KALAMAZOO COLLEGE

The tower of Stetson Chapel.
(Photo provided by Kalamazoo College.)

Last week I returned to the small liberal arts college in Michigan where I spent four of the finest years of my life. Happily, the main quadrangle looks much the same as when I was in school, with a picturesque chapel at the top of a hill.  I felt at home immediately.

Launched in the early nineteenth century as the Michigan and Huron Institute, Kalamazoo’s fledgling college was officially a secular school, but with its first trustees and many faculty members being staunch Baptists, the denomination’s  influence was unambiguous, and remained so for a long time. [i] Kalamazoo College (“K”) has steadily produced Baptist ministers and teachers for many years.

During the years leading up to the Civil War, “K” acquired a heroic couple, President James Stone and his wife, Lucinda Hinsdale Stone (who ably taught women students for twenty years with no salary). Abolitionists and supporters of women’s rights as well as being good liberal Baptists, the Stones were admired and beloved by their students, but had many enemies on and off campus. They were thought to be far too liberal—Lucinda read The Atlantic and expected her students to read Byron’s poetry!—in a town that even today is very conservative. Finally, faced with financial difficulties related to a national depression and with accusations of personal immorality (which were  fabricated by their enemies), the Stones resigned.

A long, dark period in the college’s history followed. Along with the rest of the country, the school suffered through the Civil War. Though Baptist churches and benefactors continued to support it, there never was enough money for the expansion that was occurring in many colleges. “K” seems to have slogged valiantly through the end of the nineteenth century, steadily providing a classic education to a small number of loyal students.

In spite of many difficulties, over the years a dedicated faculty became extremely successful in producing graduates with strong liberal arts backgrounds. Many of them went on to become scientists; in the 1952 book The Origins of American Scientists[ii], the authors stated that “K” was third among the 50 top-ranking schools whose graduates went on to earn Ph.D.s in the sciences.

Like most colleges and universities, “K” has had both excellent and poor leaders. One of the outstanding ones was President Allen Hoben, who originated the phrase “a fellowship in learning” during the twenties to describe “K"'s collegial spirit, in which faculty and students thrived by a sort of symbiosis. Hoben and most of the faculty actually lived on campus, creating a familial atmosphere.

When I matriculated in 1954, the Baptist relationship was still obvious; many of the students I knew came from Baptist families. We even were required to attend chapel services three times a week. My first job on campus was counting  chapel-attendance slips, under the hawk-eyed supervision of the dean of women.

Following a temporary influx of students on the G.I. Bill just after World War II, the school had shrunk somewhat in size and reputation, but that would soon change. We had a brand new president, Weimer K. Hicks (covertly but universally known as “Beaver,” because of his intensity), who was determined to build the school up in every way, and he succeeded. I first realized his determination early in my freshman year, when he literally backed me into a corner and suggested that I join the marching band that would be needed for Homecoming. He had checked every student’s records to find out which of us had played in high school bands, and of course he knew all our names and Achilles’ heels. There was no escaping Dr. Hicks, especially for those of us who depended on scholarships. I joined the band.

Majoring in biology, I was greatly influenced by two great teachers, H. Lewis Batts and Frances Diebold. Batts taught an excellent freshman class as well as advanced classes in ornithology and ecology. In later years he would found the Kalamazoo Nature Center. “Dieb” was already an institution herself, having taught at the school since the early twenties.  She tried to keep abreast of the latest scientific findings (Watson and Crick had just published their seminal paper on the DNA helix) and to impart them to us, but what I remember most from her classes is her emphasis on the history and philosophy of biology. That has stayed with me through the years, while I studied and forgot many of the more specialized aspects of biology in my graduate work. Batts, “Dieb,” and many other teachers gave me a fine education.

Under Hicks’s aegis, during the sixties a foreign study program was inaugurated—how I wish it had been in place when I was a student!—that has led to a year abroad for most “K” students. Foreign study was a third of what was dubbed the “K Plan.”  All students were expected to spend time abroad, to become interns in fields where they might want to pursue careers, and to plan and carry out a Senior Individualized Project. The K Plan, now renowned and imitated nationally, has resulted in students’ greater self reliance and readiness to begin years of work and service. As one example, “K” produces more Peace Corps volunteers per capita than any other institution.  Even today, there are some trustees and other Baptists involved with “K,” although officially it is not affiliated with any religion.

Though the original campus still looks very familiar to me, it is obvious from alumni publications that much about the school has changed, and mostly for the better. For the past ten years President Eileen Wilson-Oyelaran, a dynamic African-American woman, has led the school. The student body now comprises a wide variety of races, religions, and nationalities, in great contrast to the nearly all-white Christian group I knew in the fifties. The Arcus Center for Social Justice Leadership was opened to great fanfare a few years ago; in keeping with James and Lucinda Stones’ heritage, some townspeople have judged the architecture too modern, the philosophy too liberal. Today “K” is known as one of the most outstanding small colleges in the United States.

When I left to return to California, it was with great pride in my alma mater. I may never be on the campus again, but will always stay in touch with my old friends and read alumni publications. “K” was a good school in the fifties, is even better today, and no doubt will continue to grow in excellence in the future.

---

[i] Much of this historical information is based on A Fellowship in Learning: Kalamazoo College, 1833–2008, by Marlene Crandell Francis. Kalamazoo: Kalamazoo College, 2008. Any snarky comments, mistakes, and misinterpretations are my own.

[ii] Knapp, R.H. and H.B. Goodrich. The Origins of American Scientists. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1952.

 

ANTICIPATING AGING

Some time in her eighties, my mother lost the ability to walk easily. She shuffled along, bent over and staring at her feet. When we suggested getting a cane or walker, she replied indignantly that it would “make her look old”! She was driving us crazy. Finally we insisted that she get a walker, and overnight everything changed. She stood up straighter, picked up her feet, and looked ahead. She even started walking around the block alone. I don’t remember if she ever admitted how silly she had been, but it taught me a good lesson. Nothing makes you look old like refusing to admit you are aging and need help.

Today, having osteoarthritis, I am having my own problems with walking. For a while I walked much less, which is clearly a bad idea. My cholesterol level rose, and so did my level of irritation. Finally I gave in and ordered a cane from CVS.com. Like my mother, I am a bit vain, so I found an attractive cane in blue. It has a gel handle with a loop for my wrist, and it folds for travel. The color even matches my luggage. I feel quite stylish when carrying it, and probably look younger than I would without it. When we are on the road, I sometimes use my hiking stick instead, because even paved paths tend to have rough spots and steps.

A cane is only one example of the simple aids that can make life easier as we age. Years ago, psychologist B.F. Skinner wrote a helpful book (Enjoy Old Age: A Practical Guide) based on his own experiences. As one would expect from Skinner, it was a sort of environmental engineering approach to aging. The general idea was to think about strategies to make life easier, and to acquire the right tools.

A few  years ago I sold my home and bought another one. It was emotionally wrenching for many reasons, and the house itself was a nice old Craftsman (my favorite architectural style) in the San Francisco Bay area. It was obvious, though, that I could not live there for more than a few years. There were many too many stairs to climb, too much housework and gardening to do, too little money to hire help. Finally I accepted reality. I sold the heavy, dust-catching furniture and a thousand books that I will probably never read again, sold my late husband’s collections of magic apparatus and majolica tobacco jars.

Luckily, I’ve recently found a home that is more suitable for the old lady I’m becoming. It is very small, despite the fact that it has everything I need. (Including space for the many books that are magically appearing.) I can do the housework easily and quickly, and I’ve found local handymen who make any repairs at reasonable prices. My new home in the Sierra Nevada mountains cost less than anything comparable in the Bay Area would cost, so this move also gave me some needed income. It even has a separate driveway and space for the RV.

As RVers age, many of us must give up the RV life. That can be postponed for as long as possible, though. RVs themselves are wonderful for us—there is always a bathroom available! A little planning can lead to modifications or arrangements for the elderly. For instance, using some RV pantries can be hard for an elderly person, because it’s hard to reach to the back of each shelf. We had wire baskets (ordered from Winnebago by our dealer) installed in the pantry. These can be pulled out for easy access. We also have a strong folding stepstool that I use for reaching ceiling vents and as a footstool or coffee table.

Tools in the RV should be easy to use and multipurpose. The OXO Good Grips tools are great for anyone, but essential for people with arthritis.

Safety is another especially important concern for elderly RVers. Just as we do at home, we take every possible precaution with smoke alarms and carbon monoxide detectors. In the event of an emergency, escaping from an RV is much harder for older people than younger ones. 

Perhaps the most important preparation for aging (whether in an RV or not) is maintaining our health. Nutrition, exercise, and sleep can accomplish much to keep us healthy enough to continue our activities. Most of us are a bit overweight. Climbing the few steps into an RV or a cabover bed is easier for someone at a normal weight. Losing even a few pounds can make us surprisingly more comfortable, which also leads to exercising more.

Over the past ten or twenty years, the obesity epidemic has been blamed on fast-food restaurants, overreliance on cars rather than public transportation, suburban lifestyles, and other things. They all contribute to the problem. It’s important to take the responsibility for our own weight, though. My workbook Take Charge was written for middle-school students, but the suggestions in it (which I have used successfully for many years) can be useful at any age.

My favorite exercise is walking, but now I cannot walk far enough for aerobic benefit. At home, I have a Schwinn exercise bike that helps with cardiac fitness and weight control. I much prefer exercising in private to going to a gym! Another favorite exercise that can help in preparing for aging is tai chi chih. This mild, meditative form of tai chi helps tone muscles, increases balance and flexibility, and brings down my blood pressure. When I began it in 2003, my rheumatologist said I could continue it for the rest of my life, which is more than you can say for most exercise. On the road, I usually do it outdoors and combine it with meditation.

Most of the elderly become less tolerant of cold than when they were young. I am already chilly much of the time, and will surely need to dress very warmly as I get older. This is somewhat of a problem in an RV when we are traveling and I must limit my wardrobe. I’ve found that dressing lightly, but adding Cuddl Duds or other long underwear as needed, helps greatly.

Forgetfulness has always dogged me, and of course it will increase in time. I am trying now to be obsessive about making checklists, putting up reminder notes, and doing anything else to compensate for my forgetfulness. Along the same lines, I am basically messy and disorganized. This already is a handicap, but will be a great problem or even a danger in a few years. So, I tell myself often to “have a place for everything, and everything in its place.” Helpful as decluttering and simplifying  are now, they may save my life some day.

Reading is an important part of my life. At home I use a bright light for reading, but that can be difficult in an RV. My Nook’s variable light for reading e-books is amazingly useful.

We all worry about mental deterioration with age. In recent years it has become trendy to play “brain games” to sharpen our mental skills, but according to a few studies, the effects are not long-lasting or transferrable to other tasks. It seems more important to continue reading and writing as we age, especially when the topics are new and stimulating.

Social contact in middle age is important in itself, and helps to avoid isolation later.

These suggestions can go on and on. You get the idea, though—think ahead about possible problems you will have in the years ahead, and work on them before you need to. Establishing good habits early can make old age easier.

 

THE CALIFORNIA ZEPHYR

Text copyright © 2016 by Carol Stone.  Photos © 2016 by Thane Puissegur and Carol Stone.

 

My photo of the Feather River in 1968. All four of the Vista Dome cars can be seen at the end of the train.

Some time this year we hope to ride Amtrak from Sacramento to Chicago, on the train that’s called the California Zephyr. My partner the train nut has always wanted to ride on the Zephyr, which bears the name of one of the most famous trains in US history. (If you ever saw Gene Wilder in Silver Streak, you saw the Zephyr.) The original train was discontinued in 1970, when Amtrak took over the Union Pacific railway.

I can boast that I actually rode the original Zephyr on one of its final runs, in 1968. At that time I was dating another train nut, and when he heard that I would be traveling to California on an expense account, he insisted that I ride the Zephyr before it was “ruined” by the coming Amtrak acquisition. (Thank you, Bert!) I knew little about trains, except that they were a pleasant way to travel, but it sounded like a good idea, and I was able to persuade my employer to let me travel by train instead of airplane. (I was limited to a one-way ticket, though.)

In its glory days the Zephyr featured truly luxurious accommodations for passengers. Elaborate meals at reasonable prices  were served by attentive stewards in the dining car; there were flowers on each of the linen-tablecloth-covered tables. Murals covered the few windowless walls, and of course the windows framed spectacular views. For those who could pay a little more, there were roomettes, bedrooms, and compartments. Even the coach seats were reasonably comfortable.

One of the features passengers remembered was the Zephyrettes. These attractive, friendly young women made sure passengers were enjoying the ride and getting anything they needed on board. One of them, Nellie O’Grady, co-wrote a fascinating story in the 1955 Saturday Evening Post describing her seven years as a Zepherette—years in which she met hundreds of people including Dwight Eisenhower, fended off the wolves who misunderstood her role, and worked very hard. (Most Zepherettes only lasted a couple of years.) Apparently she loved nearly every moment.

The Zephyrettes were gone by 1968, and I have to admit that I don’t remember whether the murals were still gracing the walls of the train I rode. But, the trip was wonderful. I spent a good deal of time in the dome car, especially during the Far West portion of it. At night I had a comfortable roomette with a small private bathroom. The meals were delicious and served elegantly. Though I had taken along some paperback books to read, for once I read nothing. It was much more appealing to sip a glass of wine while talking with other passengers, or simply to gaze out the huge windows as we passed through the Rockies and the Sierra Nevada Mountains, then down the Feather River Canyon into California. The two days and nights passed all too quickly.

Will our ride on today’s Amtrak Zephyr be that good? Probably not. Few things are as enjoyable at my age as they were when I was young. The pictures on the Amtrak site do look very appealing, though, and traveling with my partner (who makes the most of every travel opportunity) should help.

I know this: Riding the Zephyr will be an order of magnitude better than riding any airplane today. Back in the sixties, airplane travel was glamorous. People checked their large bags instead of jostling each other while fitting the bags into crowded overhead bins. Meals (not usually gourmet, but not bad, either) were served on most flights. Seats were wider than they are today, and passengers were a bit narrower. Riding on airplanes at that time was such a pleasant, supermodern experience that in 1968 the Zephyr may have even seemed a little quaint, in spite of the wonderful scenery.

Now, even if the Zephyr is less than it was years ago, it will certainly be better than an airplane. I am looking forward to it eagerly.

 

RV COFFEE

Text copyright © 2016 by Carol Stone.  Photos © 2016 by Thane Puissegur and Carol Stone.



Drinking coffee in magnificent surroundings

Once a coffee addict, always a coffee addict. What was good enough for Voltaire and Balzac is certainly good enough for a hack writer like me. I need three cups of coffee a day wherever I am, including wherever the RV is. This is a common problem, as evidenced by the many comments online about making coffee while traveling.

Some RV manufacturers have tried to respond by installing electric coffeepots under the galley cupboard, but apparently that has been a failure. The appliances use too much precious counter space, and are no better than any electric coffeepots, and so some RV owners have had the pots removed at their own expense. In my opinion most shore-power electricity is a silly luxury for big rigs, anyway. For most of us at least part of the time, propane or campfire pots are needed.

What other solutions are there? Of course, there are always old-fashioned metal percolators that have the advantage of using propane rather than electricity. These are also inexpensive and easy to use, but they can add a metallic taste to the brew. I haven’t used one in decades.

