wet footwear on the rug."


You'd think that would not need explaining, but . . . I have KIDS. Kids don't always have the same logic that adults do. Wet shoes? Wet boots? Muddy sandals? Eh - I'll just walk through the entire house, to my room, and leave them in there.


My father-in-law commented on that particular sign. "Footwear?" he queried. I didn't respond, because I couldn't bear to explain that someone would no doubt say, "Well, it doesn't say BOOTS, so THAT must be ok! The sign just says SHOES!"


I'm a believer in notes. Without notes to myself, reminding me to pick up the kids from school, go to the drugstore, or return library books, my life would be full of over-due notices and tearful phone calls.


Maybe my signs are a little bit . . . weird.


Obsessive-compulsive, perhaps.


Ok, ok! my signs are just a sign of an anally retentive person who wants some CONTROL over the ICE CUBE TRAYS and DIRTY SHOES!!!!!


I'm just not ready to give up my signs. Maybe in a few more years when the kids are older. When they're teens, surely they'll remember to remove their dirty shoes, and learn how to make ice? And surely they'll remember we don't own the electric company, and turn off the lights?


I'm not so sure.


Until then, maybe it's time for me to go look for some cats. I'd better write a note to get that Crazy Cat Lady image going.




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Summer Pot Pourri

This article originally ran on the Spanitz.com web page on July 30, 2009.  We're still a few months away from summer time, but some things haven't changed since July 30 (except for the amount of snow, of course) and the fact that this article was edited and doesn't contain all of its original content.  That aside,  Pants still ride low, shirts still ride tight, and Wanda Sykes has added a new song that is the perfect complement to "Pants on the Ground."  I think Wanda and I are on the same page.



Summer has been here for several weeks now. Any time of year is good for thoughts worthy of great pondering, but for some reason, this summer has really brought out the Big Thinks.



I'm not a big fan of the "If you've got it, flaunt it" philosophy, primarily because whether or not you've got "it" is such a difficult thing to pinpoint. Beauty, as it should be, is in the eye of the beholder - and everyone has different standards of beauty. This is a good thing.



That said, I must say that my standards of beauty do not include cuppeths that overfloweth on a daily basis in public places. Perhaps it is the places I shop. Walmart has never been the harbinger of fashion based solely on those who shop there. I can say this, because I shop there now and then and am definitely not fashionable.


Why is it though, whenever I'm at that particular place of business in the summer months, all I see are Titties on Parade? Nearly every female shopper under the age of 50 is showing off The Girls in some ridiculously low-cut tank top. On some women, regardless of breast size, the tank tops barely cover their chests.



I don't care how firm The Girls are, I don't care how saggy The Girls are, nor how large or small or in-between. Women, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON BEFORE YOU GO OUT IN PUBLIC, PLEASE.



I felt sorely in need of antispetic eye wash by the time I left the store.



On the topic of overwhelming cleavage, let's turn our attention to cleavage at the other end of the body.



I'll say it for a hundredth time: butt cleavage is not attractive. It's only cute on babies, and it happens on babies only because when they start to become ambulatory, their diapers tend to start sagging and show off those cute little baby buns.



If you're not diapered AND learning to walk AND under the age of three, knock it off with the butt cleavage already. I don't care if you're in tip-top physical condition, I have no desire to see the crack of your ass every time you bend over, sit down, or stand up straight or whatever. I don't care if you have a tattoo (tramp stamp?) that you want to show off. I don't care if you want to show off the latest color of your "underwear" (whale tail?). PULL UP YOUR DAMNED PANTS, PLEASE.



And parents, get your little girls some pants that cover their heinies, please. Your little girls are definitely jail bait until the age of 16 in most states, and pants that cover butt cleavage are definitely available if you look for them. I know, because I've purchased them and my daughter wears them. Try Kohl's, Sears/Land's End catalogs, and there are even some WalMart brands that cover underage female tushies.



On that note, you might invest in suspenders for your young boys, too. They really need to pull up their pants.



Before I close this section on fashion, or my own lack thereof seeing as the things I'm complaining about seem to be current fashion anymore, can we stop with the flip-flops, please? Back in the dinosaur age, when I was a kid, we called them "thongs." Now, however, "thongs" refer to that piece of dental floss that separates butt cheeks, which is supposed to double as underwear. Anyway - can we quit wearing thongs to church and school, and in the workplace?



Well, summer is still in full force here and we're all glad of it. Winters in Michigan are long, and soon enough we'll be in "pre-winter" (fall, to the non-Michiganders or Michiganians). I'm contemplating donating suspenders to the elementary schools in my area for the start of the school year. They might be needed more than pencils and crayons.

As for the offenders who show too much cleavage in any area? I may have to pay, on the sly, a few delinquents to carefully aim juicy spitwads. A few episodes of cleaning that off of your body might make a person think twice about what kind of skin they expose during the times they're in public.

I'm a Sucker, Too

Yes, I'm a sucker.  I reached this conclusion after reading a post at Slightly More than Dirt, with I admit, a similar title and photograph at the head of the article. 

So sue me. 

Well, ok, don't sue me. I meant that statement facetiously. 

For those who don't want to visit the link, the authoress at Slightly More than Dirt asks if she's a sucker for giving money to people who beg, after encountering a young woman with a hard-luck story in recent days.

The first time I saw beggars (homeless, street people) I was in Chicago.  The panhandlers weren't on the main drag of the windy city, but just a few blocks over, they were almost too numerous to count.  I was young, naive (some would still say the latter half of that phrase applies) and newlywed, and the panhandlers played on that as my exasperated husband was hit on for money with lines like, "Come on, man - do it to impress the lady."  Our friend and guide through the city maintained his rapid, eyes-straight-ahead-walk and refused any contact of any kind with the panhandlers, side-stepping them with an agility that was amazing for someone who didn't "see" them.  He informed us later that some of the "poor" at that intersection make a couple hundred dollars on a good day, according to a recent news expose, and many of them admitted spending their hard-luck dollars on booze or drugs.

But, I am a sucker, as I've said. It's stamped on my forehead in ink that only the mercenary can read.  I pay attention in church, believe it or not, and have absorbed the "Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto me" message.  So last summer, when I exited the local shopping mall with my mom and sister, and was approached by a woman who leaned heavily on a cane and appeared to be short of breath I learned she was also short of cash.  Could she have a few dollars for gas money, she asked.  Her friend had dropped her off and gas prices being what they were, she wasn't sure they had enough gas to get back home to {insert name of small northern town about 70 miles away} and she couldn't take a bus because the bus routes didn't go that far north, etc.

I used to live up north. I know how people struggle to make ends meet. And despite the niggling in my brain that said But YEAH, she got DOWN here, do ya really think she isn't gonna make it HOME, I paused.

Even a dollar would be fine, anything would help, the woman said, waiting expectantly now that she had me hooked and we had exchanged comments and sympathies.

My sister and mother looked on in lightly veiled disbelief as this woman rattled on with her hard-luck story and I opened my wallet and gave her a dollar.  She thanked me, and happily went on her way, hobbling over a couple of aisles to approach a few more shoppers.

As we continued on our way to our car, my sister and mom talked about the woman. We stopped, watched her approach first one shopper and then another.  I started to have second thoughts.  Some mall patrons were looking uncomfortable about being approached by this woman who looked like she might have been from the People of Walmart site. Others opened purses or wallets and handed over some bills.  The woman didn't seem too concerned about getting her shopping done at the mall.  It occurred to me that if she couldn't afford gas money, she likely had no business shopping at the mall.  The only store with fairly inexpensive goods was the Target store, which was at the other end of the mall.  At that, my mom, sister, and I headed indoors to find mall security.

The security people were on it within minutes.  By the time my family and I reached our car, we could see the supposedly handicapped woman walking jauntily through the adjacent parking lot, scanning for more customers to approach.  As she sighted one, mall security attempted to pull up alongside her.  She saw the approach of the mall security vehicle, and with more than a jaunty lilt in her step, she attempted to hightail it in the opposite direction, between vehicles, so she couldn't be approached except on foot.

My mom and sister decided that I was too nice to people.  While they could sympathize with filling the gas tank to get home, they figured this woman was just on the prowl to make money to head to the casino that had recently opened.  I figured they were probably right about this woman, but that a dollar wasn't going to break me.

I've stopped, in recent months, to leave bags of groceries for people holding signs that read, "Will work for food."  The people don't seem poor, but when you approach them with a bag of food, the sense of desperation is almost palpable.  The unwillingness to meet your eyes (is it because they're scamming?) and the inability to mutter a word of thanks as you say Here, everyone needs to eat (is it because they're scamming?).  The bags don't contain steak, but if I were holding that sign, I'd want what was in the bag: peanut butter, jelly, milk, bread, eggs, a few cans of soup, a few boxes of macaroni & cheese - that sort of thing. 

I've felt guilty about not stopping to help a woman, bundled up against the sub-zero temperatures this winter, standing at a busy intersection while holding a sign that read, "Will work for diapers."  She stood there two days in a row.  Did she get enough diapers? Did local law enforcement tell her to move on?

Various groups will set up a table outside local grocery stores to hawk their wares and causes.  Within the last month, before entering WalMart, I've had these groups approach and ask for donations:  Boy Scouts (with candybars in hand. One poor scout looked utterly disgusted that I just said "Sorry, good luck," and kept on walking), a group donating money to homeless children, a group supporting battered women's shelters, a group to support keeping kids from joining gangs, Girl Scouts selling cookies, and several others which I can't name at the moment.  Each has a table with a donation jar, and candy bars, small bags of chips - something to make you feel like you are getting something in exchange for your donation.

I'm starting to feel a bit besieged.  I can't enter a store anymore without first making a donation of some kind.  It was rather refreshing to enter one last week and not have to say "So sorry, can't do it today," before walking in and then covertly trying to avoid the same person on the way out.

Part of me wants to tell people, "Come on! I'm shopping at WALMART. What does that tell you about the state of my financial affairs? And you're asking me for money?"  Part of me wants to open my wallet and give every dime because these, on the surface, seem like good causes.  Who wouldn't want to help homeless children, battered women, or troubled kids who are on the verge of joining a gang? Who wouldn't want to support squeaky clean Scouts of either gender?

Most of us don't mind helping other people, and often will look for ways to do so.  However, I just cannot afford to throw a couple bucks here or a couple bucks there every time I enter or leave a store.  I cannot, every time the clerk prepares to ring up my purchase, donate a dollar or five to whichever charity or cause they are collecting for at the register. "And would you like to donate two dollars to the Save Lucky the Leprechaun Mission today?" 

If you're a person who refuses to give to "at the store entrance" charities, what lines work best for you when approached? Do you ignore them? Refuse to make eye contact? Tell them you gave at the office?  What works for you?