Across the Fence #332
Two low-flying cranes flew directly over our house during the weekend. They were heading north. Every time I see a crane flying, I think of my friend, John Beaudin. He was a member of the Crane Clan.
I first met John at The Highground dedication of the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial at Neillsville, Wisconsin, in September of 1988. He was a Chippewa and was to represent the Native Americans during the ceremony. John was dressed in his Native American outfit, complete with Eagle feathers and his grandfather’s Eagle feather bustle and war club. He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of a history book. We were behind the podium when I introduced myself and told him I’d let him know when he was to speak. As I watched him walking around, he had a regal presence and confidence in the way he carried himself.
After I unveiled the statue and talked about the design, he was to talk before the drummers began their warrior song. As John began speaking, the threatening rain finally arrived, and it poured. His notes on yellow legal paper turned to a garbled mess, but he continued speaking without the use of notes.
I was feeling bad about the rain spoiling our dedication. After he finished his portion of the program, I told him I was sorry the rain had ruined everything. He was smiling and his eyes seemed to glow with excitement. “This is wonderful he said,” lifting his face to the sky to let the rain fall on it. He then explained to me what the rain meant to him and to all the Native Americans present at the dedication that day.
“The Great Spirit and the Grandfathers made it rain. The power of the dedication, the power of the moment, had brought those loved ones left in Vietnam, Germany, Italy, Japan, Korea and other foreign countries back to view the dedication. And they had cried. Not tears of despair, not tears of hate for the sacrifice they made, but tears of joy that they would be remembered. Their tears had blessed and purified The Highground with their approval.”
John and I discovered that we lived within a few blocks of each other in Madison. That began a friendship that grew and lasted until the day he died from cancer at only 48 years of age.
John was a lawyer in Madison. It wasn’t easy being an advocate for “Indian’s” rights. He often found himself standing squarely in the center of problems between the Indians and whites. The spear fishing confrontations is just one example.
At the time of his death he was Chief Judge of the Lac Courte Oreillies Tribal Court. On his business card that he had me design, there’s a drawing of a crane flying into a circle that represented the circle of life. The crane was white within the circle and black outside the circle. We talked about nothing being entirely black and white, or red and white as he liked to say. Everything has some of the other within it, just like the Yin and Yang symbol from the Orient. In our talks I discovered many similarities in thinking and philosophy between Native American and Oriental teachings. Those are teachings that I had already embraced while studying martial arts.
The times I took him to University Hospital, while he was undergoing treatments for cancer, he seemed to be a favorite of everyone we met. I’d push him along in the wheelchair and staff would ask him how he was doing today. “Just great,” he’d reply with a big smile and then ask them how THEY were doing. He didn’t complain or show his fears to them, but voiced them to me in private. He didn’t want to die. There was too much to live for. He wanted to see his daughter, Kiana, grow up. I could only be there and listen. I couldn’t change anything.
One place he found comfort was in his spirituality. “Indian religion,” he called it. We often talked about our beliefs. I found his beliefs, that centered around nature, were very consistent with mine. The earth is sacred. Life is a circle, not straight lines. We both learned as we explored each others beliefs with an open mind. We also became closer friends.
John started calling me Ole Red Cloud, the Norwegian Indian. He’d introduce me to his friends as, “This is my brother, Ole Red Cloud.” They’d look at me and say, “Ole, that’s a strange name for an Indian.”
On April 4, 1993, just minutes into the new day, the Eagle picked John up and carried him across the water to join his ancestors. John Beaudin, Wa Kanga Hoohega (the Thunder of Many Voices), is dancing with the Ancestors now. He can ride the wings of the Crane any time he wants to return to The Highground, where he had me promise I’d spread his ashes on the dove mound. If you sit quietly and listen, his voice can be heard in the wind moving gently through the grass. You can feel him dancing on the dove mound as the wind caresses your face. You can hear him singing with all the other voices as the wind releases the music of the chimes. As long as the wind blows, the spirit of the Thunder of Many Voices will never be silenced.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
The Sound of Running Water
Across the Fence #331
I think it’s finally arriving. Spring is in the air. I heard it in the sound of running water. During my walk this evening, water was running in the ditches and flooding the low spots in the fields. It was nice to hear that sound again. It’s been a long winter. We still have huge piles of snow around our house and yard, but patches of brown are finally breaking through the white landscape of fields around us.
