Low Tech

I remember my first computer.

Touchstones like that are more commonly the First Car, First Pet, First Love, First Kiss.

Of course I recall all those too - but household computing defines the turning point in the information age. And that's where I live.

My first computer was an old 286 clone that I was given by friends in trade for services as the Gardener at Chez Graham. This may be where I developed my affection for making thing grow neatly; I certainly fought the Idea at the house in the Sticks. Mom kept a pretty extensive vegetable garden. Weeding it was one of the worst menial chores on the docket.

Things change.

Dad took some time to embrace technology, but not so long as you'd think. His office at his elementary school in the Sticks picked up the education standard in the fall of 1982; the Apple //e.

I'd had a marginal amount of experience with them at that point; friends of mine had parents who were notorious early adopters of technology - especially that which would benefit the advancement of their children's scholastic educations. They were both teachers. All three boys have degrees. Two have Doctorates. They're all extremely intelligent, well-rounded and successful in their fields.

Just sayin.

The first time Dad went to take a poke at his office Computer, he called me at the house.

"How do I get this thing to work?" He asked.

"Well, just type MENU, and hit the enter button."

"Ya, I know about that. How do I turn it on?"

And that was my first experience as Tech Support. It wouldn't be my last.

One notes that the next generation of personal computers had the power switch up front, and labelled.

Go figure.

Dad loved computers. He had, prior to that, an electronic chess board that had 10 levels of play, and he played it a lot; none of us could ever present much of a challenge for him. It got to the point where he would routinely beat it on its highest setting.

He had other challenges, as all working folk do. He loved his students, school, and staff, but had... challenges... dealing with a School Board rife with political agendas - especially his Superintendent at the time.

He was discussing his frustration with that particular person on Saturday afternoon in my 14th year, when I had a (for me,  exceedingly rare) Moment of Clarity.

"You know that chess game of yours?" I asked him. "I think it's kind of like that. You're playing at level 10 against a level 2 opponent."

Dad stood there looking at me for another one of those Longest Moments in Recorded History. It would not be the last time I saw that look... but it would be infrequent.

And then he started to laugh.

"Kid, you're exactly right, you know that?" and that was the last time I ever recall seeing Dad stressed from work.

It would, of course take me many, many years to understand the truth which I had, in my naïvety, spoken. I have since become a student of Hanlon's Razor and the Dunning-Kruger Effect, but I, as I occasionally do, digress.

Anyway, Dad also saw fit to let us have a really cool, second generation Video console in the mid 80's, under the rationale that it was good for hand-eye coordination, and problem solving. We got a little Intellivision II console... and played it until I had to re-engineer the hand controllers so the buttons worked.

I Loved Sub Hunt. Atlantis was pretty cool, too.

Dad would eventually commit all his writings and gaming to a third- or fourth- generation Mac. He spent a lot of time on it until the fall of 1997. I've salvaged what I can of his writing over the years, and have, on more than one occasion, threatened to publish it out here somewhere where it can be enjoyed. He'd like that.

And I like to think he'd really get a kick out of where his Mac home computer has taken western Society.

Well... maybe to a point.

I call Mom once a week, every Friday evening. Depending on how tired she is, and how much stimulation she's had through the day, her memory is either crystal - or not so much. Less of both is usually better for lucidity. For the most part, I get to repeat the same jokes, stories, blog posts, and she always laughs. I find it rather cathartic, and pleasant closure to a usually hectic week. I always feel like she's happy to hear from me.

This last time, she said in an offhand sort of way "Well, My watch does everything..."

I chuckled a little at that. "What?" she said. "It tells me the time, the day, the Date..."

This is a digital she's had for probably a dozen years. Mom was never quite so interested in technology as was Dad.

I've seen my Mother's cell phone. From a couple years ago. It was a ridiculous, obsolete brick then, too. She only ever turned it on when she wished to call out.

I said Mom didn't particularily embrace current technology. I didn't say she didn't have good ideas.

So I explained the current level of technology that is the Standard Issue Smartphone. Calendar, Address Book, World-Wide Instant Communications portal, Library, Encyclopedia, Phonebook, Interactive Map, Camera, Video camera, Stereo system, Music Library, Entertainment platform, Voice memo recorder, GPS Unit, and on, and on, and more computing power than NASA used to send Neil to the Moon in '69.

