When I was a young boy, I wanted to travel back in time. People in comic books did it with no more effort than it took me to walk to the candy store for a box of Milk Duds. Time travel seemed like it would be fun, and the possibility of doing so was never in doubt. Surely the creators of Superman had researched the matter, and discovered that in order to visit the past, all you had to do was fly around the Earth really fast against its rotation. This made complete sense to my nine-year-old brain, and I even believed that as I circled the planet at high speed and went back in time, the years would appear in the sky as large numerals, just as they did in the comic books.
There were certain inherent problems with this method, of course. First, I didn’t seem to have the ability to fly. I proved this to myself one day by leaping from my second-story bedroom window onto the concrete driveway below.
Second, the idea was based on the premise that past events still existed as light waves, and all we had to do was chase after those waves. Once we caught up to them, we’d be back in time. More problems. In order to catch up with light waves, you had to move faster than light. The universe, apparently, had passed some law against this. But even if we could catch the light waves, what about the sound? Light moves at 186,000 miles per second. Sound travels through the air at about eleven hundred feet per second. Conversations with people in the past, then, would require a good memory and a lot of patience — kind of like watching someone being interviewed from the South Pole.
Then in 1966, a television show called The Time Tunnel appeared, and I was sure we were on the verge of something. All we had to do was build a big funnel painted with a black and white spiral, and then attach some wires to it and something that would make smoke. On the show, two scientists named Tony and Doug ran into the tunnel and ended up on the Titanic just before it sank. They tried to warn the captain, but naturally he wouldn’t listen. No one in movies ever believes anybody when they say a volcano is going to erupt or a ship is about to go down. It’s maddening to watch, like when the people on Gilligan’s Island failed to get saved week after week just because they happened to always be looking the wrong way when the rescue plane was flying by. In the case of the Time Tunnel, though, the captain should have known better; all he had to do was look at Tony and Doug’s shirt collars to realize they were from the future.
Much later, I learned that time isn’t a thing, like an ironing board or a bag of walnuts. It has little to do with clocks, which are our way of at least appearing to divide up time into measurable pieces, any more than heat is accurately represented by our crude and arbitrary thermometers. I was surprised to discover that people have been trying to define time for thousands of years, and still, no one knows what it is. A river that flows past us? A road we’re traveling along? Does time always move at the same speed, and does that question even have any meaning?
It’s this elusive nature of time that keeps alive the hope that we’ll someday figure out how to manipulate it, maybe even travel into the past and future, just as we now travel to Shreveport or Sri Lanka. But that takes us back, once again, to the inescapable truth: we don’t know what we’re talking about. We use terms like past, present, and future with ease and familiarity, as though we had a strong sense of what they are. People advise us to live in the moment. “The past is gone,” they’ll say, “and the future isn’t here yet. All we have is the present.” But by the time they finish that sentence, the future has already become the past. Where did the present go? Did we miss it?
Yesterday, I received a letter in the mail from a blogging friend who lives halfway around the world. I don’t mean an email. I mean a four-page letter, handwritten on actual paper and sent in an envelope with postage stamps on the front. It was her idea, an effort to get closer to written words by forming them with her hand, which was in contact with the pen, which in turn was in contact with the paper. Things happen when you do this. You’re forced to slow down and concentrate on what you want to say, and even on how to form the individual letters and words. Make a mistake and you either have to start over or live with the unattractive results of crossing out.
Her letter was filled with apologies, all unnecessary. She was sorry for her messy penmanship (actually, it’s beautiful). She felt bad about her rambling thoughts (I found myself hoping I could match her clarity). And in the middle of the first page, she told me that she’d just gotten some terrible news. A forty-two-year-old colleague of her husband’s — the father of a three-year-old daughter — had suffered a sudden and fatal heart attack. Right there, in the space between two paragraphs, she grieved for a lost friend and then decided to voice her innermost fears about her husband’s own health. She talked about mortality, our use of time, and the meaning of life. Between other paragraphs she ran a few errands, did some laundry, and fed the fish. And she told me about those, too.
Then she ended the letter, folded it up, and dropped it into a mailbox somewhere in her part of the world, and somewhere in time. When her correspondence arrived, fourteen days had gone by. Surely during that interval, she had run more errands, washed more clothes, and given the fish more food. Her wounded heart, still aching for her friend and still beating back thoughts of dread, would have begun the healing process.