I notice it in the evenings too. It’s darker outside as we begin to lose our snow cover. Snow has a way of softening and lightening the landscape. Now those spreading dark patches, add to the darkness of the night. If you don’t understand what I’m talking about, take a walk outside in the evening and you’ll see. Although, by the time you read this, the snow may be all gone.
Over the weekend I went for what was probably my final trek on snowshoes for the winter. The snow is now crusted from the daily thawing and freezing temperatures. It wasn’t the usual quiet adventure across fields and through wooded areas. There was the constant crunching of snow with every step I took. I wasn’t about to sneak up on any wildlife this time for photo opportunities. It’s typical maple syrup making weather with freezing temperatures at night and mild, sap-running temps during the day.
This is late winter, early spring weather with all its contrasts. It’s a great time of year to get out and enjoy the many sights, sounds, and smells of nature in transition. Maybe I’ll take a pass on some of the smells. We’ll come back to that subject later.
What other time of year could you enjoy snowshoeing along snow-covered fence lines and hear water running through the ditches and streams from the snow melt? I also snowshoed around the pond that’s now full from the melted snow that runs down through the little valley behind the house. There was still a layer of ice from the recent cold nights, but I wouldn’t want to venture out on that ice. It looked pretty thin.
I remember when a bunch of us neighborhood farm boys would sweep the snow off the ice on cold winter days and play hockey on it. I think I’ve mentioned before that none of us had skates, and we didn’t have hockey sticks or a puck either. A tobacco lath with a shorter lath cut and nailed at an angle to one end, became our stick. It sort of looked like a hockey stick. I don’t remember what we used for a puck. We could have used a frozen cow pie, but that would have been too big! I guess we just shuffled around the ice in our four-buckle boots and tried to keep from falling down, while trying to hit whatever the puck was, past the goalie. By the way, we didn’t have a net either. I think we just built a couple piles of snow and tried to shoot the puck between the piles. It was simple, inexpensive fun. Although I don’t think Dad would have been very happy with those broken tobacco laths at ten cents each.
I wish the pond would hold water year-round like it did in the past. It seems to have turned into a sinkhole and the water quickly disappears. A dried up water supply doesn’t help keep the deer and other wildlife around. When I was young, I don’t remember the pond ever running dry, except if there was a very dry summer.
Another thing that concerns me is that manure could run off the surrounding fields and into the pond. Where does that water that’s disappearing end up?
Speaking of manure, as I was walking past the old barnyard this evening, the smell I mentioned earlier brought back thoughts about hauling out manure in the spring. This time of year, there would be a huge manure pile behind the barn where we had been dumping and stockpiling it all winter when Dad couldn’t get in the fields.
When the pile thawed out in the spring it was time to haul it out to the fields and spread it for fertilizer. We loaded it, one pitchfork at a time, into the manure spreader. We got to help after school and on weekends. Dad didn’t get a manure loader on the tractor until I had headed off to college. I guess he had a manure loader before that time—I just wasn’t mounted on the tractor.
Things sure have changed since those days when most jobs were done by hand. Tractors and all the attachments certainly changed farming. It’s no wonder the farmers were so strong and in such good shape. No one had to head for a health club at the end of the day, and pay a membership fee, to get their exercise. They just wanted to sit down and rest after working 14-16 hour days. When I think of all the physical labor people once had to do, not that many years ago, it’s a wonder they had time to do anything except work. They didn’t have to worry about losing weight either.
