More B. C.

Tonight I was reminded of what I was originally planning to write about last week when I got sidetracked about old phones. One more thing though. The phone we used at Fackrell's Texaco actually had a handle on the side that you had to crank to make the phone on the other end ring. How bizarre is that?

Onward. Back in BC it cost so stinking much to phone someone that didn't live close, people had to resort to an archaic form of conversation known as mail. Instead of pushing buttons on a gizmo the size of a credit card (which didn't exist then either) you would write your thoughts and questions on a piece of paper, fold it in thirds, put it in and envelope, put a 5 cent stamp (holy dodo, I just realized there is no longer a "cent" key! Do any of you even know what the symbol for cents is? or that it went AFTER the number?) on it, address it, put it in a little box out side your house, and a guy would pick it up and take it all the way to the person's house that you wanted to converse with. OK, the process was rather complex and costs about nine times as much now. BUT...

Now comes the redeeming social value of snail mail and why I was reminded of it tonight: Babs (wife) was on her cell phone conversing with Pete (son). I was eating my bowl of mac & cheese. I could hear her side of the conversation but had no idea what Pete was saying in far away Minnesota. I had to leave while they were talking and didn't get to ask her what Pete said until a couple of hours later. She is getting on in years and was only able to recall vague generalities of the discussion. SO...

Had their tete a tete been via snail mail, I would have been able to read exactly what Pete had said to her. Granted, it would have taken a couple of weeks to take place, but I wouldn't have to rely on the memory of some else.

Slow and steady wins the race?

Not on this planet.