When she wrote the letter, it was a reflection of her present, and my future. But two weeks later, reading her words then brought the original events out of her past and into my present. For me, it was all happening now. My immediate impulse was to send her an email, to tell her in an instant that I’d gotten the letter and that I was sorry for her loss and her pain. And that made me think about what it must have been like long ago, in the days of the first trans-Atlantic voyages and in the preceding and following centuries, when people sent letters to far-away places. The writer had to keep in mind that the words would remain unseen for weeks or even months. The reader had to remember that time had passed since the ink had dried on the page, and tears had long ago been wiped away. And so I’ll force myself to act within the constraints of that nearly-forgotten means of communication, the direct attachment of idea and emotion to pen and paper.
It is a form of time travel, I suppose, this act of writing, mailing, and reading letters. And a satisfying one in many ways, because it’s intimate, and permanent. Still, the idea of a time tunnel has its appeal. I have no delusions that I’d be any more persuasive than Tony and Doug were, and the Titanic would surely end up on the ocean floor. But maybe someone could have reached that forty-two-year-old man soon enough to prolong his life.
Time, whatever it is, must exist. I no longer read comic books, or jump from bedroom windows, or wait for Superman to save the day. Gilligan and his companions have been rescued. A little girl will never know her father. A friend writes another letter, feeds her fish, and perhaps sheds more tears. And nothing moves at the speed of light, except light itself — and our thoughts and hopes and dreams.
Betty Londergan
August 5, 2011
Oh Charles, you make me want to go write a letter to someone! I love the way you can take an idea and just run with it, through humor, science, compassion, childhood and friendship — Hey, perhaps you’ve discovered the real way to time travel! (and it sure beats meeting the concrete from two floors up) Happy weekend!!
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bronxboy55
August 7, 2011
I don’t know if writing letters is as out-of-fashion as we think. But even if it is, I have a feeling it will make a comeback. People are clearly looking for personal contact, and texting just doesn’t do it — which is why they have to do it constantly!
Happy weekend to you, Betty.
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Carl D'Agostino
August 5, 2011
You are not the only one that did the superman jump. I did it at 4. There I was a broken mass with my mother beating me. With the big wooden salad spoon of course. Oh, but we do have a time machine. Our government policies or lack thereof, are sending us right back to the 1930’s.
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bronxboy55
August 7, 2011
Carl, I always picture your mother’s salad spoon in one of those glass cases on the wall, like the ones they had in the hallways of my high school. “In case of irritating child who’s asking for a beating, break glass.”
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Lenore Diane
August 5, 2011
“When she wrote the letter, it was a reflection of her present, and my future. But two weeks later, reading her words then brought the original events out of her past and into my present. For me, it was all happening now.”
That gave me chills, Charles.And I agree – it is a form of time travel. The visualization of the writer telling her story, as you read the story weeks later. One cannot help but visualize the activity – having it occur ‘now’. The reader is traveling in time. Wow.
My heart goes out to your friend. May she find comfort in a climber rose.
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bronxboy55
August 7, 2011
Whenever I hear, long after the fact, about something that happened to someone, I wonder what I had been doing at that exact moment. The two events occurred simultaneously, but I had no way of knowing. I can match them up only later, when they’re in the past. It makes this whole idea of time a little confusing. (Okay, very confusing.)
Thanks for your nice wishes about my friend — but it’s someone else.
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souldipper
August 5, 2011
I have a friend who is an Italian artist. He loves it when I hand write a card to him and send it though the post. It hits some sort of good spot with him and he melts.
You’ve reminded me, he’s due for another.
I’m fascinated by the fact that he raves about my handwriting, what I talk about and the thought behind it. Reading your post makes me wonder if I’ve been given a tiny insight into his reaction.
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bronxboy55
August 7, 2011
Let’s face it, Amy, an email can take fifteen seconds to write and send. Text messages, I imagine, can be exchanged even faster. A handwritten letter takes time and effort, and that alone means something when you send or receive one. But I’m sure you already knew that.