Those are some of the memories that running water from the melting snow triggers, as it sloshes through the recesses in my mind.
I think it’s finally arriving. Spring is in the air. I heard it in the sound of running water. During my walk this evening, water was running in the ditches and flooding the low spots in the fields. It was nice to hear that sound again. It’s been a long winter. We still have huge piles of snow around our house and yard, but patches of brown are finally breaking through the white landscape of fields around us.
I notice it in the evenings too. It’s darker outside as we begin to lose our snow cover. Snow has a way of softening and lightening the landscape. Now those spreading dark patches, add to the darkness of the night. If you don’t understand what I’m talking about, take a walk outside in the evening and you’ll see. Although, by the time you read this, the snow may be all gone.
Over the weekend I went for what was probably my final trek on snowshoes for the winter. The snow is now crusted from the daily thawing and freezing temperatures. It wasn’t the usual quiet adventure across fields and through wooded areas. There was the constant crunching of snow with every step I took. I wasn’t about to sneak up on any wildlife this time for photo opportunities. It’s typical maple syrup making weather with freezing temperatures at night and mild, sap-running temps during the day.
This is late winter, early spring weather with all its contrasts. It’s a great time of year to get out and enjoy the many sights, sounds, and smells of nature in transition. Maybe I’ll take a pass on some of the smells. We’ll come back to that subject later.
What other time of year could you enjoy snowshoeing along snow-covered fence lines and hear water running through the ditches and streams from the snow melt? I also snowshoed around the pond that’s now full from the melted snow that runs down through the little valley behind the house. There was still a layer of ice from the recent cold nights, but I wouldn’t want to venture out on that ice. It looked pretty thin.
I remember when a bunch of us neighborhood farm boys would sweep the snow off the ice on cold winter days and play hockey on it. I think I’ve mentioned before that none of us had skates, and we didn’t have hockey sticks or a puck either. A tobacco lath with a shorter lath cut and nailed at an angle to one end, became our stick. It sort of looked like a hockey stick. I don’t remember what we used for a puck. We could have used a frozen cow pie, but that would have been too big! I guess we just shuffled around the ice in our four-buckle boots and tried to keep from falling down, while trying to hit whatever the puck was, past the goalie. By the way, we didn’t have a net either. I think we just built a couple piles of snow and tried to shoot the puck between the piles. It was simple, inexpensive fun. Although I don’t think Dad would have been very happy with those broken tobacco laths at ten cents each.
I wish the pond would hold water year-round like it did in the past. It seems to have turned into a sinkhole and the water quickly disappears. A dried up water supply doesn’t help keep the deer and other wildlife around. When I was young, I don’t remember the pond ever running dry, except if there was a very dry summer.
Another thing that concerns me is that manure could run off the surrounding fields and into the pond. Where does that water that’s disappearing end up?
Speaking of manure, as I was walking past the old barnyard this evening, the smell I mentioned earlier brought back thoughts about hauling out manure in the spring. This time of year, there would be a huge manure pile behind the barn where we had been dumping and stockpiling it all winter when Dad couldn’t get in the fields.
When the pile thawed out in the spring it was time to haul it out to the fields and spread it for fertilizer. We loaded it, one pitchfork at a time, into the manure spreader. We got to help after school and on weekends. Dad didn’t get a manure loader on the tractor until I had headed off to college. I guess he had a manure loader before that time—I just wasn’t mounted on the tractor.
Things sure have changed since those days when most jobs were done by hand. Tractors and all the attachments certainly changed farming. It’s no wonder the farmers were so strong and in such good shape. No one had to head for a health club at the end of the day, and pay a membership fee, to get their exercise. They just wanted to sit down and rest after working 14-16 hour days. When I think of all the physical labor people once had to do, not that many years ago, it’s a wonder they had time to do anything except work. They didn’t have to worry about losing weight either.
