Everything, and Nothing, Has Changed

By G. E. Shuman

     I got the notion for this column from a combination of things, which fits well, as a combination of things is what this column is all about. A few evenings ago I was sitting here, in my recliner, and happened to glance over at my antique telegraphic receiver, (a gift from my wife's grandfather's past) as it sits in its place, in the corner of the family room, atop our small and elderly pump organ. I had just come from the living room, after a frustrating bout with my cellphone, which was not working, and which I had left alone on the couch, in the hope that one of the dogs might use it for a chew toy.

     As I looked at that old, wooden telegraph box I started thinking of how much things have changed, in the area of communications, since Grandpa Burr's youthful days, working with the telegraph system of the Maine Central Railroad. At first I thought about how little the telegraph has in common with how we communicate today, but then I wondered if those differences are as vast as I first imagined.

     In communications, the whole idea is to communicate. Wow, give me a gold star for figuring that one out. Actually, as long as people have been around, and talking, communication has existed. (A few people I know were probably talking as they exited the womb, but that's a story for another day, or not. You know the type.) When the written word was invented, those communications became portable, independent of the presence of the individual, and even somewhat permanent. Still, the system was slow. It took just as long to send a papyrus or paper message to another person, as it did to go visit them yourself. This system is still in use today, by the United States Postal Service.

     A truly novel departure from those written words, and, likewise, the post office, was invented by Native Americans, and they were using it long before any mailman was ever bitten by a dog. They called their system smoke signals. Actually, I don't know what they called it, but smoke signals were what it was. Those signals, and their message, reached the receiving person at the speed of light. No, smoke doesn't travel at the speed of light, but the signals actually did. It is known that the signal would be seen in the light of the sun, shining on the smoke. One encampment immediately saw that far off signal of another, and replied, obviously, with their own returning signal, spelling out the timeless letters: L.O.L. A few glitches in this system were little things called cloudy days and nighttime. Also, it had privacy issues, as we would call them today. Hence, the invention of the aforementioned postal service, and the sealed envelope.

     You see, from the reading of words on a page, or a scroll, or a cave wall, to smoke signals, telegraphs, and beyond, it has always been about the speed of light. It has always been about receiving a message from a sender, sent to the one the message was intended for, through light entering our eyes, or sound entering our ears after some device has turned the lightning-fast signal into sound waves. The brain receives a signal through one or both of those senses, and declares “I am not alone. Aunt Mildred just said hello to me.”

     To me, all the rest is just window dressing in the grand scheme of communications. (Do people still dress windows?) This opinion is probably because I do hate my phone. The advancements are, admittedly, monumental, but are only icing on the cake of the very idea of a message, a thought, actually leaving one brain and slamming into another. In my time we have gone from black and white television and rotary dial phones, (We really don't dial someone's number anymore, even though we might use those words. There are no more dials on phones, and there haven't been dials for a few generations now, if you haven't noticed.) to high definition, wall sized, curved, inch thick video systems, and high speed, world-wide internet connections. We also use those things called cell phones, or now we just call them phones, which is where this column started in the first place. We 'post' things without postage or the post office, and some of us twenty-first century dinosaurs still use email more than social networks. True, vintage dinosaurs, like myself, also still use the post office once in a while. One day I will probably consider stepping up to smoke signals, but not quite yet. One thing at a time.

     So, the other night my phone failed me, just as telegraph wires must have occasionally failed Grandpa Burr and the other users of their time. I thought of this as I looked at that old telegraphic receiver, there on the antique organ. I sat there, realizing that communication is about the message, indeed, but not just about what the message actually is. It is more about the fact that a message has been sent in the first place, at the speed of light, and then received, as a welcome gift, from one thinking brain to another. Everything, and nothing, has changed. Whether by smoke signal, snail mail, cell phone, a smile, or the nerve signals sent from one hand holding another, we are all just humans... trying to connect.

Autumn Moon

By G. E. Shuman

     Our daughter, Emily, is studying photography at a very prestigious (another word for expensive) art school in Georgia. She is doing wonderfully well there, and, a few nights ago, sent me a few samples of her recent work. One of those samples is a really gorgeous photo of the moon, as seen from her location in Savannah.

     One reason Em emailed that picture up to me is because she knows how much I love the moon. Yes, I love the moon. I can't fully explain why, I just do. One reason is, undoubtedly, because of my ongoing fascination with our country's seemingly-ancient human exploration of that place. I remember the Apollo program very well, and often wonder at the present condition of those artifacts of mankind, those remnants of what seems to have been a bolder time for our country, as they still sit on that silent landscape. With that, I have also always been intrigued with that orb's “stark beauty,” as Neil Armstrong described it, even as he stood there, forming footprints that are still there, perfectly preserved, in that powder-gray dust. (Those astronauts were, and are, the definition of the word brave.) That place, that world which orbits ours, is nearly black and white; at least it is, as seen from earth. Emily's picture of it was not taken in black and white, but that is what it is, beautifully displaying those vivid but mottled grays on a truly endless sea of black.

     The moon, today, and for all of the past ages of mankind, has been an object of wonder, and of romance. It has been pondered and written about by modern man, and by the ancients. The eyes of Moses undoubtedly gazed upon it as he led the Israelites in the wilderness, as did those of the constructors of the pyramids of Giza, and those of the earliest cave-dwellers. Just the sight of that beautiful place, shining its soft light down on the people of our world, has convinced countless love-struck couples to share their lives together, and poets, play writes, and composers to new heights, in their respective crafts.