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magsx2
August 5, 2011
Hi,
I used to watch The Time Tunnel never missed an episode, I loved it and of course I also used to day dream about what it would be like to go back or forward in time.
I love getting letters in the mail, I think maybe because it is so rare these days when we have instant messaging, but it just seems to have that personal touch that we don’t seem to get with phone or e-mail messages.
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bronxboy55
August 7, 2011
Exactly, Mags. It must be related, in some way, with how many of us feel about books — the real, paper & ink kind — as opposed to electronic editions that are sent though the air and end up in a battery-powered device. We need human contact, and each of the various forms of communication serves a purpose.
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Priya
August 5, 2011
I’d like to time-travel to do many things, Charles. But most of all, I’d like to go way back in centuries and take as many trips as it would take to tell all concerned to reconsider starting a concept that is now called religion.
Your friend is a good person because she’s started something many of us keep thinking of doing, or keep missing without doing anything about it. Though I am not sure I see how the ‘time’ lag between her having written the letter and your having read it becomes time travel (I am slow on the uptake, but only sometimes), letter writing on paper, I can safely say, is something that is very, very close to my heart — so, for me it is a symbol of heart-travel.
———–
Have you ever wondered why cartoons sometimes show people sticking their tongues out when they’re doing something that requires concentration?
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bronxboy55
August 8, 2011
Given how many religions there are, how many more there have been, and how universal their presence is, you have to wonder if the concept was inevitable.
About letter-writing as a form of time travel: it made perfect sense in my head, but then something usually happens to muddle things up when I try to put thoughts into words. And that fact makes me appreciate a well-written letter all the more.
The stuck-out tongue seems to indicate concentration, yes, but also a certain lack of confidence, as though the person isn’t completely sure about how things are going. You notice that Superman never sticks his tongue out. Is it because he knows that if he messes up, he can always travel back in time and try again?
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Priya
August 11, 2011
Inevitable concept: I agree with you, but would it not be better, if these religions practised what they preached? If they can’t they perhaps need to be rethought. Or maybe we could trick religious people by changing the name of religion into something like Peace, so that the concept doesn’t become peace-taking.
Letter writing: If your written thoughts are a muddle, I’d welcome muddle over well-written. I simply didn’t understand the connection — that makes me a slow-poke, no?
Stuck-out tongue: Oh, I was hoping you’d point out tongue-sticking as being the coolest thing ever. I was a tongue-stick-outer as a kid.
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Diane Henders
August 6, 2011
Beautifully written, Charles. The workings of your mind never cease to amaze me. (I’m glad you don’t jump from bedroom windows anymore, though.)
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bronxboy55
August 8, 2011
I was just a kid when I jumped from the window, Diane. I’m all grown up and much smarter. Also, my bedroom is on the ground floor now.
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Ray Colon
August 6, 2011
Hi Charles,
Humans being what we are (experts at misusing our technology) only bad consequences come to mind of what would happen if we could manipulate time and travel to the before and after — and I’m not even a pessimist. As we get older, we naturally become more aware of the unrelenting wave of time which will leave us and all that we know in its wake soon enough. We’re reminded that the present is really all that we can look forward to as the future is an elusive and unpredictable thing. So having the ability to time travel will give us yet another excuse to waste it and that is something that we definitely do not need.
I loved the Time Tunnel! Back in the day, it was a toss up between that show and Lost in Space. If we can’t master time travel, we should at least create robots who will gently remind us to make the best use of our time. “Warning! Warning, Will Robinson!”
Ray
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bronxboy55
August 8, 2011
I tend to think of past events as a straight line: that happened, then this happened, then something else happened. But it’s really a bunch of interconnected branches with endless possibilities. Changing one tiny thing in the past would cause huge changes in the future — we just have no way of knowing what they’d be. I loved The Time Tunnel, too. Until I did some research for this post, I didn’t know the show was on for only one season.
