Commenting

In another era, though well within my lifetime, celebrities used to get cards and letters.  President Kennedy asked his staff to pull every 50th for his personal reading.  Betty Smith, author of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, noted that about a quarter of her fan mail was addressed to Francie Nolan, her book's main character, instead of to her.  People took the time to form opinions and express them.  Unlike Letters to the Editor that got selected for print, correspondence to public officials and celebrities remained private communications.  Responses were few, but people still selected stationery from doodle pads to Crane's, pens from Bic to Mt. Blanc or typewriter, reserved time to express on paper, and applied postage.

Our electronics have transformed how we express our opinions to people of fame and influence.  Pen and paper have given way to screen and keyboard.  Though not exactly.  Thoughts often organize better for later expression when outlined in a person's recognizable handwriting before composing sentences and paragraphs.  Admirers and critics alike still target public figures, but what we tell them no longer gets shared exclusively with them or staff hired to deal with correspondence.  A comment on Twitter intended as feedback for a VIP gets read by anyone.  Responses are more likely to come from random strangers than from the influencer to whom the writer directed the feedback.

Because of the ease of submission, volume has increased.  A censorship of cultural norms has yielded to bluntness, though that may have also been true when cards and letters came through verbal provocation of an Influencer on TV.  

Mechanisms of contact have changed.  Pre-computer, we did not know where celebrities lived.  Actors got mail addressed to their studios, authors to the publishers.  Our Congressional Delegation had published office addresses and an allocation to hire somebody to respond to constituent needs, if not opinions.  In the early email era, people had accessible email addresses.  their name or variant @ company or university . com org or edu.  Major publications solicited feedback at the end of news stories.  These could go into the thousands, created an expense to hire screeners to determine if standards of reader comments were violated, and largely disappeared.  Individual journalists and authors now often have their own websites which invariably include a contact option.

Who is worthy of a response has also shifted.  We never expect a movie star to write back, beyond maybe having a studio agent send a stock autographed photo.  Academics and think tank representatives used to respond to me much more than they do now.  Maybe volume, maybe pressure on time, maybe delegation of the response task.  Perhaps my most interesting sorting comes from my own Jewish biome.  As online educational sites became available, a lecture could be accessed, a question sent to the speaker, and a brief response suggesting that the query was read and understood would appear in a few days.  The Orthodox and Reform officials invariably acknowledged my approaching them.  The Conservatives screened me out or deflected me to my own Rabbi.  They seemed to have some fear of undermining the hierarchy and authority of intermediaries.

Much of these dialogues of cyberspace have transformed again.  We now have Substack.  Subscribers can pay a monthly fee, which includes both wisdom of the writer and access.  The Atlantic, one of my paid subscriptions, now has a comment section at the end of each article. Responses number in the hundreds.  While a substantial fraction conveys impressions of the article, far more of these create a conversation with what the original poster began.  Nearly all with a nom de plume of some type to preserve anonymity.

The role of correspondence seems in transition.  In the written era, the cards and letters served as a vote up or down.  The early days of email created more of a private conversation.  Modern forums using platforms or feedback boxes at the end of journal articles seem to bifurcate.  Some, like FB and Twitter, have become arenas for verbal combat requiring no expertise.  Others like Reddit and Substack function more like communities.  People of common interest exposed to identical material express to each other their views of what they read or what they had been asked.  Those are invariably more civil than the arenas.  Responders do their best to use their knowledge to guide a person with less familiarity or a valid but opposing view.  Private communication has expanded to public engagement among strangers.  Expectations have changed.  In the paper era, I expected no response, in the early electronic era targeted responses, now more of a melee or gathering of minds, depending on the platform.  Of the models, I have found the community of shared interest most appealing and most engaging.  It has its limitations, but for me, when I have something to enhance another person's perspective or their expertise advances mine, we each do better.  

