Death and kisses

No. Nope. No way. It wasn’t my Mac’s grey-screen-of-death that made me think about changing my life as it relates to communication technology. Although, it is fitting in that it is the second time in less than a year I’ve been confounded by the Mac GSOD. This time, as it was the last time, the Mac is under warranty. But, if the truth be told, I’m not a fan of my Mac. No. Nope and no way. Perhaps it’s because of the fan—the cooling kind—I had to purchase to prevent the hard drive from overheating on my lap. Unlike a cat, a hot Mac isn’t a furry, purry comfort. Happiness is not a warm Mac. Enough of the Mac and its technological testiness, I have unearthed, and pressed into service, my seven-year-old PC laptop. The laptop was purchased when I had one real job and enough freelance work to keep the wolf from my office door. The old PC weighs more than the family kitty ever did; however, it corrects my grammar and spelling more efficiently than either the Mac or the cat.

The GSOD got me thinking about how much I depend upon technology to do my work. I write. Years ago, I used to do all of my writing in longhand. Yes, I did. I used to pride myself on my cursive and my writing skills. Even after having surgery on both of my hands, my cursive writing was legible. Heck, truth be told, I am the possessor of a certificate, from grade four, announcing “Good Writing Skills, Theresa Durning”. There you have it.

However; since the dawn of electronic word processing, I’ve become a bit of a slob on the good writing skills front. Folks used to remark favourably regarding my cursive. Indeed, when I worked for a pharmaceutical research corporation, one of the medical doctors on staff asked if I would teach him how to write so his secretary could actually read his missives. Fortunately, Dr. Ken was given a Dictaphone®, and I was spared the task of teaching that old dog new tricks. In the ‘60s a Dictaphone® was state-of-the-art communication technology, right up there with a TWX. In those days, not only could I ply the inkwell and Easterbrook, I could spell and had an impressive grasp of the finer points of grammar and word usage, including my fluency with deleted expletives.

Additionally, I proudly displayed a dictionary, a thesaurus and a style book on my desk. And, believe it or not, in the 1990s I taught grammar and spelling at the college level for a period of time. “And now?” you ask.

Well, and now I’m a klutz with a pen or a pencil. My joined-up writing isn’t what it used to be and, OMG, my grammar and spelling are completely flush-worthy. There, their, they’re and you’re, your and all y’all. Which brings me to my point: what’s wrong with writing longhand? Well, except for the part where I still write for this newspaper, and I don’t think Rick would appreciate my submission of handwritten copy on Monday morning. But as far as handwriting goes, who wouldn’t want to get a handwritten note or letter in the mail instead of an E-card or best wishes on Facebook? I miss snail-mail, you know, the good kind. I get plenty of window envelopes from companies that haven’t insisted their payments be sent online after receipt of their online invoices. Think about it, though, real mail. Imagine lovely valentines, Easter cards, newsy letters from good friends and family arriving in your mail box. How nice would that be?

Heads up Canada Post, I’ve got addresses and I’m not afraid to use them. Watch your mailbox. If the postal worker can read my scrawl, you might get a Valentine from me. SWAK.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca