Short-lived and downright disappointing

After a recent conversation with one of my adult sons, I was thrown back in time.

 

The conversation was not particularly momentous. We were talking about the features which make the newer vehicles hubs of comfort, convenience and communication: heated seats and steering wheels, individual temperature controls, automatic synchronization with smartphones for navigation and for phone calls.

 

As we came to some of the higher-end bells and whistles, I said something like, “Yes, but it’s just another thing to go wrong.”

 

My son laughed and said my husband and I are well matched–that we share a pessimistic outlook.

 

That sent my internal thoughts circling. Though I said none of it aloud, I thought first about how,  in my experience, at least half of the “best new things” introduced during my lifetime have not met the manufacturers’ claims. Many, in fact, turned out to be short-lived and downright disappointing.

 

My appreciation for thrift shops may be an outgrowth of that-I usually prefer to go looking for the “old reliable” rather than the “new and improved.”

 

But that first thought was not the time machine, rather only a step in its direction.

 

Next came the internal question of what it would take to make clear to anyone of my son’s generation that my response was not “pessimism” but actually a straightforward expression of lived experience.

 

And then I pictured a time more than 30 years ago when my husband and I, then about the same age as my son is now, would spend evenings playing cards with my grandmother and grandfather, who still lived on “the home place” and were always excited to host holiday gatherings there.

 

For a few moments I was at their table with a fan of cards in my hand, acknowledging the irrefutable evidence that the cards would always favor my husband and grandfather, and not feeling any bitterness about the fact. Knowing from the start we would pull in the fewest “tricks” that night only made each small victory a bit sweeter, and the occasional winning game a complete triumph.

 

There, in my internal time machine, I saw the moment from my grandparents’ perspective. My husband and I were two young “kids” full of promise and enthusiasm, intelligent and capable in our way, but with limited understanding of what lay ahead–and no way to make it clear to us, even if one had the inclination to try, because it would be like describing a foreign landscape we had never crossed.

 

Really, although we spoke the same words, we had differing vocabularies. Very likely, for my grandmother, she was “winning” every game, since she was enjoying lively company. My grandfather, who used any excuse to launch into a story from times past, was perhaps doing his best to show how life twists and turns, imposing character and resilience upon us while also providing for some hearty laughs.

 

The stories often surrounded the technology of his time and what it took to keep it operating to an acceptable level. His stories often included quick repairs needed so some major task–perhaps the harvest–could continue, or the little tricks he had learned along the way to overcome persistent problems. They were told with great energy and humor: From my altered perspective, I can’t help thinking the chance to tell them was his biggest “win” each evening, no matter how high the numbers on the score sheets.

 

I hesitate to call the perspective time has given me “wisdom,” since there are still plenty of life’s complications I have not yet encountered. But “experienced” is also a heady plateau, the view from which I can only begin to describe.