All arranged neatly in a package sized to fit in the palm of your hand. It's very nearly miraculous.

Mother was suitably impressed. Or perhaps asleep. I was almost assuredly Oxidizing by then.

As a matter of fact, I've been watching a series of television programming from the BBC dating back to the mid 70's called Connections. It's an excellent series starring James Burke. I highly recommend it.

The fact that I watched it in my home, on my wireless network, using my hand-held tablet, merely enhanced the delicious irony of the content.

I must admit, also, that I wrote the majority of this posting lounging beside the pool at my Brother- and Sister-in-Law's house.

On that same Tablet.

It's awesome. I used to tell people right when the Internet got interesting that I didn't know everything... but I knew where to find it.

And THAT is the other side of the sword. Smart devices are going to make us all Dumb, I swear. Nobody has to remember anything any more.

Kids don't know their own phone numbers because it's speed dial. #1.
Can't read a map because the GPS tells us to turn in 50 meters.
Can't look up anything unless it's on Google.

And most recently there's been an alarming trend of kids walking into disaster, Ears budded, eyes down.

And sometimes... driving.

Man, don't even go there.

And -  Pretty Soon we'll be wearing them... or they will be integrated into us.

It's gonna make us Dumb. Maybe that's how SkyNet wins.

Evidently Mom's been making noise about wanting a computer. I think we'll check her out on an iPad first. See how it goes...

Wingin' It

"When have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose!"
~ Harry Potter to Hermione Granger, upon her insisting they needed to plan...

Right with ya, there, Harry. Somewhere between Befuddlement and being Somebody Else's Rock, I gave up planning a long time ago.

It wasn't always that way, of course. My jaded acceptance of the Universe as a force for adaptive chaos took a little time to build up.

Dad taught me to drive.

The interesting thing is that professional Driving Instructors will roll their eyes at this as it is commonly stated that this is a sure method of passing bad driving habits from one generation to another.

Not so. I have completely different bad driving habits than Dad did.

Specifically, Dad had a tendency to be more interested on what was on the sides (and, occasionally, behind us) of the road than where he was headed - coupled with an alarming proclivity for steering in the direction he was looking.

Now picture that on a dirt road tacked to a mountainside, with a thousand-foot-drop on one side, and you see why learning to drive was fairly important to my survival development.

I have subsequently taught at least three different people how to drive. Two of them reversed into an obstacle while I was in the car with them... But I digress.

One day, the summer I finally passed my own driver's exam...

Yes, Finally. It turns out that all my practice driving before the first attempt had been on highways or dirt - and then they test your ability to navigate a town. Oops. Try parallel parking a 74 Chev Blazer. There's a LOT of hood in the way.

My second attempt went after several weeks practice within the limits of the District of The Sticks - and while my examiner passed along one or two great truths, his only substantive comment was that I drive a bit too fast because I know what I'm doing.

I'm fairly certain my Lovely Wife won't believe that - but I have, as is my wont, digressed.

One Day, Uncle Joker and Auntie Chef came to visit. Dad took them, and Mom, on a guided tour of Line Creek.

Now, My Aunt an Uncle were - and still are, by most accounts - reasonably sensible folk. They had traveled halfway around the Universe in a little 4-sleeper MotorHome forever - in fact I'm pretty sure they still have the same one. Uncle Joker was a Millwright in his day, and a pretty good one; He'd been know to thoroughly disassemble his children's vehicles and re-machine the pistons. Stuff like that. Auntie Chef is Dad's younger sister.

I'll let you draw your own conclusions on that.

So I'm not exactly sure what the intent of that tour around the mining roads waaaay north of the Sticks was about - but I suspect fishing may have had a hand in it. That's the only reason Dad and I ever went up Line Creek.

There is a spot you have to ford the river. Now that's not as big a deal as it sounds like, It's only about fifty feet across at the ford, because it shallows out quite a bit - say fifty centimeters - that's about 20 inches deep for our American friends.

Uncle Joker was driving - It was his truck, after all. He had a mid 70's Chev Blazer alot like Dad's - the one I drove  - with a couple of seriously distinct differences.