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Sarah
August 6, 2011
Thanks for another thoughtful (and thought-provoking) post, Charles. Time travel seems to fascinate so many but, as you point out, any time we read a letter (handwritten or e-mailed) we are, in a sense, traveling back in time, to re-live with the writer those events that occurred to him or her. Likewise, when we remember events we shared with someone–a deceased relative or friend, an old flame, a childhood friend–we time travel, in a way, to “back then.” This may be part of why so many people want to time travel for real. I think, if I were given the option, that I wouldn’t go back in time to change events, unwise choices, mistakes I made. Sure, it might be nice to avoid the unfortunate stuff, but changing the bad stuff would almost certainly result in my missing some of the good stuff. Plus ALL the stuff, good and bad, has helped shape who I am, so I don’t think I would change a thing about the past. However, if you offered me a cloak of invisibility, I would take it in a heartbeat! (Which brings me to the news this week that a teeny, tiny piece of matter was rendered invisible through the use of lightwaves (or something like that), and the discovery could lead to groundbreaking advances in technology, military intel, etc. The possibilities are endless.) So…no time travel for me, thanks, but when they’re ready to begin human trials on the cloak of invisibility, I’m in!
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bronxboy55
August 8, 2011
Cloak of invisibility! I can hear the infomercials now. (“Are you tired of struggling for hours to become invisible, only to have a leg reappear at the worst possible moment?”) I also wonder if people who are invisible will be able to see each other. Maybe there are invisible people from the future who have traveled back in time, and we just can’t see them. That could explain ghosts and deja vu, as well as my annoying tendency to bump into things that aren’t there.
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She's a Maineiac
August 6, 2011
Charles, I am running out of ways to say “excellent post” so I’ll just go with that again here. Excellent post!
What’s great about handwritten letters is you can keep them and look back on them anytime you want and relive that experience. You can’t get that with quick emails or instant messaging. And there is something so intimate about letters. I still have a stack of my Gram’s letters from 25 years ago when we used to write back and forth. I cherish them. They’re like a moment in time frozen in place forever. (Of course, time really doesn’t exist anyway. It’s an illusion. Basically an invention so we can live in this dimension. Or so I believe….)
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bronxboy55
August 8, 2011
I’m not sure if time doesn’t exist or if our concept of it is just off. We seem to have settled in on measuring time for our own convenience, and are pretty much satisfied with that.
I understand what you mean when you say you cherish your Gram’s letters. They’re snapshots of her mind — like a video of her talking into the camera, only without the self-conscious awkwardness. I bet you’ll write letters to your own grandchildren someday, and I’m sure they’ll cherish them just as much.
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Mitch Mitchell
August 6, 2011
Loved this post. I actually sent a regular letter out this week myself. I think it was the first one I’ve composed in 4 years. Of course, I typed it rather than wrote it out because it seems like I’ve forgotten how to write. Oh, I remember the process, but I start and my hand gets mad at me for the new stress. Isn’t it funny how many things we used to do are suddenly difficult in their own ways?
That’s really the only measure of time that I see directly. I was talking to someone last night and stated that we’d known each other for 25 years. Yet she still looks the same and she said I did (liar!) and it didn’t seem like 25 years at all. Time is elusive because we don’t really notice it passing by on our own. My wife says we age when we see other people’s kids are suddenly older and then suddenly adults. Now that’s scary.
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bronxboy55
August 8, 2011
I’ve been exchanging letters with my cousin in Italy for the past eight years, and I can’t begin to describe what I feel when I see that airmail envelope in the mailbox. It must have something to do with this sense that time is our most precious possession, and the older we get, the more precious it becomes. When someone takes the time to write and send a letter, we feel its value. I think a typed letter qualifies just as much.
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shoreacres
August 6, 2011
I had a bit of a discussion with a reader about such things a couple of years ago. I had used the phrase “a long moment” in a post. He argued that moments are neither short nor long – each moment is exactly the same, passing through the present from future to past.
That’s chronos, of course – the artificial measurement of time that gives us 1945, Saturday and August, not to mention that standing appointment every Wednesday morning.
But there’s a deep wisdom in another Greek word for time often used in the Bible – kairos. My favorite explanation is that kairos is event-filled time, a time utterly beyond our measurement or manipulation. It only can be sensed.
An example. Many people have asked me since Mom’s death when I’ll be taking her ashes back to Iowa for burial next to Dad. They expect the chronological answer – the first week in October, for example. But my answer is, “When the time is right” – that is, when the leaves have changed, or the autumn wind rises, or I simply feel ready for that next step in the journey.
I stopped wearing a watch about 15 years ago. Trading my chronometer for a kairometer was the best thing I ever did.