Best Deal

My wife and I have a disparity of vacation preferences.  She seems perfectly content at home, willing to go to our kids' homes hours away when somebody else gets her there, and mostly stays inside their places when there.  I have more of a preference to escape to the new, willing to burden myself a bit to do this.  When at the kids, I zip around SF's Muni System, walk the neighborhoods, occasionally book a tour that I go on myself.  At my son's, I walk the blocks near his inner city house and drive around to different places. Hop-on Hop-off buses get a ticket, even though few stops see me exit to explore up close.  I seek the window seat on planes and buses.  New places interest me, even if they are daily stops to those who live there.

Day Trips, typically three, usually occupy my semi-annual agenda, mostly fulfilled by driving somewhere alone or using my free SEPTA Senior Pass to get me to a place I've not visited before.  It's time to get away again, though with a hotel.  Couples time.  The Good Old Summertime.  

My wife and I had our discussion, mostly her setting boundaries.  Our last two multiday road trips did not go well.  Cruises to the Maritimes would fill her need to minimize effort and my need to explore new places.  All filled up by the time we explored cruise options online.  As much as I like National Parks, flights of significant distance followed by a rental car for the multi-hour connection of hub to park fell outside the parameters, before we even get into the park and its requirements for driving and light hiking.

We settled on a three-night excursion within five hours of home.  Electric maps have made that easy.  In five hours, as our distance driving is never shared, I can cover about 250 miles.  Draw a radius from my home address.  I've already visited most of the places inside that circle during my working years.  Only Long Island as a tourist and the Capital Region of NY remain novel.  I looked at both.  Long Island is closer and has more to do.  Generous responders on FB's Visit All 50 States and r/long island of Reddit assured me that a senior couple would have things to do there beyond attending a Bar Mitzvah or funeral within my extended family.  Historical sites, wineries, landscapes, ferries, and gawking at old and new money.  Good for a few days.  For all the antagonisms of social media, sometimes the groups function as communities of helpful people instead of the more typical arena model.

When to go?  I picked dates.  My doctor picked the same dates for a periodic procedure that has gotten a little overdue.  I picked later dates, a time that significantly lowered the hotel prices for the places that seemed most suitable geographically.

Now dates in place, recovery from medical procedure anticipated, alternate dates adjustable by a day or two if hotel rates come down in a different three-night stay, it's time to find a place to stay.  Long Island is the largest island in the continental USA.  It takes hours to drive its length.  It might also take an hour to get past the two boroughs of NYC that comprise its western portion, which I would prefer to avoid this vacation.  I don't want to access beaches, at least not as a swimmer or basker.  Still, the tourism that I seek stretches hours, from the gilded, repurposed mansions at the western and northern extreme to Montauk at the southern and western extreme, would require some driving.  If I stayed in the middle, which seems to be near the island's airport, I would still have an hour to get to the end of the North and South Forks.  Where the forks separate, a town called Riverhead, might serve as a base.  Hotel prices for that convenience come at more of a premium than I am willing to spend.

By now, I've gotten experienced at selecting hotels and airline reservations through online travel sites, though I always check directly with the hotels and carriers to see if they pass some of what they save by avoiding the travel site fee  back to the vacationer.  It usually doesn't.  For accommodations, unless an overnight rest before the next day's flight when a simple bed will do, I have my preferred amenities.  I like the place I choose to have a pool if I am staying more than one day, preferably indoor.  Most hotel stays I enter it.  In warm places, outdoor usually suffices, but I've been to SC in their shoulder season where the outdoor option proved chilly.  Wi-Fi in room has become a must.  For all the legitimate critiques of global connections' downsides, I have learned to ration how I use this, yet still feel deprived without it.  Even on cruises, I purchase a minimal internet package.  For an American hotel, I ask the travel sites to eliminate places that have a surcharge.  I also need parking, whether driving with my own car or a rental.  It's one hassle that I find objectionable.  Within reason, I am willing to pay for assured garage space in a big city, but most of the places I select in recent years occupy enclaves of a few hotels in proximity of a shopping center.  This serves me well.  And exercise on schedule borders as a must.  Most places have small work-out areas with a treadmill whose settings options surpass what I use at home.  Breakfast buffet does not appear on my screens.  They are convenient, usually adequate.  I often prefer to drive to a local breakfast place with a menu, sit there with my wife as we choose eggs or pancakes.  I take the anticipated price of eating at a diner into account.