Those are some of the memories that running water from the melting snow triggers, as it sloshes through the recesses in my mind.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Her Irish Eyes Are Smiling
Across the Fence #330
This old Norwegian-American wishes a Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all of you who have Irish blood coursing through your veins. It’s time to put the lutefisk and lefse away for a day and break out the corned beef and cabbage.
I won’t be drinking any green beer, but I will be partaking of a corned beef and cabbage meal. I think it’s a safe bet that most of us who had ancestors along the western coast of Norway, have a wee bit of Irish blood and have a bunch of Irish genes. It’s a historical fact that our Viking ancestors established several major Irish cities, including Dublin, Cork, Waterford, and Limerick. DNA studies have shown that 30 to 40 percent of the people in many regions of Ireland have Viking ancestry. Also, many an Irish lass ended up back in Norway after the Vikings “toured” Ireland. So, not only can we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, but the Irish can celebrate Syttende Mai too. Norskies and the Irish have the best of both worlds.
As many of you know, I’ve done a lot of research on our family roots over the years. I know it doesn’t seem very important to some people, But I think knowing your roots gives you a better sense of who you are. We’re a part of all those who came before us. That includes the good, the bad, and the ugly. Every family tree has some ancestors of dubious character and skeletons hanging in it.
There’s a new television show on Friday nights called “Who Do You Think You Are?” We’ve found it a fascinating show, as it follows celebrities on their journey as they track down their ancestors. I always find it hard to understand how so few people can name their great grandparents and know nothing about their lives. If you’re ever feeling like you’re pretty important and the world couldn’t function without you, just remember, in one hundred years, most of your direct descendents won’t even remember your name, let alone what you did while you were here! That’s an interesting and humbling thought, isn’t it? That’s why I always encourage people to tell or write down their stories. Don’t take them to the grave with you. I wish my grandparents and great grandparents had left a written record of their lives. It would be priceless to those of us who delve into family history.
The study of history is important to me. Perhaps that’s one reason I’ve traced our family back through history for hundreds of years on both my mother and father’s sides. All my ancestry lines go back to Norway. All my great grandparents were born in Norway.
I’ve also done some research on Linda’s family. We have some information on her father’s side, but we knew nothing about her mother’s ancestry. That side of the tree was as bare as a winter tree. Linda suspected her mother had some Irish roots, but couldn’t prove it. She and her brothers have always loved Irish music and have had a strong attachment for all things Irish.
Over the weekend we decided to see what we could find. Using Ancestry.com, I put in the available information about her mother and within half an hour I had traced her family back to Tipperary, Ireland, where Linda’s great, great grandparents were born. Linda was excited. We had found her Irish roots.
Her ancestors were among the million people who left Ireland during the great potato famine between 1845 and 1852. During the famine approximately one million people died from starvation because most of the potato crop was destroyed by the potato blight. Linda’s ancestors were among the lucky ones who made it to America to start a new life. There again, I wish we had a written story of the trials and tribulations they went through. It must have been a very hard time. Their lives are important in the history of our family and it would be nice to know more about them—the great, great, great grandparents of our children.
As I searched the records on Ancestry.com, and followed Linda’s maternal ancestry lines, back through time, I also came across several Norwegian ancestors. Uff da, now that she knows she has both Irish and Norwegian blood, she’s going to be hard to live with. You know what they say, “You can always tell an Irishman, but you can’t tell them much.” Or maybe that was a Norwegian that you can’t tell much. Either way, I’m in trouble now!
After just a few hours of researching her mother’s family on-line, we’re back to the 1500’s in some lines. It’s amazing what information is available on the Internet. It truly does connect the world together. I call it the Cosmic Connection.
We now have names, birth and death dates, places of birth, and a few other details about Linda’s ancestors, but we don’t have any stories about their lives. Names and dates are nice to have, but as they say, it’s the dash between the numbers that makes them come to life. I’ll keep searching for the dash. No one is going to be forgotten as long as I’m above ground.