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bronxboy55
August 8, 2011
I’m repeatedly surprised by how quickly the weeks and months fly by, and how long a minute takes — all depending on what I’m doing, or not doing. My sense of time changes according to what’s happening and how things are changing. In fact, without change, time becomes meaningless. Your example of your mother’s ashes is a moving one, and reminded me of something far less significant, but just as telling: people who, when asked if they’re hungry, want to first know what time it is.
Thank you for your wonderful comment, Linda. I imagine we may be reading about the burial of your Mom’s ashes sooner or later, when the time is right.
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Marie
August 6, 2011
Thank you, bronxboy: a wonderful and moving reflection.
I always enjoy the cartoons and comments nearly as much as the posts, but I must say this time that the comment by shoreacres above really touched me. I especially loved the last paragraph. Thank you both.
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bronxboy55
August 9, 2011
I agree, Marie. Her comment made me think of the millions of people who had planned to get out from under the rule of the clock, but have been thwarted by the economy and a lack of financial security. Retirement, in the past, meant a different sense of time. Too many will never know what that feels like.
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Jessica Sieghart
August 7, 2011
The concept of time and how it’s relative to what you are doing or experiencing has always perplexed me. Sometimes it goes so quickly and then something can happen that makes it stand positively still. We’re so accustomed now to instant communication that it must have been incredibly difficult to hold back an instant message of condolence. I used to love pen pals when I was younger. I wrote back and forth for years with a girl in France. I’m not sure I have the patience or the handwriting skills any longer for letter writing. My handwriting is actually pretty nice so I was assigned to write the thank you notes at work. The first few looked atrocious. I can do it now, but i was kind of surprised how long it had been since I’d actually written anything of length by hand. Keep us posted on this pen pal topic. I love the idea of it.
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bronxboy55
August 9, 2011
I remember switching from dial-up to high-speed Internet and how my entire nervous system seemed to respond. But then we adjust, don’t we? And now the slightest delay causes me to get impatient, or to think something isn’t working. When mailing a letter, you almost have to forget about it completely, especially if it’s going to be weeks before you get a reply. But, yes, let’s talk more about it.
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Val
August 7, 2011
I love receiving letters and in the past I used to be really good at writing them too, but these days – mostly because I do so much of my ‘writing’ on the keyboard instead, I can barely write my name clearly let alone handwrite and it’s quite a shame really. I’d love to be able to compose and (legibly or at least semi-legibly) handwrite letters again. That said, I do still receive letters and do sometimes still reply that way. I find it a struggle now though.
Yes, the time travel factor of snail mail is clearly evident. Stopping and starting, life happens in between. By the way, I was – and still am – a great fan of time travel. But for me, time travel happens much more in old photos than in letters. One can cross decades, even centuries now. I regularly flit between the present and the 1930s, 40s, 50s – some of which times I didn’t even exist in reality!
I’m sorry about your friend’s loss. But at least she is able to write about it and share it with you. Writing our emotions does help. Especially when there is someone at the other end who is receptive to them. You sound like you’re a good friend to her.
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bronxboy55
August 9, 2011
Imagine if we ever manage to communicate with beings in other solar systems. If it takes years — or centuries — for the messages to arrive, can you even consider that communication? When you think about those kinds of distances, the concepts of past, present, and future really get distorted.
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writerwoman61
August 7, 2011
Another lovely post, Charles…
Letters are precious to me…I have boxes of them! My mom kept “last letters” of many of her relatives, which I now have.
Now, my blog substitutes for the letters I no longer write…my relatives know what I’m doing from what I put in my blog.
Wendy
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bronxboy55
August 9, 2011
Blogging and other forms of online exchange have their place, but I’m happy people are still writing letters. When a new medium comes along, the old one doesn’t have to disappear. Several people have expressed feelings similar to yours, Wendy — that they treasure the letters of family and friends who are no longer alive. We may someday feel that way about old email messages, but it gets difficult when the technology keeps changing. A handwritten letter will never become obsolete, no matter how old its operating system gets.