That still leaves a significant number of options.  Then sort by price.  Mostly, I cannot assess location.  For Long Island, I know that the airport and Brookhaven National Labs are in the middle, Stony Brook where I almost attended school sits in the north, the Hamptons, which I cannot afford lie to the south, and Riverhead where the forks branch is closest to the optimal location.  I'll drive a bit more with my own car for a lower prices.  

My wife deferred the selection to me, after we reviewed the various options together.  I chose one near Brookhaven with the amenities I need and the ability to drive to places tourists to Long Island might like to go.  Best Deal?  Probably not.  This is one of those projects where the perfect undermines the good.  To be sure, I agreed to a surcharge for at-will cancellation.

Living Spaces

My children and their friends live differently from me.  As much as I enjoy going to a big city periodically, and have lived in a few, my upbringing took place in a free standing suburban house designed from an architectural template.  My adult life had its base in an even larger home, ample bedrooms, basement, garage, attic.  And it filled with stuff that will eventurally find its way to some blend of dumpster and estate sale.  A small city sits a few minutes drive, accessed primarily for synagogue and OLLI.  A major city, where I can travel for free with my Senior Transit Pass makes for a periodic but random visit, usually to visit a museum or historical site.  The city has things that my town does not, but not alluring enough to want to be in proximity.  Even in my time in three major cities, my focus always remained school or work, never trendy places to eat.  Even for shopping, when I had a car, I drove to a suburban mall.

My children attended school in NYC and StL.  They settled and now have families in central parts of SF and Pittsburgh.  Their pre-earnings and early career homes were compact apartments, as were mine.  Not a lot of stuff.  Higher incomes, and now children, did not change that much.  Each lives near a main thoroughfare with short walks to places to eat, most inexpensive.  Supermarkets lie a little farther away, but are not the regional megamarts that send me their sales fliers in the mail every Wednesday.  The streets appear neat, though hardly scrupulously clean.  Parking is scarce, driving requires less distance between cars for longer stretches of time than I am used to.

While my son has a town house with ample interior space, very drivable to suburbia, the SF and NY environments of my daughter and her friends require more adaptation.  I've stayed with her and house-sat for friends on both coasts.  Space utilization requires thought.  Two bedrooms, one bathroom.  A recent stay in Brooklyn had me walking up four flights, as it lacked an elevator.  The apartments, carved from houses, all had strategic designs with nooks dedicated to workspace, a wall transformed to an entertainment zone, kitchens dedicated to food preparation and storage, though not always eating.  That takes place in another nook.  A massive dining room table with two leaves and a breakfront in a separate formal room cannot happen.  I stayed at a duplex in NYC with two outdoor patios, each accessible through sliding glass doors and modified as expanded living or entertainment space.  No yards exist, but planters can be placed outside to nurture culinary herbs.

Despite the limited space, by my standards, the people can do most of the things that I do, though without dedicated rooms.  They all have large flat TVs, internet access, cooking, small modern appliances, washer/dryers standing atop each other in a converted closet instead of next to each other in a laundry room.  What they cannot do, that I can, is accumulate stuff and stick it somewhere.  As a result, the smaller living spaces that I visited seem more selective in what they display.  A few pictures.  Strategically placed flowers.  Shelves with books sharing space with knick-knacks.  Area rugs on wooden floors in lieu of wall-to-wall.

Perhaps the biggest difference is where you walk or cycle to.  From my house, a walk usually has an exercise purpose.  In SF or Brooklyn, or even Central West End St. Louis, a walk has a destination, even if not predetermined.  It may be specialty coffee, the library, the subway station, or a haircut.  Shops along the sidewalk, few with the recognizable from anywhere national chains.  Sometimes green grocers set up produce outside their entrances.  During the daylight, people walk from place to place, sometimes block to block.  Cars some by, speed depending on traffic and traffic signals.  Architecture usually has some variation, gingerbread pastels of SF, elegant townhouses and midrises of another era in the Central West End, reclaimed shells in Pittsburgh.  Parks and schools with playgrounds interrupt the commercial and residential sections.  Churches seem few, but imposing where they occur.  