At home, I prefer using a Melitta eight-cup cone with a glass carafe, having some in the morning and reheating the rest as needed in the microwave; on the road I use a space-saving small cone and matching ceramic mug. This is only good for a cup or two at a time, though. The Melitta cone and travel mug combo shown online looks appealing: https://shoponline.melitta.com/product/pour-over-travel-mug-set-red/pour-over-coffee-makers. Again, however, this probably makes only a small amount at a time. What I really want is to make at least three or four cups in the morning, and to save some for later. A Thermos bottle will keep it hot without the need for a microwave.

French presses  make excellent coffee and are popular with many people. I had one for a while but quickly broke two of the very fragile carafes and realized they were impractical for RV use. I like the lack of paper filters, though, and may buy a shatterproof type some time. One online model has a stainless steel carafe. Another one has a plastic one that has received bad reviews.

The brand of coffee can make all the difference in quality. Much as I like the ambiance of Starbucks coffee shops, I don’t think much of their coffee, and Peet’s coffee is too powerful even for me. Years ago I visited New Orleans and learned to use French Market coffee, which is part chicory. Though the delicious black brew is strong, it has less caffeine than pure coffee; I mix it with milk for a smooth but robust drink. At home I often first heat the milk, as they do in New Orleans; on the road I make do with cold milk. Incidentally, it is hard to find the brand in many places. Raley’s supermarket sells it in my home area, so I stock up on it before traveling.

Coffee grounds are  a messy part of RV life, just as they are at home.  They should never be put down the drain! That’s a good way to clog the delicate plumbing in an RV or to overload a campground septic tank. Even in an urban situation, they can build up in a drain and lead to plumber’s bills. At home, I put the grounds and filters in a compost bin, or put the grounds near plants in the garden. Sadly, I’ve never seen a compost bin in a campground (regular or Wal-Mart), and must put the grounds and filters in the trash. If I’m far out in a forest where the plants can benefit, I put the grounds out of sight somewhere far from where anyone will camp or walk.




RV GENDER ROLES

Text copyright © 2016 by Carol Stone.  Photos © 2016 by Thane Puissegur and Carol Stone.

Any gathering of RVers will include at least a couple of instructive sessions. When we attended a rally last year, the activity for one morning was advertised as both instruction and sharing about common RV mechanical problems. It sounded really useful for any RVer. But then I noticed this was supposed to be for the men, and the “ladies” were expected to go shopping or do something else that might be considered feminine!

I was furious, and thought, Who came up with a stupid idea like that?  Many women travel solo or with other women; because boys tend to be better trained than girls in mechanical matters, this session would likely be even more useful for women than for men. Why not let the men go shopping instead?

Then I thought about how my partner and I divide the work when we travel. I have to confess that he does the typical “male” things, like dealing sternly with mechanics who want to overcharge us, and I do the more “female” things, like doing most of the cooking and cleaning. Have we fallen into our parents’ old gender-role patterns? What a disgusting idea! I am a feminist, and he is a modern man in most ways. Yet, we seem to be conforming to traditional roles.

Some of the tasks in RV travel require more physical strength than some people have. I have arthritis that prevents me from doing some things. Other chores may require special skills; my partner is less comfortable with computers than I am. This has little to do with our genders.

When the dualies meet the road, what it comes down to is not gender roles, but teamwork. The person who is more skilled at one job, or more willing to do it—my partner, thank heavens, is more able and willing to empty the blackwater tank than I am—should do it. The other person(s) should do other tasks as appropriate. No job should be defined as one for “men” or “ladies,” though. And please spare me from being excluded from a helpful session about RV maintenance.

THE RETURN OF GLEN CANYON

 

The NRA recreation area at Hite, Utah, is one of the spookiest sites we have seen in years of RV camping. Arriving early one evening in March, we were reminded of one of those sci-fi movies where all the people have vanished, leaving homes and stores open and lighted. The small, empty grocery store appeared to be fully stocked and ready for customers; the second floor of the fire department was lighted (and a rescue dummy was hanging from a hook); and the gas station was useable for credit-card holders. The toilets were not only clean and in operation, but were lighted and heated. Barbed wire fences surrounded much of what had recently been a thriving campground.