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Melinda
August 7, 2011
Nothing beats a hand written note. It is hard to think about writing a letter when we live in the “right now” world…where you share in the moment with Facebook updates and sharing pictures immediately. Waiting for 14 days for someone to get your message seems like forever. But still it is a cherished moment to see a hand-written envelope. I think that’s why I love Christmas card season so much. It is really the only time you get real mail. lol Gilligan’s Island..I was always yelling at the screen…turn around!!! 🙂
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bronxboy55
August 10, 2011
I think people will rediscover handwritten letters, Melinda. At least I hope so. We seem to have more connection these days, but less actual contact.
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Earth Ocean Sky Redux
August 7, 2011
Beautiful post Charles on so many levels.
Two of my favorite things are my engraved formal stationery and my vintage fountain pen. And nothing makes me feel so able to share my thoughts well than a long letter to an old friend. Sadly, I find those times are few and far between. You are lucky indeed to (a) have such a close friend who would share so many deep thoughts with you and (b) that she would take the time to pen those words. That’s the kind of treasure I might stick in a box and keep…..forever.
As for time travel, I can’t believe you forgot Sherman and Peabody from the best cartoon show ever – Rocky and Bullwinkle. They had The Wayback Machine!!!!
Melinda: re Xmas cards: I don’t even get many of those anymore and those I do get, fewer take the time to write a personal note; it’s the stamped name and that’s it. Bah humbug!!
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Margaret Reyes Dempsey
August 10, 2011
Gasp. Sherman and Peabody…I loved them.
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2011
We used fountain pens when we started learning cursive writing in Catholic school. I don’t remember the exact explanation, but I do recall that ballpoint pens had some sin-related stigma attached to them (maybe they were too easy?)
I believe there are pen-pal websites where you can find people to correspond with. I’m guessing some great friendships have developed out of that.
Thanks for the video, EOS. You’re right: I did forget about Professor Peabody and Sherman, and The Wayback Machine.
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slightlyignorant
August 8, 2011
This is an incredible post. Time has always been one of those hard-to-grasp concepts for me – it’s difficult to wrap my head around the idea that there actually isn’t such a thing as the present, because by the time I’m thinking about something happening NOW, it’s actually happened already. But time is more complicated than that anyway. The present depends on our definition of it and can be anywhere between a split-second to the entirety of this week.
The second half of this piece was touching and resonated with me. I’ve always had an irrational nostalgia for letter-writing, and I wonder now if perhaps it is precisely because reading a letter is like getting a glimpse of someone’s present that’s already in the past. Or maybe it’s just that there is something so beautiful and warm about hand-to-pen-to-paper-to-envelope, something that feels more thoughtful and difficult than typing words into a white box and clicking “SEND.”
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2011
I wasn’t sure if I’d communicated my thoughts clearly, SI, because as you said, the concept of time is difficult to grasp. We tend to think of a second as the smallest unit of time, except in certain sporting events that use tenths or even hundredths of a second. Cosmologists talk about the very earliest moments of the universe in terms of millionths of a second. This is incomprehensible to most of us. I’d imagine that at some point, we’d lose our ability to perceive an event, because it would take longer for the signal to make the trip through our brain than it would for the event to actually happen (whatever actually means).
Thank you for this great comment. I hope you have someone with whom you can exchange “beautiful and warm” handwritten letters.
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An Idealist Thinker
August 8, 2011
Very enjoyable post, Charles.
My jaw dropped when i read you jumped out of your 2nd floor bedroom window at the age of 9 (!!)
‘It is a form of time travel, I suppose, this act of writing, mailing, and reading letters. And a satisfying one in many ways, because it’s intimate, and permanent.’
I was filled with a sense of wonder on reading your simile of writing letters to the concept of time travel. I never equated the two until now. I used to LOVE to write when i was young. I would write letters to my cousins, grandparents & i even had pen-friends! As a child, i would feel ever so proud to see envelopes & post-cards & inland letters addressed to me in the mailbox. I still have many of them preserved. And every time we move, it takes me weeks & months to pack & unpack simply because i just have to re-read all those precious letters! 🙂
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2011
And what you just made me realize is that saving and re-reading letters later — sometimes years later — is a way of traveling back into our own past and reliving the pleasure we’d experienced with the first reading. Okay, now my head is starting to hurt.
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An Idealist Thinker
August 12, 2011
Absolutely !
