and that Seems Normal

 

My children walk through their lives with phones linked to their eyes and their ears. The new school is wired for sound and for electronics. Every class is a wireless hub for the Internet… it turns communication and research into a modern marvel… and that seems normal.

We sit at a family gathering and young and old alike are fixed to their phones, ipads and ipods. The flat-screened TV plays in high definition and we almost forget how detailed life can truly be. We communicate through the palms of our hands as the reflected light shines bright against our eyes… and that seems normal.

Our vehicles have been transformed into fast moving computers. They tell us where to drive and what speed to drive. They allow us to move about without landmarks thanks to the updated GPS. And they help us to drive safer with backup cameras and automatic braking systems and auto parking options… and that seems normal too.

We move at a faster pace. Upload speeds direct our moods during the day. We are subjects to cell towers and the correct settings on our phones… and to the power cords and chargers that spray across the counters and tables of our houses… and that seems normal now.

But today, on Thanksgiving, I see a change… a slower pace and a familiar feeling. Today I watch as the phones and the computers sit blinking and sit idle. The electronics watch us today as we flip through the pages of favorite recipe books that don’t require downloading. Their familiar covers comfort our time together in the kitchens of our lives. Ours is stuffed with clippings given to us by grandmothers and aunts… and sisters and mothers.

On this day, hand written directions take the place of online videos. Snapshots of our favorite time of year flow through the air with the aromas of sage and allspice… of pumpkin pie and cornbread dressing. The turkey stuffed with onions and garlic takes the place of video games and microwave snacks.

We take the time to be thankful for our family and our friends… for our health and for our country. And for the people that have touched our lives. We remain hopeful for our future generations and for the technological advancements that will make their lives easier and happier. But we should never forget the touch and the sounds of a home cooked meal and for the aroma of togetherness… that seems normal forever…

 Shannon R Killman

American Made

I eased through the neighborhood this morning…

the wind pulled on the plastic widows of the Jeep

finding its way onto my exposed neck.

The leaves raced each other across the street

bouncing across the surface of the concrete,

singing in chirps with every contact of the road.

In a bend in the road… filled with cars parked

were tables in a driveway, overflowing.

People moved about… unaware of each other.

I was drawn to the activity…

I pulled to the side, my Jeep still cold inside

and I prepared for the chill…

There were piles of children’s clothing in a mass.

Plastic cups and used china held one table.

Toys of a forgotten time stood in a tumbled coil.

A broken wagon, a worn out mower

and the people dispersed without speaking.

The owner sat-huddled in a kitchen chair,

a scarf over her head… scanning her customers.

I spoke to her eyes with mine… with a smile.

I said it was early and she said it was cold.

Her daughter came to her with a basket full to add,

representing bits of money spent in the past…

A hope of small change today from 7 until 1…

I saw a shine under a red shop rag…

A wrench… a big one… and my heart raced.

I don’t need it, but it was beautiful, sitting there,

A quality Crescent tool… American made.

I held it toward her with anticipation.

It was mine for a small price

and my lady a new friend.

My wrench held its spot in the front seat for now.

The metal cool from outside air but soon to be warm.

It will join the other tools soon enough

with a story of its beginning.

                                                Shannon R Killman