 

The visitor’s center worker at another campground had warned us about Hite, saying that only one ranger was left in charge of the place-we promptly named him or her the Lone Ranger--and that probably the campground was closed until further notice. As our Rand McNally atlas showed a tree and tent there, we took a chance and found the deserted site.

 

The next morning the ranger actually appeared. He explained that because the water level at this (northern) end of Lake Powell had fallen too far for boating and other water uses, scarcely anyone wanted to stop there, so the NPS had closed it down, but left it ready to reopen if the mountain snowpack melted and restored the water level. (Judging by a sign we saw indicating that the area has been closed due to lack of appropriations, there is obviously a political issue at work as well.) Indeed, it may reopen in a few weeks.

 

Back in the sixties, there was a huge uproar about damming the Colorado River to create Lake Powell. Edward Abbey and other environmentalists were enraged. The Sierra Club published The Place No One Knew, a book showing Eliot Porter’s photos of beautiful Glen Canyon, warning that it would be drowned forever. Like many environmental decisions, this one was decided by politicians. Glen Canyon was filled (or “reclaimed,”), and Lake Powell was created. The Glen Canyon Recreation Area was created in 1972 on  more than a million acres of land and water. Lake Powell, 186 miles long, has become a favored spot for racing motorboats and other water uses, as well as providing water and electricity for much of the Southwest. Except for some members of  the Sierra Club and other die-hard conservationists, opposition has gradually died down over the years.

 

Now upper Lake Powell is drying so much because of our changing climate that the magnificent ochre and sienna cliffs of Glen Canyon are again visible. We reveled in the scenery and enjoyed having the deserted site to ourselves.

Snow caps the mountain peaks above the canyon, and its melting may soon at least partly restore Lake Powell. This would be a mixed blessing, allowing for water recreation and for more important water uses, but much of Glen Canyon would disappear again.


Text and photos copyright 2016 by Carol Stone and Thane Puissegur

 

SUNRISE AT GOOSENECKS

When I was working or going to school, this was my favorite part of the day, when all the world seemed dark and still. I’d make a cup of coffee and take it into my home office, where I could begin writing and thinking without distraction. The first light appearing outside the window seemed to wake up my brain as well. Before the sun rose completely and the dog had to be walked, my work was well underway.

Since retiring I have found it more pleasant to sleep late, knowing that there would be time during the day for whatever I need to do. Today was an exception, though. When we arrived yesterday at Utah’s Goosenecks State Park and saw the stunning sunset, we knew sunrise would be wonderful as well. So, this morning I woke while the sky was still dark, eager to see the sun appear over the hills to the east.

 

 

Goosenecks—what an odd name for a beautiful landscape—gets its name from three loops of the San Juan River. Geologists call this one of the world’s most spectacular examples of a meandering, entrenched river. The campground is perched more than a thousand feet above the river. Sheer drops of layered pink and siena sandstone and limestone form the canyon walls; where some layers slope gradually downward, they have accumulated some soil and are tinted grayish-green by sagebrush. At the top of one wall, erosion has created a form resembling a Mayan pyramid. All these layers have been exposed by upthrusts, so they now illustrate more than three hundred million years of the past. All that time the river has continued its meandering path through the uplifted area.

Though the park is open for day use, only a few campsites are available, and can’t be reserved. However, mid-March is cold enough to discourage many campers, enabling us to get a site directly above one loop of the river.

Sunrise took only a few minutes, illuminating some tall rocks in Monument Valley miles to the southwest as well as the tops of the east-facing riverbanks below us. The sun’s rays were reflected to the west-facing canyon walls as well. And by mid-morning the river itself took on the colors of the sandstone walls. A lone rafter paddled down the river, but all was quiet except for a few noisy crows flying above us. When it was nearly noon and the sun was overhead, the placid, silt-laden river was brightly lighted.

