Then: Tool Wall Now: Tool Bar

My father used to have a workshop with a million different tools. They hung on the wall, each on its on hook, neatly arranged by size and function. It was an impressive sight. And to this day I can still picture walking into his shop, smelling the sawdust, hearing the whir of the machines and knowing that something concrete was being created.

Years later, my husband had the same set up with pegs and tools.

When he was a toddler, my stepson used to carry around a toolbox with his screwdriver, hammer, nails and wrench.

And now my grandson plays with all those same instruments for fixing and building things.

Hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, saws, nails - those were the tools I grew up around.
But now, well, tools can be something so different from those tangible items hanging on my dad’s corkboard or inside a metal box. At the age of eighty-eight, my dad can’t even comprehend their purpose.

Yes - I’m talking about that toolbar at the top of the very screen that I am now typing on. Edit. View. Insert. Track changes. Spelling. Autoscan. Merge. Customize. Format. Bullets. There is a tool for everything. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt if future tools include: stir martini, fix dinner, do dishes.

Sometimes these tools on the computer toolbar are hard to find, even harder to understand and yet so easy to delete.

One simple click of the mouse and whoosh, whatever you were trying to find is gone! According to my computer techie (genius that he is) it’s still there, but I’ve done something wrong. Been over anxious. Clicked too fast. Moved it off the screen. Well, if it’s off the screen, then it’s not here! It’s gone missing.

Before when my dad couldn’t find his tape measure, it was usually somewhere in his workshop. Maybe under some wood or shoved in the corner. It certainly hadn’t vanished into thin air. And most definitely, the entire workshop never disappeared.

Which is what just happened while I was writing this column. I’ve lost my entire toolbar. I have no idea where it went. Off into Cyberspace, a place that really can’t be touched because it’s out there somewhere. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to look for it.

It may have gone into the kitchen. But if not, I know I can get an ice cold martini which will make searching for my missing tools that much easier!

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Then: Minimum Wage Now: Minimal Existence

$1.25 an hour. Wow. I was making money. It was 1964 and I had my very first job working at Travel Town in Griffith Park. It didn’t matter that I was scared to death that first morning. Of both working with the public and my very demanding twenty-five-year-old boss. She was tall, blonde and so much other older than I. Worldly, sophisticated and she could work the cash register and give out change without having to count on her fingers!

Somehow I make it through that first day and came home to our usual Sunday steak dinner and the Ed Sullivan show. I sat across the table from my younger sister, knowing that I had passed into a new realm, one that she wouldn’t reach for a few years. I was little bit more mature. A little bit full of myself. But just a little.

That first day on the job gave me a taste of the future. A future I wanted to jump into, but one I was still a little afraid of. Of course, my parents told me not to worry. And to remember to always save for a rainy day. But what did they know?

As the summer passed, my bank account grew and the fear of that first morning fell away with my adolescence.

I’m pretty sure my experience wasn’t an isolated one and that today’s teens still taste a bit of fear as they start their first job.

The difference is the minimum wage has increased significantly. It is now $7.25. Which is about a 580% increase.

But in relation to the costs of everyday items such as postage stamps which have gone from .05 cents to .44 cents (an 880 percent increase) and gas which sky rocketed from .30 to over $3.00 (1,000 percent) the minimum wage has barely caught up.

Cars today cost what a home did back then. Back then the average yearly income would qualify for today’s low income housing.

But then some things haven’t gone up that much and actually are coming down, with the economy the way it is. Milk averaged $1.06 in 1964 and has only increased about 100% and the same goes for eggs and bread.

But who can live on eggs and bread alone?

Today’s young adults not only face the fear of entering the workplace but of finding jobs where they can actually support themselves.

I guess if I knew back then what I know now, I’d have planned better for my future. But as young adults we know everything, don’t we?

It’s not until we get to be much older that we realize how smart our parents are. It’s not until we turn into them, that we realize they were right all along.