Despite my multiple rooms, as an empty nester, I use very little.  Clutter has kept the cars out of the garage for decades, though I do appreciate my driveway.  A few blocks from my daughter's SF apartment, there are small single-family houses with downsloping driveways into single-car garages.  I have a place where I write, surf a laptop, watch YouTube on a big screen, and listen to a stereo.  Bedroom serves mostly sleeping and closet, not requiring much space.  Rarely entertain in the living room.  Family room is now for my treadmill, something that would fit into My Space if I could get help moving it upstairs.  Spacious kitchen and formal dining rooms remain used frequently.  And multiple bathrooms all get used.  So my kids and their city friends do not seem to be at much disadvantage for living in places that require judicious decisions on what to place where.  They still get to do the things I spread out to do.  And they have more purposeful destinations nearby.  

Every Contingency

Overnight trip upcoming.  By car.  With wallet and credit card and enough cash.  To a major city with retail options exceeding what I have at home.  I should be able to put my worldly goods in something more compact than my airline carry-on. Clothing for the next day.  Grooming needs for the morning. PJs.  Even my laptop with its charging cord.

But over an adult lifetime of short trips, my ability to plan sensibly has yielded to the what-ifs and what else might I like to do while away.  Some things I never take, especially stuff that's not mine.  My two checked-out library books stay home.  When I complete the return drive, I may not go directly home, as I have a synagogue event to attend.  A casual one, but not t-shirt and shorts for a kabbalat shabbat gathering.  I will need to drive home in something I can wear there.  And I will need an extra outfit in 

case I spill something on what I would have worn in either direction.

My grooming kit is largely set from previous longer travel.  It takes some room, and I probably won't use more than a comb and dental supplies which can fit in a TSA quart-size clear plastic bag, much smaller than my dopp kit.  Spare glasses can stay in their usual car compartment.  I need them most when I need to drive home, though I always exchange my good pair for a more expendable set when I risk losing them at a beach or amusement park.  Neither of these destinations planned.  

Even though I will only be with my daughter and granddaughter for about 24 hours, they may want to eat out.  Need something suitable.  Bought a VLog kit to record the little one.  Have to take that.  And there are things I work on.  Laptop.  Mini-recorder.  Moleskine clone.  Some pens.  Maybe a small portfolio with paper.  Transistor radio?  Can stay home.  My medicines I will transfer to another case.  Two pills at night, seven the next morning.  No reason to take two weekly pill cases.  Prescriptions I cannot easily purchase while away, though nothing will seriously happen to me if I miss those pills for one dose.  Or maybe not work on stuff for two days, other than what I can directly perform on a laptop and cell phone.  Charging cords?  I keep a car charging cord, so I could charge the cell phone en route or use that charging cord in my hostess' port that she uses.  And VLog charging cords part of the package.  Same port as cell phone. Maybe leave smart watch home and wear the more functional Casio 168, which needs no charging.  Cell phone can do pretty much the smart watch tasks that I use.  Count down timer mostly.

YouTube has ample short videos of how to best pack.  Most are based on experience.  None addresses my fears of not having what I need when I need it, let alone the easy ability to compensate.  I'll overpack as usual, but try to show some restraint.

Learning a VLog

My two grandchildren, each not quite a year old had scheduled visits.  With a $50 Amazon gift card as an honorarium for serving as a university research subject, I spent the majority of it on a VLog kit, anticipating not only my grandchildren's encounters but some other summer travel.

It arrived the day before the order tracker indicated it would.  I unpacked the plastic Yamaha recorder, two sham moleskines, and a package of purple highlighters that comprised the rest of this Amazon submission.  The VLog kit on the screen looked very portable.  It had a backlight and a microphone.  Its wand could stay handheld or it could be extended for placement on a floor.  It all came compactly packed in a not fully hard case with a zipper.  It stayed as I received it until my son and his wife escorted my grandson into our living room.  I really did not need this to take a photo of his adorable face or a short video of him crawling in our lower hall.  