One was that it was, comparatively, immaculate. Mind you, that's not saying much; anyone who saw the Rusted Hulk I was driving in my seventeenth year was likely astounded by my evident bravery, the fact that I had not yet gone deaf, and that actual parts were not actively falling off the thing.

The other seriously critical difference was that Uncle Joker's CB Radio handle was Two-by-Four... because his Blazer was a low-slung Two-wheel Drive.

I had had no idea you could have a truck without ground clearance.

I mean seriously. What's the point in that?

And off they went. I stayed home and hung out with my cousin, Mr. Melancholy. Yes, he kinda was even then.

Early that afternoon, the phone rang. It was someone calling from Elkford, relaying a message they received via CB Radio that 2X4 was stranded up Line Creek, in the ford.

Heh. A Chevy stuck in a Ford. Heh. Never thought of that before.

I dunno how many links were in the chain that got that message to me, but given 1984 technology, it was pretty impressive. I leaped into action.

I put our tow chain in the truck, and asked Cousin Mel if he was up for a rescue. He decided, why not, the paint he'd been watching had all dried anyway, so we jump in my battered warrior of a 4 Wheel Drive, and roll out.

"Uh oh," I said.
"What?" answers Mel; perhaps mildly alarmed at the possibility of actually seeing the road through the floorboards at some point - which of course would be an improvement, given the opacity of the cracks in the windshield.
"You happen to have any cash on you?"
"No, Why?"
"Uh... Nothing. We'll wing it." I decided, eying the fuel gauge and doing some math.

I had learned a couple weeks prior that, when you are driving, passengers are best not to have all the information you have - and that an easily understood, workable falsehood is better than a complex, incomprehensible truth.

And that's definitely a story for another time.

I had Cousin Mel running the portable brick CB Radio Dad had picked up for group travel - especially with Uncle Crazy Legs. They liked channel 37, so I had Mel set it to that.

The ford at line creek was about 60 km up the Valley from the Sticks. The last third of that is on dirt, so it takes a while. I knew we wouldn't be able to raise them on the radio until the last 10 km or so, so I'd told the guy on the phone I was on my way, and trusted the chain to get the message back.

To be honest, I was half expecting to meet them coming out, having already been rescued by passers by.

No such luck. Worse, I wasn't 100% on how to get there and took a left on a dirt road where I should have gone right. By that time, we had radio contact.

"Blue RustBucket, this is 2X4, come back"

I thought it was fairly uncharitable for Dad to be slighting his rescue vehicle in such a manner, but I kept it to myself.

After a short discussion about my current suspected location versus theirs - and my almost hearing Dad roll his eyes over the Radio - we were turned around and headed right when I decided I'd let him in on the other little situation I had.

You know; 20 miles from anywhere, needle somewhat below E, lost in the bush...

That time I couldn't hear his eyes rolling over the stream of commentary into the CB airwaves. That was Okay, as Cousin Mel did it himself so that I wouldn't miss out. I did remind Dad about FCC regulations about broadcast language, although my timing probably wasn't great.

Interestingly enough, we found them still perched halfway through Line Creek. I prudently shut down the truck until absolutely necessary, and we assessed and chained up the 2X4.

Mom and Auntie Chef had been stuck in the back seat of the 2X4 watching the carpet soak beneath their feet for about three hours, and were pretty glad when my old Wreck fired up and pulled the other truck handily out of the drink, in spite of Dad calling it Dirty Names.

Dad handed me a credit card as we looked over to see a Cutthroat trout flopping around on the shore - It had nestled into the wheel well of the 2X4, certain it was going to be a permanent fixture in the ford.

"Go fill up. We'll follow you - just in case," he said, flipping the fish back into the creek.

I kinda felt like consequences had suspended themselves in my favour in order for me to complete the mission. What a SuperPower that was!

Maybe, I decided it was a worthwhile exercise to manage on wits and observations alone. keeps you sharp. I even stopped wearing a watch about 25 years ago.

I swear, smart phones and GPS units are gonna make us all dumb.

Dad, of course, was much more impressed with the truck catching a fish.

Since then things have proven to just work themselves out their own way anyway, no matter what I plan. So usually, I don't.

Well, that's not exactly accurate. I do plan - but I only plan for the unexpected. At the very least I have Maps and a half tank of gas.

And a Credit Card.