The Way We Were

I'm sitting on my freshly bleached white slip covered couch with a piping cup of apple cider longing for the solidarity of a former generation. As I type in a two dimensional digital medium, lounging in my fleece Mickey PJ's, I find myself wondering what it would be like to live in a world without computers; without satellite television with over two hundred channels at our fingertips (literally...where's that remote?); without instant potatoes, instant messages, or instant gratification. Where's my oil lamp and quill? Okay, maybe not quite that far about the art of letter writing. No, not emails. I mean a physical hand written letter on beautiful monogrammed stationary.

My aunt's pen pal, who I believe is in her late 70's, early 80's, writes her 3-4 times a week...a week! And worries if my aunt has not written her back at least twice during that time. "Are you okay, dear? I haven't received a letter from you since Tuesday. Hope everything is alright." Wow. I'll be thankful if I manage to get Christmas cards out this year.

Now don't get me wrong. I am truly thankful for all the many conveniences that we enjoy today: indoor plumbing, for example. And it's already been such a pleasure to log in and share my thoughts and ideas with you fine people, while also making some of the most inspirational acquaintances I've had the pleasure of associating myself with. Maybe I've just been watching too many Jane Austen films. Does that happen to you? Every time I watch Pride and Prejudice (my favorite), or the like, I find myself wanting to speak more properly, take the time to actually style my hair, write a letter with quill and ink, and go make myself a cup of tea.

So I suppose I'm pining for some antiquity. Something solid and time worn. Something tangible and with undeniable stability. Where can I find that in a world of take-out and disposable furniture? For now, I will enjoy every drop of my steaming hot cider, poured carefully into a small round teacup, and find another movie to whisk me away to a time gone, where's that remote?
Images courtesy of Country Living and My Jane Austen Book Club