The Hand - Written Word

My age alone entitles me to be a Luddite. I'm of a period where pencils, pens, inkwells, and ledgers were once the normal. I should embrace the electronic age, but I don't. And in not doing so I take great pleasure in seeing those who rely almost entirely on their collection of magical, electronic gadgets suddenly find that all their personal and business details have been swallowed up by the machinery. Or thieves, cleverer than them, may have caused ruination, when just a backup with pen on paper with passwords and "how it was done" information might have saved a lot of anguish.

The world has moved on and I have been standing still, painting, blogging (actually using a Windows 95 as a word-processor), and handing on my words to Margreet who bounces them off satellites to be harvested by those who are interested and have the means to capture them.

To even imagine abolishing electronics is quite ridiculous, even for a Luddite like me, as most people on earth now depend on them for their very livelihoods.

The time-saving in using the internet for gleaning information is astounding and wonderful. Yet the time and money wasted in using them and trying to get them to work, updated or repaired, is also enormous - as  is their consumption of paper.

Even I would find life to be much duller without access to Margreet's electronic expertise.

I had started writing this piece when executing my annual, post-Christmas letters, replying to friends from far afield, seldom met, and who have sent cards.

At least, Christmas cards now generally have a piece that is hand-written inside along with the printed greetings. That is nice, and hopeful, inasmuch as I see pen put to card - though I would rather receive the written bit without the expensive, wasteful cards with their often bland and meaningless, non-Christmassy decoration. And cards with printed greetings that are signed with only "Bill and Sue" are also almost as insulting as having their names printed as well. Who are Bill and Sue anyway?

A pen and ink communication indicates to me that someone has taken time (and now almost skill) to do it. A letter or even a newsy postcard arriving through the letterbox is a sort of return to fundamental values.

I might shout: "Luddites unite". No chance, because here I am, actually relying on computers to tell you, more or less, what I am thinking.