So, the cost of living may have gone up 1,000% but one thing that hasn’t changed is the parent/child relationship.

It’s still based on 100% love.

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Then: Show Your ID Now: Enter UserID

The older I get the less I seem to remember. And yet, it seems there are more things to remember today than ever before.

Years ago, the standard questions on forms included your name, address, and telephone number (home & work.) Some paperwork required your social security number and a driver’s license. That was pretty much it. I’ve always remembered my social security number, but to this day I still don’t have my license number memorized. I mean, why? It’s with me all the time.

Today, additional questions include cell phone numbers and email addresses. Well, that much I can handle. It seems that my brain cells associated with that data are still functioning.

It’s remembering all those other things, like Usernames, ID’s, Passwords and URLs that send me over the edge. I’m constantly scattering papers all over the place in search of that valuable information. Where did I put that secret code? What’s the answer to my security question? What IS my security question?

These are important things that I’m supposed to remember. Or at least remember where I wrote them down. But if we‘re supposed to be paperless, why am I writing this information down on a piece of paper in the first place? Shouldn’t they be on my hard drive somewhere?

Being a User in this electronic age is much more complicated than when I was a User in days gone by. As child of the sixties, you can imagine what I may have been a “user” of.

Now the term User ID refers to the name you type into that diagonal box on your screen so that you can then get the next all important question: What’s your password?

Password. Like saying please to an elderly relative so that she’ll let you pass by. What’s the password?- my grandmother used to ask.

But, at least, she was forgiving. If I didn’t know it, she would let me by anyway.

Now, if I type in the wrong password three times, I get a threatening message and sometimes I’m locked out from that all important site and have to resort to making a phone call. Where I invariably get that annoying voicemail and have to try a few times to get someone who can remedy the situation.

And by then, half the time I’ve forgotten why I wanted to go there in the first place.

So, unless absolutely necessary I now use the same password for everything, which my computer techie tells me is not a good thing. And some sites won’t allow my usual word. Some want six letters, five numbers, one capital, two symbols, and the world wide rights to my life story.

No wonder I can’t remember! How about you?

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Then: Meaningful Words Now: What Does That Mean?

I’ve been thinking about language lately and how the meanings of words have changed throughout the years. When I was young the word “net” had many meanings, but not the one most common today. Back then, it referred to something used to catch fish or a thing to hit a ball over or that material we used to cover our hair. Remember Aqua Net? The most popular hairspray on the market. When I was in high school I never went anywhere without it.

“Net” still has those meanings but if you say the word to a teenager today, the first thing they think of is the Internet. Far from their minds is the trapeze artist who has to walk a straight line or else fall into the net. Teens are focused on getting online and surfing the net.

Ah...Surfing. Way back then (as my grandkids say) surfing always referred to a sport performed in the water. Now we “surf” the net, not getting one drop of liquid on us, unless we accidentally spill our coffee or soda. But really, I’ve learned from past experience not to keep a drink near my computer. Also, it’s not a good thing to let your dog walk on your keyboard. But that’s another story.

How about gay? Obviously I wasn’t alive in the Gay ‘90’s. And just as obvious is the fact that “gay” didn’t have the same connotation back then as it has today.

If we talk about “booting up”, we are referring to our computers and not to those things we put on our feet.

If someone told us to clean off up our “desktops” back in the sixties, we would quickly shove our books onto the floor and sit with our hands on the desk. On test days we’d pick up our number 2 pencil. Now cleaning up our “desktops” means to rearrange the icons on our computer screen. I know the number 2 pencil is still in use, but for how much longer?

“Virus” always referred an infectious agent that attacked our bodies. Every year a new one made its appearance. Today, you mention “virus” and we rush to our computers to make sure they have the most updated anti-virus software.

“Popup” meant something that popped out of a can and surprised us. Having my kids pop those Jack-In-The-Boxes in my face over and over (as if each time was the first) was annoying, but not as much as the “popups” of today.

