Senior Daze

by Katie Bourg

About Katie: Having arrived in time for the Great (?) Depression, WWII, and all other 20th century problems, I am endowed with long and varied memories. Writing classes have long been my home away from home. Other people's stories are fascinating, and sharing is growth at its best. Hope you seniors will join me with your stories. Try it. You'll like it.

My Roomba needs a GPS. Or I do, which is somewhat the same problem. One of us needs something.

At present, we don't seem to communicate well. It's not a new problem. I've had others much like it.

I was a PBX operator, back in the 'number please' days. I did the job with a minimum of difficulties. Could pull a dusty cord out of the black shelf in front of me, and plug it in wherever it was meant to go. That is assuming I was given the proper directives. On occasions when the directions were not proper, I was frequently told where to go in very improper language. People can say things into a telephone they would never say to your face. I learned to contain my feelings, laugh it off, and answer idiotic questions.

Some doctors were well known for this type of expression, as were top executives. I wondered, at times, what they said to their wives. This was back in the days when wives were expected to 'put up' with such behavior.

I managed through my early married years to keep up with new changes. I was the first in my crowd to acquire a blender and make my own baby food. I put up a fight for the first steam iron to hit the market. And fancy automatic machines were soon found in my sewing room. My father insisted on calling it a den, and wrote it on the building plans. It was a sewing room.

Television entered our life early. I argued it was educational, and the girls needed it. I mounted a mild objection when my husband wanted a small tractor for his garden, but changed my mind when he suggested I could be hitched to a plow.

I was slow learning to drive. Both my father and husband objected; stating I might start running around too much, and not take proper care of the kids. They both lost interest in that argument when I became their go-fer.

Do-it-yourselfers, we developed an interest in power tools and their many uses. This led to one Thanksgiving with a disconnected oven, not yet installed. Cheese sandwiches are good.

When Gus brought home a donut truck and proceeded to make our first motorhome, I was eager. It's amazing what you can do with a little foam rubber and an active imagination. We had fun. And one new tool led to another.

I preferred a small tank type vacuum to an upright. Liked carrying it around and using all those attachments. It helped keep the screen clean on the new color TV. Made M*A*S*H easier to see.

I joined a writing class, and suddenly needed an electric typewriter. My, what an advancement that was. Haven't touched a pencil since. I really took well to all these new things. Well, they weren't really that new. Just that they ran on their own, if you learned to push the right buttons.

A neighbor's daughter wanted her to try that new fast oven thing, called a microwave. She paid my way to a class to get her mother to go. I brought home a sample of cauliflower and cheese. We bought one the next day. For sometime after, we only ate what could still be chewed without breaking a tooth. But I mastered it, and it became a favorite. When Gus retired, we bought another one we 'needed' for the new motorhome. Funny how fast all these things had become necessary.

When we got tired of roaming, we built another house. Shortly after, a grandson introduced me to the computer. It would be more accurate to say he bullied me into it. I've always suspected he figured I wouldn't like it, and he'd acquire it. He made the mistake of showing me how to draw on it. Then he started bragging about his 'puter-happy grandma. Best thing since that electric can opener.

So why have I developed all these late problems with electronic monsters?

People tell me they leave messages I never answer. I tell them I have no answering system. They answer, "You do too. And it's full of messages." Really? I've never found them. They tell me I don't answer my cell phone. Well, I forget to turn it on. I recently saw a garbage can that opens and closes by itself. Might be dangerous.

And now the Roomba won't go where I tell it to. I put it in the middle of the living room, and it runs into the kitchen. Set it on the bedroom floor and it runs down the hall. I don't think it likes me.