It was great to find those Irish roots for Linda and our family. Her Irish eyes are smiling. Break out the corned beef and cabbage!
This old Norwegian-American wishes a Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all of you who have Irish blood coursing through your veins. It’s time to put the lutefisk and lefse away for a day and break out the corned beef and cabbage.
I won’t be drinking any green beer, but I will be partaking of a corned beef and cabbage meal. I think it’s a safe bet that most of us who had ancestors along the western coast of Norway, have a wee bit of Irish blood and have a bunch of Irish genes. It’s a historical fact that our Viking ancestors established several major Irish cities, including Dublin, Cork, Waterford, and Limerick. DNA studies have shown that 30 to 40 percent of the people in many regions of Ireland have Viking ancestry. Also, many an Irish lass ended up back in Norway after the Vikings “toured” Ireland. So, not only can we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, but the Irish can celebrate Syttende Mai too. Norskies and the Irish have the best of both worlds.
As many of you know, I’ve done a lot of research on our family roots over the years. I know it doesn’t seem very important to some people, But I think knowing your roots gives you a better sense of who you are. We’re a part of all those who came before us. That includes the good, the bad, and the ugly. Every family tree has some ancestors of dubious character and skeletons hanging in it.
There’s a new television show on Friday nights called “Who Do You Think You Are?” We’ve found it a fascinating show, as it follows celebrities on their journey as they track down their ancestors. I always find it hard to understand how so few people can name their great grandparents and know nothing about their lives. If you’re ever feeling like you’re pretty important and the world couldn’t function without you, just remember, in one hundred years, most of your direct descendents won’t even remember your name, let alone what you did while you were here! That’s an interesting and humbling thought, isn’t it? That’s why I always encourage people to tell or write down their stories. Don’t take them to the grave with you. I wish my grandparents and great grandparents had left a written record of their lives. It would be priceless to those of us who delve into family history.
The study of history is important to me. Perhaps that’s one reason I’ve traced our family back through history for hundreds of years on both my mother and father’s sides. All my ancestry lines go back to Norway. All my great grandparents were born in Norway.
I’ve also done some research on Linda’s family. We have some information on her father’s side, but we knew nothing about her mother’s ancestry. That side of the tree was as bare as a winter tree. Linda suspected her mother had some Irish roots, but couldn’t prove it. She and her brothers have always loved Irish music and have had a strong attachment for all things Irish.
Over the weekend we decided to see what we could find. Using Ancestry.com, I put in the available information about her mother and within half an hour I had traced her family back to Tipperary, Ireland, where Linda’s great, great grandparents were born. Linda was excited. We had found her Irish roots.
Her ancestors were among the million people who left Ireland during the great potato famine between 1845 and 1852. During the famine approximately one million people died from starvation because most of the potato crop was destroyed by the potato blight. Linda’s ancestors were among the lucky ones who made it to America to start a new life. There again, I wish we had a written story of the trials and tribulations they went through. It must have been a very hard time. Their lives are important in the history of our family and it would be nice to know more about them—the great, great, great grandparents of our children.
As I searched the records on Ancestry.com, and followed Linda’s maternal ancestry lines, back through time, I also came across several Norwegian ancestors. Uff da, now that she knows she has both Irish and Norwegian blood, she’s going to be hard to live with. You know what they say, “You can always tell an Irishman, but you can’t tell them much.” Or maybe that was a Norwegian that you can’t tell much. Either way, I’m in trouble now!
After just a few hours of researching her mother’s family on-line, we’re back to the 1500’s in some lines. It’s amazing what information is available on the Internet. It truly does connect the world together. I call it the Cosmic Connection.
We now have names, birth and death dates, places of birth, and a few other details about Linda’s ancestors, but we don’t have any stories about their lives. Names and dates are nice to have, but as they say, it’s the dash between the numbers that makes them come to life. I’ll keep searching for the dash. No one is going to be forgotten as long as I’m above ground.