I’m betting no one under twenty thinks of a textbook when the word “text” is mentioned. In fact, they are probably sending text messages at the same time they are talking about sending one. With all those beeps riding around on sound waves, criss-crossing the globe, I’m surprised it doesn’t interfere with our radios and TV’s. And our brainwaves!

And take slang words. “Bad” means “good.” “He has game” doesn’t refer to any sport involving a ball, so to speak. And “hooking up” has nothing to do with actual fish. To mention just a few.

But just as species evolve so does our language.

I’m just hoping that no matter what we’re saying to each other centuries from now, that we are still opening our mouths and letting the words flow out. And not just communicating through IM’s, emails, text messages and whatever new form of communication is waiting for us in the future.

There will always be generational gaps. Let’s fill those spaces with the spoken word.

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THEN: G-Spot Now: G-Word

Remember when finding your G-Spot was all the rage? Some German scientist came out with an article, sending the female population on a search that for some ended in elation and for others in confusion and disappointment. Did you find yours? Yes! And it was wonderful. Did you? NO. Is there something wrong with me? Where exactly is this spot? It wasn’t like finding a city on a map with an an exact longitude or latitude to go by. Why, even today’s new GPS systems wouldn’t have been much help back then.

I can’t say that I ever did find mine, but it didn’t make sex any less enjoyable. For years I haven’t even thought about it. I’m sure “the” spot is still there, but just as the terrain of the earth has shifted due to forces of nature, gravity may have moved my G-spot a few inches from where it used to be.

Face it - that G word –Gravity, has a mind of it’s own. And like it or not, it eventually pulls on all of us. Making us a few inches shorter, a little wider, a little slower as we grow older. Our skin starts to sag, joints creak and those perky body parts start to droop.

But like it or not, we need gravity to keep us planted on the ground, otherwise we’d be floating around in space. A little like I feel every time I have a hot flash. I’m beginning to think that during those hormonal body-quakes that gravity is taking a leave of absence, leaving me to find solid ground. Which ultimately happens but not after several tortuous minutes of internal overheating.

But then there is another G word out there that pulls on me in a totally different way. And that word is - Grandma. Hearing it makes my heart swell, speeds up my adrenalin and gives a boost of energy that can’t be provided by any drink or pill.

For those of you who have not yet been called by that name, let me tell you, there is nothing like it. Even during my hormonal body-quakes that simple word leaves an imprint on my mind.

There is a special place in my heart where everything Grandma-related resides. And that spot will never be changed by Gravity!!

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Then: Mary, Jane & Susan Now: Apple, Audio & Crazy
originally posted: September 14, 2009

It used to be easy to tell gender by one’s name. When I was in high school, I knew a lot of Steves, Roberts, Johns and Alans. All of them were guys. As for girls we had a lot of Beverlys, Carols, Susans and Marshas.

Of course I knew a boy called Lynn (I felt so sorry for him) and sometimes nicknames could be confusing. Such as Ronni for Veronica and Bobbi for Barbara. Unless you could see the name spelled out.

And then there were always those few kids whose parents couldn’t tell the difference between a first name and a last one. You know -the Edward Edwards, or the Jackson Jacksons.

But overall it wasn’t as confusing as it is today. Now names are all over the place.

Actually, I don’t mind girls with traditional boys names or some of the newer unisex names.

It’s the “crazy–out-there” celebrity baby names that I can’t get my head around. Sometimes I’m not sure if they are referring to an actual child or a cuddly little puppy. I often wonder what in the world these parents were thinking. Or if they were thinking anything at all.

But then I guess with a celebrity it might not matter. The child of a famous person isn’t going to live a normal life, no matter what his name is.

It’s the regular kids whose parents think…oh, so cool - I’ll copy Gwyneth and name my daughter Apple. But Apple doesn’t really work as well when it’s followed by Birnbaum and especially if that Birnbaum owns a fruit market.

