terrypetersen

Two or three things I know for sure, and one of them is the way you can both hate and love something you are not sure you understand. (Dorothy Allison)

The computer is my friend—most of the time. And, I suspect it is the buddy of anyone who browses the Internet. Explore the world in pajamas or old scrub-the-house clothes. At any time of the night or day. Between wash and dry cycles or in the ten minutes before guests arrive for dinner. The night before a paper is due or at a whim. Just what is the derivation of the word derivation, or what is the area code for Boise, Idaho? A laptop opens within seconds; it allows access to a desired page with the click of a mouse, and finds places and information that once took a seeker, usually a student, hours in a library.

Even now, years after college, I recall the huge, sturdy cabinets of Dewey Decimal System catalog cards with the miniature yellow pencils and papers at nearby tables, pieces small enough to hide in the palm of my hand. The cabinet at the downtown library in the late 1960s and early 1970s housed the world’s knowledge. It looked like a square castle without a moat. Imaginary alligators swam in the invisible space around the cabinet, but they bit just as deeply. I called that space ignorance. Just where do I go for my answer?  If I was looking into history, but selected an artist, was my pot-of-gold answer supply in art or history? Sure, the cards supplied clues, but I wasted time wandering anyway when the area around the cabinet was crowded with fellow seekers.

If the material happened to be reference, I copied the search info on the tiny paper and took it to a librarian behind a central desk in the appropriate department, who relayed it to someone in the basement. If the material was found, and someone else wasn’t already using it, I wrote all the facts on three by five inch cards, noting source for reference at the bottom of the page on my paper. Usually, I forgot a page number or part of a name and hoped and prayed that somewhere in the research that information was repeated. My own handwriting also caused problems. Uh, was that an h or a b in Harvey Whatsbisname, creator of the fudge factor?  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Library_catalog (for a picture of an old catalog)

The work finally reached line-paper, written-out, ready-to-be-typed form—on a manual Royal typewriter. On onion skin paper that smeared ink as if it were cheap black lipstick. In the basement of my house. With a single-bulb light hanging above, papers blurred by tears as I made impossible-to-repair mistakes on the last line. I had to retype the entire page.

The good old days? Maybe not.

However, I suspect that even the tech savvy utter a curse or two at least, through clenched teeth, when problems arise.

And they do appear. Several days ago I spent hours fussing, changing passwords, talking to some fine folk on the other side of the globe, via a local call transfer. And still, I hold my breath as I enter this Internet space and then that, feeling uncertain all the way.

No point in droning on about the details of electronic hiccups. They happen. I wrote the above for contrast. No, I don’t understand the world of 0’s and 1’s connected to this keypad, but they are an integral part of my life now. Keep the old typewriters behind glass and the old library systems in accessible articles.

The past doesn’t exist anymore. Let’s see what happens today. Maybe even celebrate it.

(where I stand in technological development)