Not Just Another Number

I realize that there is war and disease and other devastation going on around the world, but I must admit I was sad about something entirely off-beat today. I had to replace my very first license plate, 345 ASA. That was my traveling companion for more than 25 years.

We all are associated with numbers. Our first home phone number, home address, Social Security number, college ID number, first apartment number, first boyfriend’s (or girlfriend’s) phone number, first house with spouse number. The list is endless. As we transition to different parts of our lives, we leave behind one number and take on another. But for some reason, giving up my 345 ASA was harder, as if I were giving up a friend - someone who has been there for me through many of my growing up stages.

Why did I need to turn in my good ‘ole companion? Apparently, its façade became too cracked and the dulled sheen wasn’t able to reflect well in the dark. There’s no escape. I could go a lot of ways with this. When Brad gets older, much older, and he begins to crack and wrinkle, will I replace him with a newer model? Hmm…

In 1986, when I graduated from Dartmouth, this plate held on for dear life to the back of my first car, a Ford Escort. This was a used car which needed oil every other day. In fact, it ran so badly that I had to take the license plate off... the car couldn’t pull that kind of load (ba dum bum). When I went to for grad school in 1990, it then graduated to an early model of a charcoal gray, boxy Toyota Corolla. It later knew the streets of Waltham and Framingham, when I was living in an apartment in Framingham and dating Brad, who lived in Waltham. In 1996-ish, when we were first married and started at the then , it was pleased to be toted on a newer taupe Corolla model. For the past five years, it has logged in more than 118,000 miles on my Toyota Sienna. My children could identify my car among others in a parking lot. 345 ASA has seen all of New England several times over and is intimately familiar with Ashland.

When I was at the Milford RMV, I asked the nice lady behind the counter if I could keep 345 ASA, she looked at me with a surprised and somewhat puzzled look and said, “Oh no!” I actually had to hand my metal pal over to a stranger in order to be (gasp!) recycled. I hope the next owners appreciate it.

So long 345 ASA. Welcome 919 LV5. Enjoy the ride.

“Let your fingers do the walking…”

“…through the Yellow Pages…” Remember that jingle? I thought of it the other day when I was drafting something for work. But in my case, it's "let my fingers do the writing." It seems I am unable to draft a piece of writing using pen and paper. My brain doesn’t work as well as it does when I apply my fingertips to a keyboard in front of a computer screen.

In addition to shift in the process of writing, my handwriting has gone downhill over the years. I could blame it on the fact that I type more than I write, and I type more quickly than I can write. My theory only goes so far, as my husband is also on the computer all day, and he has nice handwriting.

I took Typing from Mrs. LaVigne at Framingham North High on an electric typewriter. I used a typewriter in high school and in college, but only for final drafts. I wrote drafts by hand. Although Dartmouth College had one of the most innovative and sophisticated computer centers in the country, I still used my Smith Corona. I dabbled on the Mac, but would still think “This is neat, now where’s my typewriter.”

One night during winter finals in senior year (1986), I was happily typing away at a paper, and the power went out. Cries of frustration resonated through the dorm. Mine might have been a little quieter, as I at least still had what I had written. I could touch it. Some students didn’t save their computer files, and lost pages and pages of final exam papers. I was somewhat relieved I hadn’t fallen prey to the beginnings of the computer craze. I certainly wasn’t going to start now.

Fast forward to business school at Babson College in 1990, I owned a PC with WordPerfect and Excel. I even taught myself enough in WordPerfect to launch a newsletter for the business school students. I wrote papers, created graphs and charts for my finance class. I used the VAX email system at school to communicate to other students and some professors. This is when I found out that I could get my thoughts down a lot faster using bits and bytes than a #2 pencil.

It is now 2010. Next year, I will be celebrating my 25th college reunion. I look back at my evolving appreciation for computers and how it can improve my productivity. And boy oh boy, if I had had a little bit of financial savvy, I would have invested in Apple and Microsoft.

When using a computer to write, I can remove entire thoughts without seeing a mess on the page, find synonyms, embed graphics and charts, change fonts. The draft-to-final version takes less time. And I know I don’t use half of what I could be using. I write really fun letters to Abby at Camp Tel Noar, which might include some posts on her Facebook page, photos of us or her cousins in Atlanta and different fonts and colors to spice it up. We have a color printer, so she gets some good material at rest hour.

The other day, Abby and I were playing school. She was the teacher. She is always the teacher. Abby or Miss Jennings, as she called herself, asked me to write a paragraph about my family. She gave me a piece of white lined paper and a pencil. I looked at her. She asked me what was wrong. I shook off my slight panic and said it was nothing. I picked up the pencil and started to write. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I felt liberated!

After “Miss Jennings” corrected my paper, she returned it with a big smiley sticker. She said, “The smiley is because the story is really good. But your handwriting is awful.”

Video killed the radio star. And the word processor killed my penmanship.

Note: This blog post was drafted using Microsoft Word. No pencils or erasers were sharpened or harmed.