And then there is Jermaine Jackson’s son, Jermasjesty. He might not get teased but the little red haired boy with freckles and the last name Temple or King surely might.

Or I.P. Freely. Giving his child that name should have been more than enough to send David Carradine to his horrible fate. I can’t even imagine a celebrity using this name.

But my favorite “out-there-crazy-name” is Audio Science. I have no idea if this child is a girl or a boy and I don’t even think having a famous parent (Shannyn Sossamon) will make this child immune from playground taunting.

They say names can influence your personality. The way you view the world and in return the way the world views you. Perhaps Audio Science is destined to work in the Audio/Visual department at his/her high school. Jermasjesty is going to marry a real Princess and not the daughter of Bob Geldof. And I.P. is going to sell toilet paper.

Well, everything goes in cycles. Names come and go. One thing that never changes is teasing. Especially on the playground. And kids love to make up nicknames, for whatever reason.

So I say, starting off with a normal name just makes life that much easier.

What do you think?

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Then: Four Doors & Air Now: A Vibrator & Voice Activator
originally posted: August 5, 2009

I don’t know about you, but in my case, buying a car has never been a good experience, or a short one at that. No matter how well prepared I’ve been, it always takes about an hour to find the car I want (even when I get to the lot with the exact model in mind) and then five more to get through the financing. So, we’re talking the better part of a day.

Usually upon arriving the salesmen descend upon me like vultures. More often than not the car I’ve come to look at, isn’t even on the lot, or if it is, it comes with so many catches that I’m soon looking at another model. And I try to stick to my original intentions of putting X amount down and paying X amount per month. But this too, always gets changed, once the sales guys starts running the numbers. That’s when I want to run away.

But every time I try to leave, he reels me back in like fish on a hook. And just like that fish, I always feel like I’m floundering around without enough air while making what the salesman calls the “deal of a lifetime.”

Throughout my life, I’ve been through many such ordeals and nothing has changed. The only thing different is the actual car I’ve purchased. And in this respect there is a world of difference between my very first car, way back in the day, and the one I helped my daughter buy yesterday.

My first car, a 1960 Falcon, came with a key, windows that rolled up manually, an AM radio with six buttons for setting the stations, windshield wipers and of course tires, an ashtray and lighter. Back then “luxury” meant four doors, electric windows, an electric antenna and sometimes an electric motor for convertibles. Oh, and tinted windows and leather seats.

Now- well- it’s a whole different ballgame. Gone are the ashtrays and lighters and in their place are a slew of features right out of an old science fiction novel.

There is a digital readout telling you what song is playing on the AM/FM radio, CD or your iPod. No more guessing what music you’re listening to. GPS systems to guide you to your destination. Hands free Bluetooth for using your cell phone with voice activation, so that you don’t even have to dial any numbers. Driver Memory. Smart Cruise Control. You name it. The car has it.

Some cars even come with discs, instead of keys. This disc can be programmed to not only unlock the car as you approach it, but to roll down the windows, open the convertible top, unfold the side view mirrors (which had been folded-in when putting the car in Park) turn on the iPod, and adjust and warm the seats. All before you’re within a foot of your vehicle.

With all this, I’m expecting a vibrator to come out and give me that happy feeling before the car takes me off to my destination.

Because I’m sure that’s what the future car will be like. Totally hands free. All we’ll have say is, “Take me the beach.” And off the car will go. “Play Satisfaction”. The music will start. “Top down.” Down it comes. “Warm my butt.” On goes the seat warmer. “Call in sick for me, will you?”

But there is one thing that technology can’t improve on. And those are the memories one makes while driving in their car. It didn’t matter that my little Falcon had manual windows and only two doors. And it didn’t matter that the seats were sticky in the summer and cold in the winter. What mattered were all the hours I spent driving around with my friends creating memories that have lasted forever.

I hope my daughter can make as many happy memories in this new gadget-filled car of hers as I did back then.

And maybe the next time I buy a car, I’ll be dealing with a robot!

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