WordSisters

Author: Ellen Shriner

  • Anachronisms (Or 3 Reasons Why I Love My Electronic Devices)

    My youngest son and I were talking about eating alone in restaurants, when I flashed back to life before cell phones, tablets, GPS and Internet connectivity. He’s a nice guy, so he didn’t tease me about my “Why in my day, Sonny, we used to . . .” moment. Electronic devices have profoundly changed the outcome of several awkward or frustrating experiences.

    Eating Alone

    While traveling for business in the late 1980’s, I faced a dilemma that no longer exists: how to eat alone in a restaurant without looking weird or attracting unwanted attention.

    Articles for career women advised bringing a book and reading at dinner. That way you wouldn’t feel stupid, and you wouldn’t attract sleazy guys trying to pick you up. Or you could order room service and avoid the whole issue.

    I usually preferred a good meal with a glass of wine to a dry turkey sandwich in my room, so I learned to carry a book. Wait staffs’ reactions and service varied from dismissive to sympathetic. To boost my confidence and convey that I had a right to be there, I was pleasant but a bit aloof. While waiting for my order I sipped my wine and read. Usually that worked, but sometimes I didn’t have the energy for the performance.

    Now I can take my smartphone or tablet and catch up on email, check Facebook, read online, or write and be legitimately busy and content. I don’t have to worry that I look pathetic or vulnerable.

    Missing Connections

    Before cell phones, bad luck could ruin a rendezvous. Imagine this: you’re in Chicago on business. You have a free afternoon before your flight and want to see a college friend. You agree to meet by the lions in front of the Art Institute at 1:00. By 1:15, you’re checking your watch and wondering. At 1:35, you’re frustrated and uncertain. Stay? Go? What’s going on?!?

    Screen Shot 2015-05-27 at 10.47.28 PM

    There was no way for your friend to call or text to say, “Missed my train. Can I meet you inside by the Chagall window at 2:00 instead?” You could go inside alone but she’d have no idea where to find you. Or you could leave, angry and disappointed. Either way, you would have missed each other. The afternoon of laughs and reminiscing couldn’t be salvaged.

    Getting Lost

    MissouriFor years, I’ve driven cross-country for family visits to Ohio or vacations in Virginia, Texas, and Montana. I also think nothing of driving to a distant suburb to meet friends for dinner. Usually I navigate these trips successfully . . . as long as I have a map or Garmin for GPS.

    Occasionally, though, I’ve gotten spectacularly lost. Driving 30 miles out my way near Green Bay, Wisconsin. Circling Eden Prairie, Minnesota for 40 minutes (and Eden Prairie isn’t that big). Hubris accounted for these mishaps. I thought I knew where I was going, so I didn’t bring a map.

    Back in the day, the only solution was to stop and ask for directions. I had to hope the person was reliable and not a knucklehead who’d send me the wrong way, because he forgot to mention three important turns.

    If there’s no cell phone signal (rural Montana and Wisconsin come to mind), I can be just as lost as in the old days. Google maps and GPS have definitely reduced the likelihood that I’ll get lost during a road trip, but sometimes they are wrong or incomplete. Just in case, I still carry a paper map and keep my cell phone charged up.

    How about you? What difficult situation has become a thing of the past because of your electronic devices?

  • Treasure

    Before we went to Italy I photographed all the jewelry I’d really miss if it were stolen. Some of the pieces have street value, but most of them are keepsakes and their associations are what make them valuable. My childhood charm bracelet with the teeny orange crate. Mom’s matching sweater pins with the blue, rose and yellow rhinestones. A cameo necklace from my grandmother. Rings from my sister and my sons.

    IMG_0447I felt paranoid and silly, but took the photos anyhow. Two friends have had jewelry stolen while they were away from home. Because they didn’t have photos, their insurance companies couldn’t value the items and the police couldn’t identify the jewelry if they found the stolen property.

    If my jewelry were stolen would I be comforted to get it back? Probably not. The simple joy in wearing the earrings, rings, and bracelets is that they’re pretty and I like thinking of the people who gave them to me. If they were returned to me after a theft, that event would distort my feelings about the pieces.

    My impulse to treasure keepsakes is misplaced. Regardless of whether or not I possess the jewelry, I will have the memories of the occasions and the people who gave them to me.

    What I really want is to protect what is irreplaceable. If only the police could show up at my door and return all of the people I lost last year: Mom, Aunt Corinne, Uncle Jim, and Uncle Rocky.

    I am rich in memories but still making payments on how to accept impermanence and loss.

  • A Fool’s Errand or a Worthy Risk?

    I just submitted my memoir manuscript to a publisher. I sweated over every word of the query. I drafted the synopsis and revised it and revised it again so the narrator’s growth was woven into the plot. I fussed over the manuscript sample to make sure it was tight and engaging.

    I believe in my book. If I didn’t think it was worthy, I wouldn’t have spent more than 10 years on it.

    But as I read and reread my handiwork, doubt crept in. I thought, “Am I wasting my time? Will this book even appeal to the publisher?” I sent it off anyhow.

    Next, I polished and fussed with my entry for a writing contest.

    Once again, I was assailed by the same suspicion that this is a fool’s errand. I’ve entered that contest half a dozen times and haven’t won yet. Will this year be any different?

    Some stubborn, optimistic part of me persists.

    While working on these submissions, I countered my doubts with platitudes like, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t try.”

    Then I questioned the platitudes. It’s ingrained in the American psyche to believe that you’ll succeed if you try hard enough. That isn’t always true. Sometimes you fail anyhow. Then you have to live with the failure and wonder if it’s your fault because you didn’t try hard enough. Huh?!? What maddening logic.

    Americans also love noble failure and tell ourselves, “At least you tried.” That is comforting. Like many Americans, I do believe that it’s better to risk failure than to attempt nothing. Risk is scary, but safety is stifling.

    Finally, I come back to Margaret Atwood’s sensible advice: “Writing is work. It’s also gambling. You don’t get a pension plan. Other people can help you a bit, but essentially you’re on your own. Nobody is making you do this: you chose it, so don’t whine.”

    I’m going to stop whining. As for the entries? Stay tuned.