Later in the day, day-use visitors arrived and threatened the silence, but they, too, were awestruck enough to be quiet. It was another calm, beautiful day at Goosenecks.

RV CONTENTENTMENT

When I was in college in the 1950s all the wealthy girls, especially those in sororities, wore cashmere sweaters. Some of the more obnoxious ones would even look at the labels in other girls’ sweaters to see whether the garments were cashmere. The cashmere sweaters were in lovely colors, and had that inimitable soft, buttery texture.  I longed to own one, but they were far beyond my budget. So, I made do with polyester sweaters that soon pilled annoyingly, or with wool sweaters that sometimes were scratchy.

By the 1960s, many things seemed more important than wearing cashmere, and I nearly forgot having once yearned for those sweaters. As the years went on, I have worn various natural fabrics and a bewildering assortment of polyester materials, but never cashmere.

Last autumn, Macy’s had a big sale on cashmere sweaters, and I thought, Why not? I ordered one in a pretty teal green, and finally had the sweater I had wanted sixty years earlier. It seemed about time.

Why do we long for things that others have, or that are too expensive? Seen from my cronish perspective, envy seems ridiculous. If acquiring things brought contentment, perhaps it would make sense, but some of the most dissatisfied expressions I have ever seen were on the faces of obviously wealthy women attending operas or shopping in expensive stores. Where does getting more stuff end for them?

I thought I’d seen everything in this regard. Yesterday, though, we stopped at a Walmart where we were joined by a massive, heavy commercial tractor connected to a long-bed fifth wheel RV puller, using the extra length of the tractor bed to haul a Smart car mounted crosswise! Not only that, but there was a large sleeper cab behind the tractor driver’s seat, and bicycles on the back of the fifth wheel. (We asked the owners how they could remove the car, and they showed us: it easily rolled down a portable ramp. They drove off in it to have lunch at a nearby restaurant.) Only two people were visible; perhaps some pets shared all that space. What a shocking waste of resources! The owners were friendly and informative, but they certainly were oblivious to their enormous carbon footprint.

At this moment I am at an RV rally, sitting in our little Winnebago View and surrounded by humungous RVs that surely cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. I have no idea whether the owners look down on us or envy our maneuverability, and I don’t care. (To their credit, they are friendly and act unconcerned with possessions. Maybe the RVs represent all their assets.)  I am very contented with the View and with this life. My life in general is simple and costs little; though like most people I sometimes worry about medical and other expenses, I certainly do not envy the wealthy one percent.

Oh, and that cashmere sweater? It itches. I should have ordered a good nylon one instead. As the old saying goes, be careful of what you wish for.

 

FUTURE SHOCK

In 1970 futurist Alvin Toffler wrote the blockbuster Future Shock, in which he predicted that the pressures of accelerating change from an industrial to a post-industrial society would lead to stress and even mental illness. Certainly the effects of stress are all around us. In this current election year, many voters are so frightened of terrorism that they not only want to return to the mythical “good old days,” but also will accept simplistic, racist ideas like those proposed by Donald Trump and Ted Cruz. Whether the stress also results from changes in our social environment is debatable, but it seems likely.

 

Even driving a car has become more stressful in recent years. Driving used to be fun. My first car, a VW Beetle, was easy to drive (once I adapted to the stick shift) and to care for. It was cheap, too; even as an impoverished young editor, I could afford to buy the  car brand new. Gas cost something like 37 cents a gallon, and some gas stations sweetened the deal with free glasses. I bought the car in Colorado, did some fabulous mountain driving, and drove the bug home to Chicago. I even named the car Adalia (the generic name for ladybugs). That may have been a little too cute; however, I really loved that little car. Selling it when I moved to New York was a major mistake.

 

Though I am fond of my current car (a Honda Fit), too, getting on most roads today is no fun at all. I much prefer riding on a train, but passenger trains are becoming rare, and they are often delayed while the more profitable fright trains have priority. Like driving cars, riding on planes was once fun; today, security checks and all the other difficulties of flying make it a horrendous experience.