I thought you meant that when you mentioned ‘reading letters’ 🙂
Meanwhile, another thought crossed my mind (who’s to stop them, eh? ..another spin-head like Priya, though with nowhere near the same clarity..) on reading something you mentioned in your comments or the post. You said, in the future reading old emails will be akin to reading old letters.
I doubt that will be the case. I have many a times re-read my precious letters as well as some old emails. And nothing can replace the ‘warmth’ (..as SI aptly describes) of the handwritten letters (which give a glimpse of the person writing it, as opposed to the typed words that are exactly the same for everyone).
My two cents!
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bronxboy55
August 15, 2011
I acknowledged the possibility that we may someday treasure old email messages, but I doubt they’ll ever conjure the kind of sensory experiences we get from handwritten letters. Having said that, if future generations abandon letters completely, the latest technology (whatever it turns out to be) may cause them to feel nostalgic about email. Actually, it seems inevitable. Your two cents is always welcome, AIT.
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An Idealist Thinker
August 16, 2011
Thank you Charles.. yours are too..!
It’s been long since you came over. But I see the traffic your regular posts generate and replying to the 60-70 odd comments each time can be exhausting – especially the way you caringly respond to every single one. Its phenomenal how you can do it week after week!!
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Margo Karolyi
August 8, 2011
Another wonderful ‘trip back through time’. I, too, watched The Time Tunnel and wondered what I could accomplish if only I, too, could travel back and ‘right the wrongs’ of the past. But if we did that, where would we be now? How many things would change? Or would they? Too many questions; not enough answers. Wonderful memories evoked here, as always. Thanks.
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2011
It’s impossible to know, Margo. Our lives are profoundly affected by seemingly tiny decisions and insignificant events, but we can trace them back only after the fact.
Thank you for your kind words.
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Margie
August 9, 2011
Interesting observations! It would be nice if the need for instant communications died down a bit. I don’t think it would hurt if people slowed down and thought about what they were saying – long letters are much more satisfying than short emails or text messages!
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bronxboy55
August 12, 2011
I just finished a handwritten letter yesterday, Margie, and had to keep reminding myself to concentrate on what I was doing. I don’t think we realize how many different things we have going on in our minds at any one moment. Technology has given us more time only in the sense that it allows us to juggle more tasks in the time we do have. (As I’m typing this, I’m also washing the car, balancing my checkbook, extracting my own tooth, and directing a major motion picture).
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Mary Louise Eklund
August 10, 2011
What a beautiful post. I was pleased to have found it. I find the relationship of pen to paper something that adds to my creativity. I keep a personal journal for that reason. When I start a new writing project those are the first tools I pick up. I think things out on paper I finish them at the keyboard. I do wonder if my son’s generation will have the same relationship I do with pen and paper. I had penmanship courses in school for years. Once he could write that was it. We practiced writing letters of all types in junior high. When my son was in high school I discovered no one had ever taught him how to address an envelope. When he sits down to write it’s the keyboard he turns to, when he’s in class it’s the keyboard he uses for note taking. I tell him he’s missing something, something serene and almost spirtual in sitting under a tree scribbling thoughts on paper. Also, I assure him that there are times when electricity fails but pen and paper work by candlelight.
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bronxboy55
August 12, 2011
I rediscovered the magic of a good pencil about five years ago, Mary Louise. As in the debate about traditional publishing versus e-books, I think there’s never a need to completely discard one method for another. And as you said, when the power is out, that pencil doesn’t even notice. Thanks for the comment.
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Lyn Murphy
August 13, 2011
What a wonderful post. I usually find it hard to sit still and read long posts, but this one really caught and held my attention.
It’s such a pity that many people seem to have lost the art of communcation these days. They write in Netspeak or Textspeak instead of actual words.
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bronxboy55
August 15, 2011
It may yet swing back the other way, Lyn. Our need for clear communication is greater than ever. Thanks for the comment.
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rangewriter
August 14, 2011
Charles, given my former profession, I SHOULD hand write letters. I should at least print letters and send them through the mail. But I confess, ever since the first computer keyboard landed under my fingers, I’ve written as little as possible. My penmanship was always bad, but it has become worse since I’ve been able to keyboard my thoughts. I find that my mind is a full sentence beyond what my hand is capable of achieving. Everything suffers. My thoughts and organization suffer because I’m trying to rein them in and remember what I meant to write. My penmanship becomes a slurred heiroglypic that even I can’t read.