     The very phases of the moon arouse our oceans to produce their tides, and, some feel, to influence moods, medical conditions and even the rhythms of life. The old idea of the full moon affecting attitudes has recently been proven. And now, consider these fascinating facts. Fact number 1: A lunar month, the time it takes the moon to circle the earth once, is exactly 27 days, seven hours and 43 minutes. Fact number 2: The average human menstrual cycle is 28 days. The difference between those two cycles, at most, is only 16 hours and 17 minutes... per month, if I did the math right. To me, it seems that that old, romantic moon may have had some part in deciding who we are, and now, even which ones of us 'are'. Another fact, perhaps unrelated, but still interesting, is this. Ocean waves, caused by winds, which are caused by the lunar tides, arrive on shore exactly 26 times per minute, no matter which ocean it is, and regardless of the weather. The number is 26, not 28, but it's still pretty cool.

    Finally, if you haven't had enough of my lunar love story already, I think that the moon is a wonderful companion of the earth, and a uniting force for her people. It is something that, regardless of who or where we are, has the power to bring us all together. The moon that Emily photographed from Savannah earlier in the week is the same one I will see if I look to the Vermont heavens, tonight. She and I can even view it together, whenever the weather permits. And we can see it, seemingly, side by side, as the relative distance which separates us is slight, being only about one half of one percent of the distance the moonlight traveled from Mr. Armstrong's famous footprints, to the lens of Emily's camera.

     Autumn, and even winter, with their cool, clear night skies and haunting landscapes, are wonderful seasons to gaze at, ponder, appreciate, and fall in love by the sight and light of our nearest neighbor, the moon. (I know that last sentence was a very full one, but one inspired by an image of a very full Savannah moon.) Still, I highly recommend that the people of the earth give all of those things a try. Thanks for the photo Em.

The First of October

By G. E. Shuman

     I'm sitting here, in my recliner, in my home, in near disbelief, as the sun sets outside my window, on this first day of October, 2014. Truly, as I opened up this old laptop the first thing this morning, I found the startling news nearly impossible to believe, that it was already the first day of this new, cooler, if prettier month. I'm sure I knew October was coming; it just shouldn't have come so soon. Don't you agree? Now, as I sit here again, after a long day of teaching high school, and terrifying seventh graders, (I wasn't terrifying them. They are just terrifying seventh graders), and the day which started so startlingly, is nearly over. Still, this very moment, I wonder where the day has gone. I also wonder where the past week has gone. I presume it is hiding somewhere, nestled right inside the past year, and that, inside a quickly-receding decade. It is strange to me, that, as I keep aging, the passing moments, hours, days, weeks, years, and so on, seem to be accelerating in their race to leave me far behind. Perhaps that is only because each year is a smaller portion of the total time we have lived. I don't know. I do know that it is as likely due to the fact that a year is really not that long a time in the first place, and a month is only a twelfth of that, and a week but a quarter of that. No wonder a day, like today, can slip by so quickly. Even now, as you read these words, another full week has already passed, and I am somewhere, wondering more, how that could have happened, so soon.

     If you are anything like me, and you are SO lucky if you are, (I keep telling myself that.) you are also wondering where the time has gone. I know this is an old subject that keeps getting older. Come to think of it, doesn't everything keep getting older? But, really, the summer that just began, is done. As I write these words, it is only seven pm, and the sun is down... and the air is cool out there beyond my window pane, and I can no longer feel comfortable skinny dipping in the pool. Okay, so I don't do that... mainly because I have no pool. A plastic kiddie pool just won't do for such things, especially here in the city.

     I guess I just have to face the fact that it really is October. October. Hum. You know... that's the month of dry leaves, pumpkins, and frost. I do remember those things, and normally like those memories. Halloween has always been one of my favorite days of the year. It probably shouldn't be, but we humans seem to just like what we like, even if we don't always like the fact that we like it. I loved carving jack-o-lanterns with my kids, so long ago, or maybe not so long ago. Okay, so that's a lie. I hated carving those slimy-gutted things, but did love taking pictures of my wife and kids doing it. Lighting them the few evenings before Halloween was always fun. My favorite Halloween quote is this: “There's nothing like the smell of a sooty-sweet, candle-lit carved pumpkin, on a dark and windy Halloween night.” The fact that I am quoting myself there should have no bearing on whether or not you like the quote.

     It is so strange. I no longer hear a neighbor's lawnmower, or smell his or my own freshly-cut grass. But the sweet aroma and crackling crunch of the newly fallen leaves makes up for those things, in some ways. Another of my favorite quotes comes from my very favorite poem, Desiderata. It says: “Take kindly the council of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.” I am trying my best to follow that ancient advice. For now, maybe it's enough to surrender the things of summer. Fall is here, and it is beautiful! So, take heart, and hang on. Before you know it, you will probably be reading an article stating how startled I am that winter has already come. If you're not a winter fan, take heart, and hang on, again. If God doesn't care, I intend to be here, sooner than I will be able to comprehend, to see the first buds of another spring popping out on my old maple trees. I hope you will be here, too.