Photo A Day: Telephone

My first thought when I saw today’s Photo A Day subject was, “Well, that’s easy enough!” And my second thought was, “Wait a minute, how can I take a picture of my phone when what I use to take pictures with is my phone?” Fortunately, my third thought was, “Phew, it’s a good thing that we still have a landline, so I have a bunch of other telephones that I can take a picture of!”

As you can see, although we do have a landline, the phone itself gets kind of shoved to the back, behind various assorted cooking utensils and accoutrement and a pile of charging electronics. It’s still around, but it’s mostly forgotten and neglected. It’s headed toward obsolescence, but it hasn’t quite gotten there yet.

There is a reason we still have a landline, though. We still have it because it’s a convenient backup in case we ever have a problem with our phones – if the nearest cell tower goes down, or the power goes out when the phones aren’t charged, or if (as often happens to me) I just can’t find my blasted cell phone. How could I call my phone to find my phone if I didn’t have a phone?!?? The technology may be outdated, but it’s still useful.

In some ways, people are like that, too. As they get older and their knowledge and experience begins to seem obsolete to the younger generations, we forget that they still have a purpose, they can still function just fine, and that their history is important. Just because old technology doesn’t work the same way as new, or as quickly, or perhaps it doesn’t have quite as many function, doesn’t mean it’s useless. And neither are people. There’s often a certain nostalgic charm in older technology; there’s definitely a charm in the knowledge, experience, and life stories of older people. Let’s not forget that. Especially since someday (probably sooner than we think), someone from a younger generation will be asking us, “What’s a telephone?”

Telephone.

Lent Photo a Day: Call

As a stay-at-home mom, when I hear the word “call,” I immediately think, “telemarketer.”

My husband recently subscribed us to a service which compares every phone number that calls our house to a list of known scammers, telemarketers, and con artists. If the number matches one on their list, the service automatically answers the phone and then hangs up, which means that I hear the phone ring just once, then disconnect. So I never even think about answering a call until the second ring.

This service has been remarkably successful in getting rid of people who are concerned that my computer has a virus, people who want to let me know that I’ve won a free vacation, people who are excited that a relative has left me a large amount of money, my dead grandmother who is stranded in Mexico, and the occasional Nigerian prince. It is somewhat less successful in screening out chimney cleaning services, ninety million well-intentioned but annoying charities, and paid fundraisers.

Of course, in this day and age of caller ID and call screening, even after that second ring I take a look at the phone screen and decide whether I want to take the call or not. I receive several mail-order prescriptions from the world’s most annoying pharmaceutical company (motto: “We’ll Call You As Many Times As It Takes For You To Say, ‘Fine! Just Send Me the Damn Meds!’.”), which means that every month, like clockwork, they call me seventeen times in a row to remind me that I might need to refill one of my prescriptions, although they’re never able to tell me which one. Silly me, I thought that when I declined their automatic refill service, it meant that they would let me decide when I needed more medications, but apparently it actually means that they will call and hound me several times a day over the course of several weeks until I call them back and refill my prescription, whether I need to or not.

But I digress.

What I am trying to say is that receiving a call is not the exciting feeling of personal worth and achievement that it used to be many years ago. I no longer feel wanted or special just because my phone rings. A call is no longer a flattering request for personal contact, it is not the longing of a loved one to hear my voice; it is more likely a stranger out to pick my pocket. And that is sad.

Thanks to modern technology, “personal” contact is more likely to come in the form of an email or a text message. Which is convenient, in a way, because I can finish what I’m doing before I read an email or a text, instead of having to interrupt making dinner or brushing my teeth or trying to put a child down for a nap to answer the immediacy of a ringing phone. But at the same time, it lacks the personal connection of hearing a familiar voice. An emoticon is no substitute for laughter, or a catch in the throat. There’s just something special about getting a call.

Call.

Photo A Day, Day 20: Communication

It never ceases to amaze me how communication has changed over the last century. One hundred years ago, the majority of communication was either face-to-face or by written letters. The telephone was just becoming common, and long-distance communication was more likely to be via telegraph. Within my own lifetime, we’ve gone from party lines and five-digit phone numbers (I still remember learning my phone number as “47398”), to seven digits, to multiple area codes, to e-mail and cell phones and texting and Skype and Facetime. My children have never even seen an actual rotary phone or any kind of phone with a cord attached. It makes me wonder what communication will be like when they’re adults.

But communication itself will never go by the wayside. Even though mail is not terribly popular, my kids delight in occasionally writing a “letter” to Daddy and leaving it in the mailbox for him to pick up when he gets home. They love sitting on Daddy’s lap when he Skypes with a friend far away. But most of all, they love chatting on the phone when anyone they know and love is on the other end. And by far, their favorite person to have on the other end of the line is Daddy.

Several times a day, at least, my daughter will pick up a phone (either one of our cordless phones or my cell phone) and chirp, “Hi, Dad!” She’ll even give it a hug or a kiss before solemnly and a bit sadly announcing, “Bye, Dad.” It’s reassuring to her to know that even when Daddy isn’t right here with her, he’s only as far away as the closest telephone.

And heaven knows, as a stay at home mom, I also find it reassuring that even though I may be at home with only my children for company, the company of a friend is only as far away as my phone or my computer or my Kindle Fire. I can give someone a call, shoot them a text, send them a message on Facebook, drop them an email, or chat on an online message board. Because of the wonders of modern communication, I am never far away from a friend. It’s a beautiful thing, communication.