S.O.S. to L.O.L.

By G. E. Shuman

Many, MANY spring days ago my grandfather Shuman and I were traveling along a long stretch of road somewhere in the Maine countryside. I was probably about ten years old, and remember few specifics of the trip now. I do recall that we were on our way to, or on our way home from, one of the great picnics our family used to have on the coast of that state. I also remember that we were in Gramp’s Rambler American, and that he loved that car. (‘American’… not a bad name for a car.) Such trips with my grandfather are probably remembered at all, only because they were so few. He was a retired man by the time I was around, and wasn’t the type to play with the grandkids, if you know what I mean. In any case, there we were, on that road, on a bright spring day, and Gramp’s car suddenly had a flat tire. I had no idea what he would do, but knew he would likely do something unusual to remedy our situation. That’s the way Gramp was. He did not disappoint me. Gramp sat there a moment, then calmly got out of the car and went around to the trunk, but not to get the jack and spare. He had worked for the telephone company for most of his life, and still carried some of his equipment with him, just in case. I looked back to see Gramp strapping his climbing spikes onto his legs. He soon proceeded to climb a nearby utility pole with those spikes and his test phone. He then simply ‘borrowed’ someone’s phone line for a moment and called a garage for help. I have that wonderful old test set in my top dresser drawer and remember my Gramp, and that day, every time I see it there.
Memories of another man of long ago come to mind each time I see the telegraph receiver displayed in our ‘antique’ room. This piece of equipment was used by my wife’s grandfather, who, at fourteen years of age, began taking telegraphed train orders in an office of the Maine Central Railroad. This, even earlier device than Gramp’s old phone, used Morse code to communicate across the miles, and get the message through.
Fast-forward now to a much more recent time, in fact, to just a few weeks ago. I was standing in line at a local convenience store, and witnessed another, but less memorable communication ‘moment’. A man in line in front of me had a slight problem. He held four two-liter bottles of soda in his arms, along with at least one other item, and his cell phone began to ring. I offered to help. He said no. There was no room on the small checkout counter for his purchases, so, somehow, he simply held them, and answered the phone. Well, he didn’t exactly answer it… he opened it and read a text message. Next, this stranger, who, by then, I imagined must certainly be a circus juggler or magician, somehow held those bottles and the other item, and texted the person back. He then turned to me and said: “I hate this (expletive) thing! Now she can always find me!” How times have changed.
I have given up marveling at and/or screaming at the electronic devices all around me. When I get some new thing, like a music player, or computer, or phone or camera, (Observe that there is little difference between those inventions now.) I just hand it over to my thirteen year old daughter to ‘set up’ for me. That way I end up liking the device, not hating it. My true bewilderment now is this recent, great, national attraction to the act of texting. Texting is something I have done, and have not enjoyed. My further opinion of texting is that it may become the ruination of the English language, even though people in England, with some justification, feel that we in America accomplished that years ago. One student in my seventh grade English class recently bragged to the class that she could receive a text during dinner and answer it, without looking, with her phone out of sight underneath the dining room table. The problem is that great adeptness in keypad use spills over into the compositions she and others do for me. The word ‘you’ often becomes the letter ‘u’, and abbreviations abound, LOL. Like wow. Besides, why not shut the stupid phone off for a few moments and be more than just physically present with your family at dinner time? (If I sound like the parent of teenagers, guess why.)
I also find little convenience in the convenient act of texting, especially if you are the man in line at that convenience store. Unless you have a full keypad on your phone, you end up like me, punching those tiny buttons repeatedly, to get to the appropriate letter. To my mind, this seemingly-modern communication method is not far removed from the dots and dashes sent over those telegraph lines nearly a century ago. Emi recently mentioned that she couldn’t tell her friends moods from their texted messages. No kidding. My wife’s grandfather probably could not tell the mood of the person tapping out letters on his distant and distantly related device all those years ago, either.
Hey kids. Guess what? A man named Alexander Graham Bell made an invention that he hooked up to those old telegraph lines, much as my grandfather hooked up his test set on that telephone pole. Because of this, whether you’re in line at a store with your arms full, or just getting a message from a friend, you can now simply pick up the phone and say: “Hello?” What will they think of next?