 

I do not especially enjoy driving the View, either (though handling it is quite easy). Having a high perch from which to see the scenery, and knowing that a galley and bathroom are just a few steps behind the driver’s seat, make it less stressful than the alternatives.

           

Auto-driven cars are already appearing, and the idea scares me. On the other hand, when I consider the idiotic behavior of some human drivers, I think a robotic car may be an improvement.

 

Another major and stressful area of change is medicine. When I was very young, Doc Brown would make house calls, or prescribe pills to patients who sat on the horsehair couch in his office. That was before the polio vaccine and other wonderful medical advances, and I would never willingly return to those days.

 

In some ways, though, I wonder if medical care has declined. Ever since my years as a caregiver, I have carried a spiral notebook in which I record the results of every medical visit. Practitioners tend to smile condescendingly when they see it, but many times I have been able to supply information that has somehow disappeared from their computerized records.

 

I have been fortunate in finding competent doctors wherever I have lived, but am somewhat unnerved by office visits when the doctor or their assistant has sat at a computer asking me questions and presumably Googling for information about my condition. Being touched during an examination has become rare. I hope the myriad lab tests and X-rays are more informative.

 

Modern medicine relies greatly on modern electronics. Electronic devices of all types have changed greatly, even during the past few months. Whatever gizmo I buy is already obsolete. Back in the eighties, I decided to write my PhD dissertation on a PC, and spent $2000 for an Apple IIe computer and dot-matrix printer. That was an enormous expense for a grad student, but I reasoned that I could use them in writing and editing for many years, and it would be a good investment. Of course, they were out of date within a year, and in succeeding years I have bought many computers and learned countless word-processing programs. Sometimes I long for an old electric typewriter with a correctable ribbon.

 

The financial world has also evolved quickly, mainly because of computers. Today even individuals can do our banking online. It’s a great convenience, but we also need to worry that our bank accounts and charge accounts can be hacked. Our very identities can be stolen, endangering Social Security records, investments, and other important assets.

 

Though change tends to come at a glacial pace in education, computers and other factors have affected even that part of our environment. Education seems from a distance to be far superior to what it was back in the forties and fifties when I attended a two-room rural grade school and a small-town high school. Materials for students are beyond the wildest dreams of teachers and students back then. One would think that the entire U.S. population would be extremely well educated, but it is not. The top students still do well, encouraged by parents and schools that can afford to help them. However, it is rare to find clerks in stores who can add up prices without a computer, and rarer still to see letters that contain no misspellings or obvious grammatical errors. There are many reasons for this (such as education being a lower spending priority than defense),  but even I sometimes long for a return to the “three Rs.” Recently I ran across a letter written by my grandfather, who dropped out of school after the eighth grade. It was much more legible and literate than some of the scientists’ manuscripts I have edited.

Even the RV life—once a complete escape from the shocks of modern life—has changed dramatically. Only a few years ago, an RV might have a small TV set, but other technology was sparse. Today few owners seem satisfied with less than remote-controlled cable TV, Wi-Fi, GPS, and a disgusting collection of other electronics. They might as well stay home.

Fortunately, actually using all those gadgets is a matter of choice. We can still drive off into a national forest or park, or a public land, and get away from future-shock stress for a while. We can read, walk, swim, just as people have done throughout history. Any problems of campground life and maintaining an RV are miniscule compared with those of society at large.

 

IRONY

My last post praised the merits of my Nook e-reader--the portability, large memory, and so on. I have been reading a fascinating novel, Red River, by Lalita Tademy, the current selection for my book club. As no hardcover copy of the book was available, I bought the ebook from Barnes & Noble. Two days ago, the Nook became comatose. All the books stored on it are lost to me. I am hoping to get it repaired and to finish the Tademy book before the next book club meeting, but suspect the Nook is done for. Phooey!