Day of Old

There are, I hate to admit it, days when I feel old. Not Druid old, more like milk just past its sell-by date old. And, invariably, it happens when I’m faced with telephone technology. I’m a girl who still prefers rotary dial phones. I prefer to dial a number, not punch it. And the fact that my cell phone can not only take photos, but mini movies leaves me flummoxed. I have a very good digital camera and it took me an unbelievably long to switch from an analog to this digital camera, plus we have a video camera, so why do I need that technology in my phone? I do not need the ability to go online using my phone and I do not need to be able to send text messages from my phone. It’s bad enough to talk on the thing, let alone wear blinders to the world around me by focusing on which keys to hit to type out abbreviated questions and answers.

Let me repeat, it’s bad enough to talk on the thing. Granted, there is a certain giggling little girl somewhere in my brain that likes the whole sci-fi or Dick Tracy aspect of flipping the phone open and calling the Enterprise or headquarters, but the reception is no better than when the things first came out. Back when they were the size of a brick and usually came with their own little duffle bag.

I suppose I miss the time when people called one another to share news too urgent to put in a letter or called when they needed to hear a familiar voice. It makes me wonder about the technology that is to come. Will future generations long for the olden days when they used a cell phone to type out their answer to the question, “What are you doing now?”

As to what I’m doing now, I’m longing for days of old.