It’s a sad state of affairs. I have 2 friends who stick with pen and paper and I dutifully type answers to their letters.In all aspects of life, I’m dependent upon keys. But I love receiving mail. And I love saving old letters. And I have stacks of old family correspondence that may some day help me document the amazing things my ancestors accomplished. I often wonder what the documentation of our lives and our childrens’ lives will look like.
Time – words – letters – interesting linkage.
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bronxboy55
August 15, 2011
Linda, I’ve been wondering about the documentation of lives, too. We now have the technology to capture, record, store, and retrieve just about every moment of a person’s life. Will it cause us to lose the ability to distinguish between the mundane and the significant?
Hand-writing letters is a skill, I guess. When we don’t do it for a long time, our skills begin to rust. I write five or six letters a year — not nearly enough to stay in practice. I’m stunned every time my brain decides to say one thing and my hand decides to write something else.
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Amiable Amiable
August 15, 2011
I love Sarah’s comment: ‘when we remember events we shared with someone–a deceased relative or friend, an old flame, a childhood friend–we time travel, in a way, to “back then.”’ And I cracked up at your response with regard to the invisibility cloak: ‘I can hear the infomercials now. (“Are you tired of struggling for hours to become invisible, only to have a leg reappear at the worst possible moment?”)’
It is so lovely to get a handwritten letter or note – I just received one today. It is always heartfelt, even if just a simple sentiment. Also, for me, I feel words aren’t misconstrued when they are written by hand, unlike those in an email whose meanings are often misread. Plus, handwriting in itself provides some insight into the author’s personality.
It’s so wonderful that you have an ongoing exchange with your cousin i Italy.
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Amiable Amiable
August 15, 2011
… I meant IN Italy! And there we have another reason why handwriting is better than typing! It slows you down so you don’t make as many mistakes … well, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking with it.
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bronxboy55
August 16, 2011
I agree about the possibility of misunderstandings in an email, and that handwritten letters are less of a risk for that — although I’m not sure why that is.
I would have corrected the typo, you know.
What a spectacular post:
http://bighappynothing.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/the-skyline-drive-cloudy-with-a-100-chance-of-spectacular/
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dearrosie
August 20, 2011
Always a pleasure to read your posts Charles, but this one was really a pleasure. And I loved the comments – your readers always have such interesting things to say.
There’s so much I’d like to say but my poor Mr F is waiting for me to come watch a movie, and I keep saying “just a minute just a minute” so by the time I finish all these minutes is our movie watching going to be in the present or the past, or perhaps you could even say its the future?
I also love writing and receiving letters but like Val I have trouble forming letters when I hold a pen, and when I hand write a card I’m so used to “cut-copy-and paste” that I invariably don’t like what I’ve written and have to throw out the first card and find a replacement.
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2011
I have the same problems with writing letters, Rosie. It makes me wonder how they wrote those long, beautiful letters in past centuries, when all they had was paper and quill pens. I always seems to make a mistake down near the bottom of the page, and then I feel like I have to do the whole thing over. I’m glad I didn’t have to write the Declaration of Independence. I’d still be working on it.
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lovesripening
October 16, 2011
When I think about time, I have always view is as a consequence of being. It sound rather Martin Heideggar-ish. Also when I think about it more to go back to Heideggar’s question of what is ‘is’? it makes me wonder if the question we should as is what is it to be alive, to be a being? Are the terms interchangeable living, alive and being.
I’ve always felt that science slowly works to expand the boundaries of what is known, but it never in fact goes beyond them. Eh.. its late here and this is just my philosophical musing. The act of writing is a beautiful things. Imagine all the prize works of calligraphy, all the ancient edifices all decorated with words. Its amazing to think of language as a time capsule, that allows two different beings to communicate across days or centuries.
Pretty cool deep stuff. Thanks for writing..
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bronxboy55
October 20, 2011
I’m sure I’m not the first person to think of writing as a means of time travel — nor the most eloquent. But thank you for your thoughtful comment.
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winediarist.com
May 23, 2013
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