It was great to find those Irish roots for Linda and our family. Her Irish eyes are smiling. Break out the corned beef and cabbage!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The Train of Life Waits for Nobody
Across the Fence #329
What does the future hold for the way we communicate with each other? Is there anyone out there who doesn’t think that everything is changing? Can you hear me? Can you see me?
The way we communicate with each other has changed dramatically during my lifetime. Crank phones, party lines, rotary phones, and push button phones, have either disappeared or are going the way of the telegraph and smoke signals.
We’re becoming a very mobile, video-based society. Cell phones, text messaging, Facebook, Skype, Twitter, and numerous other applications are the way young people communicate today. The younger generation prefers text messaging over voice communication. People are no longer tied to their home or office to send and receive messages. They take their communication devices with them wherever they go.
As I write this column, I’m on an airplane headed back home from Dallas, Texas. I’ve spent the past week there at the National Telecommunications Cooperative Association (NTCA) Conference and Expo. I have my cell phone and my computer within reach. Others traveling with me, have their iPhones, Droids, and iPads. On these devices we can check our messages, e-mails, send messages, and continue to conduct business, even while flying from Dallas to Minneapolis.
In many ways this is a double-edged sword. It’s handy and a great way to stay in touch and up to date, but on the other hand, it’s very hard to get totally away from work.
At the conference we learned how much and how rapidly the world of communications is changing. It’s both exciting and scary. People will need to jump on board and embrace the changes or be left behind. I know all the changes are very scary for many people, but there’s no turning back the clock to what we call those simpler times that many of us remember.
I can’t even imagine the changes that will take place in the next few years. Listen to these quotes regarding telephones, radios, and computers.
“Well-informed people know it’s impossible to transmit their voices over wires, and even if it were possible, the thing would not have practical value.” – Editorial in the Boston Post, 1865.
“I think there is a world market for maybe five computers.” – Thomas Watson, Chairman of IBM, 1943.
“There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home.” – Ken Olson, President, Chairman, and Founder of Digital Equipment Corporation, 1977.
It’s hard to believe, that these people in leadership positions didn’t see any market for these technological inventions. Look how far computers have come since that statement in 1977—only 34 years ago. Besides everything else computers can do, they’re now capable of hearing and speaking too. With Skype you can now communicate with people all over the world and see each other as you talk. Can you hear me? Can you see me? Yes I can, loud and clear.
The technology curve has become so steep and fast that it’s hard to imagine the changes we’ll see in just the next five years. During the conference, we heard about some of the changes coming that boggle my mind. Have you heard about flexible video screens? Google it!
We also learned that you either change with the times, or you will cease to exist. I’ve seen that time and again since I graduated with a commercial art degree a lifetime ago. Everything has changed. As the business of advertising kept changing, I had two choices, either accept the changes and climb aboard, or live in the past and let the train of changing technology go on without me. With each change, I decided to hang on for dear life and keep riding. It hasn’t been easy. The computer age was another two-edged sword. I learned to do graphic arts on a computer while flying by the seat of my pants—a major uff da. It was either learn it or get out of the business.
I’m reminded of a friend who was badly wounded in Vietnam. He spent a couple years in hospitals recuperating. At one time he was so weak he couldn’t lift a five-pound weight. He’d given up and wanted to die. One day an old army nurse was trying to get him to do his therapy. He just lay in his hospital bed and wouldn’t cooperate. The nurse finally stepped back, gave his bed a swift kick and yelled at him, “The train of life waits for nobody. If you want to just lie there and die, go ahead! I’ve got a lot of people on this ward who want to live and they need my help.” She turned on her heels and left him lying there. That moment was the turning point for him. He decided he wanted to get back on the train of life. He’d show her. He learned to adapt and wasn’t left behind.
When you have trouble mastering that remote for your TV, just think of all the changes you’ve seen in your life and how you’ve adapted. There’s always hope, and change can be exciting. We can have fun remembering and talking about the past, but we need to live in the present, and look to the future. It’s going to be an exciting ride!
