The old days Shackman?

I mean, the good old days I would understand.

Way back in the 1800’s,

when we rode our horses through the tall prarie grass that tickeled the bottom of our boots,

and the sun beat down on our straw hats,

as we stopped at the fishing hole on our way home,

to bring back the required trout for dinner,

or the wild berries from the woods,

that smelled so pungent and wonderful,

you had to remember you couldn’t eat them all yourself

because there was cobbler to bake.

Or the time during the depression when we all helped each other,

since you had to to survive.

And the elections only lasted a few weeks,

and the presidential candidates spoke from the back steps of a train?

And NO ONE HAD A SMART PHONE.

Or neighbors he couldn’t trust.

Yup, I was one of the Walton kids.

Work hard, play hard.

Kids had chores,

and times outside to play.

And you came home when the streetlamps came on.

Or the neighbor got done with stringing beans, left the porch,

and sent you packing.

With threats of mayhem that were so bizarre we knew already as six year olds they couldn’t carry it out.

Or do you mean that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction-

which means, as they say where I am from,

if you want to dance, you have to pay the piper.

Faster information flow-

no one listens to anyone’s thoughts or impressions,

they ignore them and look for cold hard facts on the web.

Wasn’t it Einstein who said that intuition is a gift,

rational thinking a servant.

And then there is better technology-

lately we all run around with so much electronic equipment,

if they were to bury us with it,

they could build the coffin from it.

And as for violence levels-

And in my own case, if one more person tells me he is taking courses to develop his intuitive side,

and is now a “woman whisperer”…

Try it, and you will find out I can fill a hall of over a thousand with my singing voice.

And when I get to the top registers…

Seriously,

I know there is a balance.

But I quite often wonder if we are creating the person to fit the age,

or the age the person.

Are we faster, more jittery, more short tempered,

and then have to take autogenic training, tai chi, yoga,

because of it?

Not that that works.

It’s usually just one more appointment to fit in.

And why,

since we’re on the subject,

does my fitness bracelet tell me to drink water, eat peas,

and walk?

Or when to sleep.

I sleep very well, thank you.

If I get a chance to sit, I’m gone.

What I really need is a machine that says things like-

“go away. She needs sleep.”

(the voice on Space Family Robinson that used to say “danger, Will Robinson” would do just fine)

And maybe that is the answer to the problem of the old days.

And the modern age.

Like the cultures where a doctor is only employed-

and paid,

if his patients stay healthy.

Maybe what we need is for everyone to wear an armband that tells the others

“she needs sleep. If you bother her now to sell aluminum siding,

or discuss singing songs about tulips,

we will have your fitness bracelet call you at three am

and play the song Heidi,

loud,

until you do forty push-ups.

And when you who are reading this tell your grandchildren

about the old days,

and the personal space instigating bracelet,

remember where you read it first.

copyright Dunnasead.co 2016

This topic was suggested by Shackman, of Shackman-Speaks.blogspot.com
and the Friday Loose Bloggers Consortium, where he, Ramana of Ramana’s Musings.wordpress.com, and whoever else from the FLBC is writing this week, whip up some very unusual solutions to the usual problems of daily life.

5 thoughts on “Ye Olde Days

    1. Dave, I really can’t thank you enought for your “random act of kindness.” The Blog is a joy, as is yours, and I immediately signed up to follow. Will write more to both of you when I have more time. Thanks

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s