The older I get, 74 now, I’ve come to the conclusion there’s both good and not so good in all of this new technology we are bombarded with.
Just this past Sunday, I was invited to a baby shower for my sister’s grandchild. It was being held at my niece’s home. She lives what I call “quite a distance” from me.
Since I wasn’t sure if my one daughter would be working or attending the baby shower, and knowing I don’t like to drive too far on busy roads, I asked my husband, “Do you think I could find Bev’s house, if I have to drive by myself?”
“Yes,” he responded. “I can send you up the turnpike, we’ve gone that way a few times now. You’ll be fine.”
“You mean the turnpike that has a tunnel?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I know the first time you drove through a tunnel out west you panicked. But, that was because you couldn’t see well with sunglasses on. You’ll be fine now.”
“No,” I insisted. “I won’t go that way. What other route can I take?”
“The turnpike would take an hour. If you go 309, it would take 2 hours, maybe more the way you drive. Listen, if Tina is working and can’t go, I’ll drop you off and go to a golf course nearby until it’s over,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, as I breathed a sigh of relief.
Later, I found out my daughter did work, so I asked the two grandkids if they’d want to go with me to the baby shower. Rebecca said she would go. She also offered to drive, and I breathed my second sigh of relief. I’ve driven with her before and felt comfortable with her at the wheel.
When she got to my house that day, I told her Pop Pop gave me directions. She told me, “I won’t need them. I already programmed the destination into my GPS.” It’s not that I never heard of a GPS, but I don’t have one, and after Sunday’s drive with one, I still don’t want one, even as a present.
The grandchildren already know Mom Mom doesn’t drive her car with music on the radio. I can’t drive and listen to music at the same time. It’s my thing, so let me alone. What they don’t know is, if I’m in their car and they are driving, I can handle music in the background. But, I don’t tell them this, so they try to be respectful of things I can’t handle.
Now, through no fault of Rebecca, her air conditioner wasn’t working. I could handle that since we kept the windows open, at least until we had some terrific downpours. It was a bit sweaty with the windows closed, but sweat sure beats that blabbermouth on the GPS.
It seems every time, in the middle of conversation with Rebecca, “the lady” tells her which route number to be on, as well as what town she’ll be heading towards. She never missed a beat. I can’t tell you how many conversations “the lady” interrupted, which was no fun because once she stopped jabbering, I couldn’t recall where I was in the conversation.
It was on the drive home, I nearly flipped on this talking lady. We were near home when I noticed Rebecca turned right onto 309, without “the lady” letting us know the turn. So, I asked Rebecca, “What’s with the lady? She forgot to tell you to turn right onto 309?”
Rebecca smiled, “I’m in home territory, so I turned the GPS off awhile ago.”
I thought the GPS fiasco was over with until I told my daughter, Kim, about the experiences with the jabbering lady. First, she corrected me, “It’s not MPS, it’s GPS. You should have one. They are so easy to follow.”
I quickly retaliated, “You know if I’m in the midst of a conversation on the car, and “the lady” gives me a route number, she better repeat it until I get there, or I could forget.” I then added, “You know how I can get distracted with music when I drive, I couldn’t possibly glance at such a teeny TV screen and keep my eye on the road at the same time.”
I don’t think I’m getting a GPS for Christmas this year, or for my birthday, or any other holiday. That suits me just fine.
The older I get, the more these youngsters think we older people have never heard of these new tech names. At the baby shower Ann called, “Aunt Carole, come here. I want to take a photo of us together.”
As I moved closer to Ann, someone asked, “Do you know what a selfie is?”
“Of course I do,” I said. “My husband and I have been taking a Christmas photo of us together for years before ‘selfie’ was even coined.”
Someone else asked, “Are you on Facebook?”
“No,” I said, “I don’t have time to read what other people are doing or seeing. Did you want to be my friend?”
At home, while writing this article, my newly purchased laptop is on the table I write on. My old computer (which my husband insists on keeping until it falls over) is on the desk with dozens of wires hanging in the back and more on the floor, collecting a plethora of dust bunnies.
The older I get, it seems I like dust bunnies, sooner than a GPS, Facebook and selfies.
Carole Christman Koch grew up in Berks County and has been published in numerous publications. She has a passion for writing and has many stories from growing up on a farm to everyday stories.