What does the future hold for the way we communicate with each other? Is there anyone out there who doesn’t think that everything is changing? Can you hear me? Can you see me?
The way we communicate with each other has changed dramatically during my lifetime. Crank phones, party lines, rotary phones, and push button phones, have either disappeared or are going the way of the telegraph and smoke signals.
We’re becoming a very mobile, video-based society. Cell phones, text messaging, Facebook, Skype, Twitter, and numerous other applications are the way young people communicate today. The younger generation prefers text messaging over voice communication. People are no longer tied to their home or office to send and receive messages. They take their communication devices with them wherever they go.
As I write this column, I’m on an airplane headed back home from Dallas, Texas. I’ve spent the past week there at the National Telecommunications Cooperative Association (NTCA) Conference and Expo. I have my cell phone and my computer within reach. Others traveling with me, have their iPhones, Droids, and iPads. On these devices we can check our messages, e-mails, send messages, and continue to conduct business, even while flying from Dallas to Minneapolis.
In many ways this is a double-edged sword. It’s handy and a great way to stay in touch and up to date, but on the other hand, it’s very hard to get totally away from work.
At the conference we learned how much and how rapidly the world of communications is changing. It’s both exciting and scary. People will need to jump on board and embrace the changes or be left behind. I know all the changes are very scary for many people, but there’s no turning back the clock to what we call those simpler times that many of us remember.
I can’t even imagine the changes that will take place in the next few years. Listen to these quotes regarding telephones, radios, and computers.
“Well-informed people know it’s impossible to transmit their voices over wires, and even if it were possible, the thing would not have practical value.” – Editorial in the Boston Post, 1865.
“I think there is a world market for maybe five computers.” – Thomas Watson, Chairman of IBM, 1943.
“There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home.” – Ken Olson, President, Chairman, and Founder of Digital Equipment Corporation, 1977.
It’s hard to believe, that these people in leadership positions didn’t see any market for these technological inventions. Look how far computers have come since that statement in 1977—only 34 years ago. Besides everything else computers can do, they’re now capable of hearing and speaking too. With Skype you can now communicate with people all over the world and see each other as you talk. Can you hear me? Can you see me? Yes I can, loud and clear.
The technology curve has become so steep and fast that it’s hard to imagine the changes we’ll see in just the next five years. During the conference, we heard about some of the changes coming that boggle my mind. Have you heard about flexible video screens? Google it!
We also learned that you either change with the times, or you will cease to exist. I’ve seen that time and again since I graduated with a commercial art degree a lifetime ago. Everything has changed. As the business of advertising kept changing, I had two choices, either accept the changes and climb aboard, or live in the past and let the train of changing technology go on without me. With each change, I decided to hang on for dear life and keep riding. It hasn’t been easy. The computer age was another two-edged sword. I learned to do graphic arts on a computer while flying by the seat of my pants—a major uff da. It was either learn it or get out of the business.
I’m reminded of a friend who was badly wounded in Vietnam. He spent a couple years in hospitals recuperating. At one time he was so weak he couldn’t lift a five-pound weight. He’d given up and wanted to die. One day an old army nurse was trying to get him to do his therapy. He just lay in his hospital bed and wouldn’t cooperate. The nurse finally stepped back, gave his bed a swift kick and yelled at him, “The train of life waits for nobody. If you want to just lie there and die, go ahead! I’ve got a lot of people on this ward who want to live and they need my help.” She turned on her heels and left him lying there. That moment was the turning point for him. He decided he wanted to get back on the train of life. He’d show her. He learned to adapt and wasn’t left behind.
When you have trouble mastering that remote for your TV, just think of all the changes you’ve seen in your life and how you’ve adapted. There’s always hope, and change can be exciting. We can have fun remembering and talking about the past, but we need to live in the present, and look to the future. It’s going to be an exciting ride!
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