Sitting in my memory are the long-ago coffee drinkers,
talking about their children, their jobs, or their marriage. All of the ever so important topics that went
so well with cream and sugar.
Unbeknownst to them, technology did not pause while they
discussed life. Advancements were
spreading faster than spilled coffee on a new tablecloth. One such leap of technology came in the shape
of instant coffee. Granules in a glass
jar. Simply plunge your teaspoon into
the crunchy mixture and ease them down into a cup of hot water. Suddenly your morning had begun.
Of course, not everyone warmed up to this high-tech time
saver. A large number of traditionalists
held tight to their morning process, suggesting it wasn’t simply taking that
first, bitter hot sip, but setting everything up in order to get there was just
as important. “It’s just the way it’s
done. Don’t mess with it.”
But as schools, jobs and neighborhoods changed, so did the
distance in conversations. Important
issues of the day had found their way to letters. Old friends kept in touch through the postal
system. As coffee drinkers sat at their
kitchen table glancing at the empty chair where their friend once sat, they
scribbled out the week’s activities, the disappointments and the juicy
gossip. By the time their morning coffee
was gone, the envelope was ready for a stamp, and they felt good getting that
off their chest.
However, just as instant coffee had infiltrated their camp,
so did electronic mail. Email, requiring
neither stamp nor envelope was upon them, bringing with it the harsh
admonishment of spelling errors, syntax and punctuation. A built-in English teacher came with every
computer.
What had been a simple chat over coffee between friends was
suddenly dressed up, hair combed, with make-up on. Now, however, it seemed cold and impersonal,
even sterile. This was not part of the
process, there was no preparation, no setting the table. And this wasn’t the warm, friendly face of
your friend looking back at you, this was a cold, impersonal monitor, causing
you to squint at its harsh brightness, suggesting
that you had better have something important to say.
So it is there, in the far reaches of the pantry, sitting
next to the jar of rarely used instant coffee, you’ll find the flimsy box
of unused envelopes that once carried small bits of news between friends.