Here There Is Truth
By G. E. Shuman



Without a doubt, you are reading this column on a day very close to Christmas Day. (I hope you’re enjoying the season.) This issue of the paper likely appeared at your door, newsstand, or on your computer screen the night before Christmas or the day or two before that. I’m sure you could hardly wait, just as a child on Christmas morning, to tear into the wrapper or website, find my space, and begin to devour the many words of wit and wisdom contained herein. Yes, I am probably delusional, and definitely dreaming. Nevertheless, here we are, on this familiar page of your paper or screen, right where we always meet. I have to tell you, I love it here.
So, what do I say to you this time? What particular part of Christmas should we discuss at this moment in this special week? What angle on angels or wisecrack about wise men would work to enlighten or entertain us both? This year, I am not sure. It would be easy to rehash my great disdain for the crass commercialism of what, for some, has become one more decadent December, or to re-word The Night Before Christmas poem, just one more agonizing time. (I’m only thinking out loud, here.) Or, maybe I could expound again on how ‘Grinchy’ I often feel as shopping, stores, sales and Santa wear down my nerves more and more as the month wears on. I could easily entitle a column: Crushing Christmas Crowds and Cranky Children. Wow, could I ever! Or, perhaps I could preach to you about keeping Christ in Christmas, and the reason for the season. Both are overly-clichéd ideas that I happen to agree with strongly, by the way.
No, none of that strikes me as the way to go, right now, right here, this year. You and I have discussed and mutually pondered all of those things before. My small gift to you today is to keep this column short. I knew you would like that. A gift of time, saved, never has to be exchanged. (I just made that up. Not bad, huh?) I would also like to give you a few words of profound truth. They are certainly not my words, and are of far greater worth than any words I will ever compose. They are the words of three authors of old. They are words etched, not in stone, but in eternity, and will never be destroyed. They foretell the greatest gift the world has ever known. That gift is for you, by the way. So, here there is no Santa, nor sleigh, nor jingle bells, nor jolly elves. Here there is truth:
“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:6
“And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name JESUS: for he shall save his people from their sins.” Matthew 1:21
“For unto you” (Central Vermont) “is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11.
Merry Christmas friends! Happy Birthday Jesus!

Just a note

Dear Readers,

The poem "Gramp's Victrola" was written in 1987, shortly after my Grandfather Shuman's death. I have his wonderful Victrola in my parlor. I sit in my recliner and write; the Victrola to my left, and the fireplace to my right. What better life has anyone had?

Gramp's Victrola

Gramp’s Victrola
By G. E. Shuman
1987


Old wooden box, but well preserved,
So finely crafted, long ago
What joy you’ve brought, how well you’ve served
All those who’ve heard your music flow.

For deep within, below your skin
The ancient mechanisms purr.
And music plays, as round you spin.
Bright notes leap from the record’s blur.

Inside your chest are scores of songs
Whose writers have returned to dust.
But still they live, when placed upon
Your spinning disk, as well they must.

I often think, as I draw near
To touch your crank, or hand-carved trim
That my dear Gramp’s hand once was here.
You help me to remember him.

In years long past, he was the one
Who wound you up and played a song.
I almost see him watch you run,
And almost hear him sing along.

You’ll always have a home with me,
Old wooden box, old memory holder.
Proudly placed where all can see,
For you were my dear Gramp’s Victrola.

The Challenge

By G. E. Shuman

A noble challenge was recently given to me, in the form of a simple suggestion from a dear friend. This suggestion was one of those special and rare ideas that, likely because of their simplicity, plant themselves deep within the mind. Ever since I first heard of the challenging suggestion I have not been able to completely forget it, or completely accomplish it, either.

It seems to me that, sometimes, the seemingly uncomplicated challenges of life are often the most difficult ones to accomplish. Many people have great difficulty in even vocalizing the words “I love you.” Others have terrible trouble with ever saying those two little words “I’m sorry.” Yes, moral challenges, no matter how simple, can often get the better of us. Their piercing clarity and purpose can be quite frightening to people as accustomed to hiding feelings as we modern Americans often are. No one wants to be exposed or intimidated by admissions of imperfection within, even if such would nudge us toward being a better person, or a better friend.

Before I lose you to slumber over reading more rhetoric, let me tell you that the idea, the suggestion which became a challenge, is on the subject of complaining. I will also say that this week I shared the challenge with every student in the high school English classes I teach. Next I will ask those students if any of them are up to the challenge. It is my sincere hope that some of them are, and that some of you are, also.

The great and mystical challenge I have alluded to here was made to me and to the rest of the congregation of my church, Bible Baptist, of Berlin Vt. It was the evening before Thanksgiving Day, and our very wise Pastor Lake admonished us to accept the challenge of a ‘fast’… a fast of complaining. He asked us to not complain, between Thanksgiving Day this year and Christmas Day… about anything. That’s right… anything. Hum… cut out complaining, huh? Yes, that is a simple idea. In fact, it could even be said to be beautiful in its simplicity. “I can do that.” I thought to myself upon hearing of the challenge. “Anyone can do that. It’s only a month ‘til Christmas. I can certainly refrain from griping about the price of gasoline, and the weather, and family members, and money, and politics, and… You know, I can hardly believe that there are people who just have to be negative and complain about things all the time. But there are! If people weren’t so self-centered we wouldn’t even need challenges like this!” Suddenly I realized that, not only was I already breaking the non-complaining challenge in my thoughts, I was actually mentally complaining about the challenge itself.

Thank you, Pastor Lake, for an idea that you say is not your own, but one I consider to be a spark of simple brilliance. I admit to already failing in my efforts to stop complaining, although I am still trying. I have been blessed with everything, when most of the world has nothing. I certainly have very little to complain about. My hope is that this transparent admission and realization will be enough to improve my outlook, increase my thankfulness, and generate more gratitude in my life.

Dear Readers, there are only about two weeks left until Christmas Day. I would like to suggest that you also take up the challenge… to not complain, about anything. Come on, it’s only two weeks. Get this simply beautiful idea planted firmly in your mind. After all, wouldn’t it be wonderful to live for two whole weeks without a single complaint?