He was a
figure of fun as fogies often are. From
boyhood he’d learned his skills – how to put on the harness and hitch up the
horse, how to doctor it when it was ailing, how to attach the feed bag. The automobile required a different routine. You had to choke it, crank it, throttle it,
shift it, and break it. You had to
adjust the spark. His hands knew how to
slap, tug, and twitch the horse’s reins, but the steering wheel was something
entirely new.
Accessories
for the horse and wagon included saddle soap to make the leather subtle, barn
cats to keep rats and mice out of the oats, and a pick to pry foreign matter
out of the hooves. A curry comb kept the
animal looking spiffy, and of course from time to time it had to be shoed.
He might
call the car Dolly or Nell, but he couldn’t stroke its warm velvety nose or
bring it a knobby apple from the barnyard tree.
The iron tires of the wagon didn’t get a puncture and have to be changed
on a wet day. With an automobile you had
to check the water in the radiator and the oil in the crankcase, the gas in the
tank, and the car didn’t know the way home from the tavern late at night.
On the other
hand it was faster. You didn’t have to
feed and water it or muck out its stall on days you weren’t using it. It wouldn’t spook at a windblown sheet of
newspaper. If the car was wrecked, it
might have to be towed away, but it didn’t need to be humanely shot.
The
automobile was what our great grandfathers called progress. It’s a word you don’t hear much these days,
although technology forges ahead. I’m
thinking these thoughts because I have a new computer, and my old version of
Word won’t work with Windows 7. My mouse
used to go smoothly to the button I wanted, but for now I have to search the
cluttered tool bar. I feel awkward and
unskilled.
When I got
my first computer with Windows I mourned my small, but hard won collection of
DOS commands that had been made obsolete by drag-and-drop. I don’t miss them now. On the day I got this new computer I learned
that there’s already Windows 8, but 7 will do.
When it has to be replaced I’ll regret having to adapt all over
again.
Mental
challenges keep the old synapses firing and provide exercise for the brain.
Naturally we resist. Fogiedom is often
about letting go, but it also requires accepting the new. We grumble, but we soldier on.
