Saturday morning, March 2, 2013

Saturday mornings always seem to be best here in Barton. It's a lazy time.

This late winter morning is actually pleasant, no clouds and you can see the snow-capped Sangre de Cristo Mountains off in the distance. South Mountain looms closer and still the horses are busy doing what horses do, which seems to be this morning to be standing around. Nan, the old one, stands with her butt to the wind. Arya, the youngster, is more mobile but seems to be ignoring her pen mate.

The wind is blowing, that's nothing new and anyone who lives around here has learned to deal with it. I tell myself that the wind is beneficial – it spreads pollinated seeds around and blows insects over 200 miles to Amarillo. In truth, seeds can hardly find purchase in the clay soil and bugs tend to find the environment inhospitable.

But it's home and I love it just the same.

Inside the house, the oldest son is still in bed at 10 a.m. And the youngest son is busy trying to squeeze all he can out of the Microsoft corporation through the Xbox. He's got the makings of a banker in him, and a tenacity to always try to gain the upper hand on large corporations. We've taught him well, and he generally finds success in his schemes in obtaining what he is seeking, mostly by wearing people down. I worry about both my sons, that's my job as a Dad. I know, though, that they'll be okay.

It's their world I worry about, though. Scratch that; I don't worry about the world – it will be here regardless of its inhabitants. It's my place in this world that I find disconcerting. On a modern timeline, I'm not that old, but lately I've been feeling a bit fogey-ish. I struggle with how to describe it, but I'll give it a shot through the prism of media, because that is how everything is viewed these days.

When I was young, I used to walk about a mile from my house to Hilltop Drug at least once a month to pick up the newest copy of ForrieAckerman's “Famous Monsters of Filmland.” The magazine was brought to its adoring public in sterling black and white. It included stories and photos from Hollywood's Golden Age of monster movies. I know now that it was regurgitated content originally produced years before I was born, but it was new to me and I loved it. I read and re-read that magazine every month until the pages were falling out, which meant it was time to get the next issue. I'm not the only one who has been inspired by this magazine, Ackerman is considered a God among many of us science fiction geeks.

Now, all the information from those old magazines is easily available on the internet. Not only that, but I can interact with people from all over the world about our love of Boris Karloff starring as Frankenstein's monster. That is very cool.

But we've lost something. We've lost our sense of anticipation. We wait for nothing. In addition, we may be able to talk to someone in Germany about Christopher Lee's turn as Dracula, but chances are more likely that someone will end up calling us names and attempting to invalidate our opinions.

We are at a time when communication is easy. I remember times as a youth when it seemed like our problems could be solved if we could just talk about them. We can do that easily now across cultural lines, but the opposite has occurred. Everyone seems mad now, and no one seems willing to compromise for the greater good. To me, it's all so much junk and I prefer to live my life open to new experiences and ideas.

I understand and enjoy the technology we have, yet at the same time long for a time when it didn't exist.

And yet, here are my words, brought to you not in the pages of a periodical, but through pixels on a screen. This is what I must do to build a career as a writer, and I appreciate the ease technology provides to get my writing in front of a wide audience. That still doesn't mean I find comfort in it.

Ah, the horses are eating their hay now. It's still a nice Saturday morning and the mountains are still off in the distance. I guess you've got to hang onto the things that keep you grounded.