|OOPS "Ringy" needs a dinghy.|
Pack up all your cares and woes. Here we go - again - and I've got you covered. My personal provenance classifies me, metaphorically, as a 'globe trotter'. This because I grew up in NYC, a city steeped in its tradition and then marinated in a vast olio of cultures over, lo, these fifteen or so decades. I therefore traveled - extensively, internationally - at a very early age. The concept of 'foreign land' is alien to me. I simply can't imagine the feeling of 'I've NEVER been HERE before'.
To boot, I'm no stranger to 'reaching out' and 'touching someone'. You see, I remember when we had pen pals, shared an exciting day with a friend, then placed it in an envelope and mailed it. I was in 'touch' with my husband every day of his nine month deployment - still have the letters; he'd be rounding the Cape of Good Hope while I was rounding our checkbook balance UP; I met/got to know HIS dad, who'd been gone from us almost thirty years when, while clearing out the attic of the family home, one of his sisters and I found - color me red - and scanned the letters he had written to his wife while he was serving - as a surgeon -in the European theater during WWII. We wrote thank you notes, 'dear Johns', 'bread and butters'; we commiserated with friends who were lonely, far away. Then. Telephone arrived and we'd spend hours on the line - while doing - or getting Herald Trib answers to do - homework.
The best way to really know someone is by reading their letters. This voyeur got chummy with Hemingway, Thomas Jefferson, Clare Booth Luce, C. G. Jung, Jennie Churchill and, of course, my father-in-law through their personal writings. Thoughts, feelings, opinions, beliefs - all flowed unimpeded, languidly, allowing time to craft, find JUST the right word. Sharing. Bare-ing. Mind to mind. Heart to heart. It was personal, had a signature - the way t.s.elliot's 'signature' was lower cases; Fred Astaire's, a top hat and cane; Mae West's cup size; FDR's cigarette holder; Emily Post's white gloves and never-on-a-table elbows.
You get the picture. You were presented with 'the picture'.
(We wrote to inform, announce, update. Today, for example, I listened as a journalist 'told' us a story about whales in their huge, reflecting tanks in California. The accompanying visuals served to enhance the 'plight' of these glistening leviathans, romping, splashing, jumping UP, diving DOWN, 'puttin' on the' skits for the grinning, droplet-dotted faces of kids of all ages who'd come JUST to watch them do THEIR thing. Rewarded by clapping, cheering, it was one big, wet story of an adventure, a celebration of sorts. The personal sort.)
These days, 02/08/12, for one, we continue to write to each other and to 'reach out' with Ma Bell. But boy-oh-my - such is the admixture - it's a much bigger deal. You have your 'friends' on Facebook, Google runs you around in 'circles', you 'connect' on Linkedin and you stream with WII - pronounced 'whee', not to be confused with 'the big one'. And, it's in technicolor and stereophonic - no - make that 'wrap-around' sound and 'hi-def', a compensatory 'widget' to make up for the loss of hearing sequela from the 'wrap-around' sound - now ebbing.
You've got the whole 'enchalada' right at your fingertips - or maybe you're 'all thumbs'. Whatever. You 'tweet', you 'Like' and you 'LOL' - and even if I've been deaf since birth and signing, I 'get it'.
ON AIR. NO COMMUNICATING