As we schmoozed in our living room, I unzipped the case.  It had more parts than I expected, along with instructions printed on the front and back of a single page with print too small to discern with my bifocals.  I handed it to my son.  The illustration enabled me to unfold the tripod base.  Extending the tripod from handheld to free-standing took longer.  I placed the phone horizontally in its adjustable receptacle.  I do not know if will take the phone in its vertical dimension, but the receptacle rotates so I can position the phone that way.  The backlight came in a separate compartment.  Attaching it was not obvious, but I deduced where it must fit.  By rotating the phone, I could get the bottom of the light to fit in a portion of the stand.  It had an on/off switch that did not seem part of the instruction sheet.  It worked.  I remembered to turn it off.  That's as far as I got before they had to leave for their five-hour drive home.

Later in the afternoon, I decided to tackle the rest.  It has a remote control that I will need to pair with the phone.  It also comes with two microphones and a receiver.  All ports are USB-C which makes it easy. Cables included. Everything seems to come pre-charged.  The microphones have a special instruction sheet.  The exposed side seems to be Chinese or Japanese.  When I open the folded part and turn it over, English appears.  Larger print than the main instructions.  I checked the transmitter.  It fits into the charging port of the phone.  Each microphone has a clip.  I cannot tell if these also need to be charged, but I will do that before I travel to meet my granddaughter in a few days.  I'll pair everything before I go to sleep tonight.

It amazes me how inexpensive these adjuncts to a phone have become.  I have no interest in creating professional YouTubes, but would like a more sophisticated record of the people most dear to me and of the places I visit.  Everything fits in a small case easily transported in a carry-on or backpack, though perhaps not my briefcase.  Not especially user-friendly, since I have to repackage everything to transport it.  Reading the instruction's miniscule print did not go easily.  But by my next trip in a few days and mini-vacation in a few weeks, I should have this upgrade ready for use. 

Overscheduled Week

Retirement usually offers ample, maybe excessive, time flexibility.  Appointments are few.  During the academic year OLLI classes require me to be at a certain place at a certain time.  Shabbos comes every Friday night.  Saturdays are more flexible depending on what synagogue obligations I've undertaken.  Doctors' appointments and prepartory lab testing appear on my schedule more than they once did, though not in a burdensome way.  And I have special events:  birthdays, anniversary, Seder, Thanksgiving, Mother's Day.  But mostly not much needs entry in a scheduling grid.  I can travel when I want, mostly.  Shop at times I choose.  Find time at My Space and in my kitchen.  I've committed to doing things, but mostly control when to do them, sometimes at the expense of accountability.

So with some trepidation, I look to a rare upcoming week where other people impose my activities.  My children and grandchildren who live a distance away will each be coming my way a few days apart.  Very high priority.  I will have an overnight trip for one, have to prepare a luncheon for the other.  At mid-week, other events appear.  An organization to which I have done important things sponsors a semi-annual reception.  It is my chance to meet the remarkable students that my committee has awarded scholarships.  As that early evening gathering concludes, my synagogue holds its annual meeting.  I contribute or reap very little from that event but as a Board Member and frequent contributor of skill to their ongoing worship program, I probably ought to go, at least via Zoom.  While I do useful things for them, I create nothing, unlike the scholarship committee where my analytical input has transformed how the committee decides which applicants to award.  

The next day I have a doctor's appointment with my most irritating practice.  They are tracking a few things, not always in the most expedient way.  Appointments for office and procedures are at a premium, so I take what I can.  For this encounter, an online visit, I know what I want to accomplish.

Then travel the next day, leaving me about 24 hours with daughter and granddaughter.  They will have traveled from SF to NY a few days before, so should be rested.  I do not desire much tourism.  From there, I drive home in time for a pre-shabbos barbecue at the synagogue.  I have mixed feelings about these events, as the last cookout I found problematic.  Shabbos services the next day, with my wife a key participant.  Then Fathers' Day where I make my own special dinner.

These events of specified times add up.  They come with the opportunity cost of what I could be doing instead, but seeing kids and scholarship recipients offers high value.  A doctor's visit by Zoom takes less than a half hour.  The synagogue activities disrupt a bit more, though not having to make Friday night dinner at home offsets what I would usually find myself doing.  Even travel slows down from the norm.  When I go to NYC once or twice a year, I center it around attractions of a tourist destination.  Focusing on people this time reduces some of the decision stress, though I still do not know where I will park my car near my destination in Brooklyn.

The cluster of events forces me to immerse myself in other people.  Less time at my laptop, more holding grandchildren and shaking hands.  Not that much more in my car.  Less with myself, less checking off what tasks I've completed each day.  Probably a beneficial reset for the more usual weeks that follow. 

Paper and Pen and Mind

They made me take typing in 9th grade.  Manual typewriter.  Office model that could not be stolen easily, though the Junior High did not chain them to the desks.  I typed poorly.  Fewer Words per Minute than most, but also fewer typos than most.  I peeked at the paper, something the teacher discouraged.  It became a useful skill.  When my mother typed my term papers, the Greeks became Freeks.  When I left enough time to type them myself, using high grade erasable paper, my spelling upgraded to flawless.  In college I moved up to an electric typewriter, which I still have in its case, placed in a nook in My Space.  I cannot remember the last time I used it.  And then came Word Processing, which transformed not only how I typed and edited, but how I thought.

My typewriter served me as a tool.  I composed what I wanted to express, except for the briefest of letters, on paper.  Sometimes a canary-lined pad bound but tearable at the top, other times with loose-leaf paper removed from a binder.  I'd also had index cards that i could sequence to create a more coherent composition.  But most of my prose needing submission started on lined paper in my own marginal handwriting.  Before even opening the typewriter case and plugging the machine into the outlet, I'd proofread the text.  Then typing became a chore intended for presentation.  Thinking always took place on paper first.

Not everyone did this, even back in the day.  Journalists often carried portable typewriters to their assignments.  They typed their reports on-site, transmitted them to their editors and proofreaders, who amended sentence structure, spelling, and grammar.  Often the editor enhanced readability, a hint that maybe the best thinking and expression took a hit when typed.  Then onto the typesetters.

Word Processing and computerized editing changed that.  Now available for 30 years, I and undoubtedly a majority, now think and type, bypassing the pen altogether.  Editing for presentation still takes as much effort as composition, but most output never has public readers as its intent.  Is the thinking that goes into creation as discerning when ideas go directly to keyboard?  Some studies and YouTube Videos suggest not.  As a result, the sales of pocket notebooks and desktop journals have increased.  Personal planners with 7-rings and removable pages still compete successfully with computerized personal productivity programs.  There are elements that the computers have not yet matched.  The electronics excel at reminding or carrying over individual tasks.  It does not do as well in creating priorities or sorting goals.

While I do my best to go from mind to keyboard to create compositions, respond to the written work of others, and generate emails, some mental tasks still seem to perform better with a pen and paper.  Every night I take out a marble composition book to jot down three of the day's accomplishments.  My exercise attainments goes into a written log each week.  Every day I write something that annoyed me into a spiral notebook, then turn back one month and six months to see how the untoward experiences of those days have largely resolved.

I've tried electronic planning. Todoist doesn't even come close to a writing pad.  Weekly outline every Sunday, color coded by type of task.  Every evening, that weekly outline gets reviewed with the next day's intended activities transcribed onto what is effectively a half-sheet of blank computer paper.  My six month projects appear not on a screen but on a whiteboard in my line of sight to the left of my desk.  Not only does it enable me to think, to discern, but my handwriting remains recognizable as mine.

I've never abandoned pen and paper.  Perhaps I should use them more.  On my last Amazon order, I included two pocket notebooks.  The first went into my cross-chest carrier, along with a mini digital recorder.  I can generate thoughts portably, in airplane or in coffee shop.  Ideas and reflection still require thinking, pausing, and transcribing.  Not very different than how the best of my teachers taught me how to create and record.  Predictions of the computer making paper obsolete just did not materialize, and for good reason.