News

My very first iPod has died. No saving throw. It’s simply gone. It’s the first piece of technology that I voluntarily purchased. We went to the Apple store and hoped they could save it, but my stalwart companion, who has seen many tours with me, is no more. It’s not alive enough for a burial; not heavy enough for a paper weight; but when it came time to trade it in for 10 % off of a new purchase, I could not do it. I put it in the pocket nearest my heart and brought it back home. Jon and I are half-jokingly talking about putting it in a lucite block. Probably it will go in a drawer somewhere in my office and sit, but this iPod joins a very short list of mechanical things that have transcended their nuts, bolts, and electronic beginnings to take on, in some way, a semblance of more.

My first mechanical affection was the first television set that I remember, well. It was a small black and white on a stand in a wooden case. It was actually carved and a little ornate. When I was still too young for school, I named the television, Charlie. When things were bad, Charlie always had something cheerful, or interesting to show me. There aren’t many friends that are as dependable as that little television was. Charlie got replaced by a newer, color set, but my grandmother put him in the spare bedroom, and used him like a table. I left him when I moved away from home; I don’t remember him being offered to me. I eventually years later bought my grandmother a really nice, large television for the living room, but Charlie was still in the bedroom covered in bric-a-brac, and doilies. He may still be there, though I’m not certain that my aunt has kept him in his place.

My second mechanical fling was my first car. It was an Omega, and it was second hand, but I loved that car. Her name was Meg. I was sixteen, and it meant that now my grandmother and I could drive ourselves places. We were no longer at the mercy of other people’s schedules. No matter how kind the rest of the family was, it was still a lot of waiting, and feeling like the poor relative. Everyone was very nice about it, but I, and Granny, felt the lack. When I turned sixteen and got my license we had freedom. Here in the U. S. you need a car outside of maybe a handful of cities. When I had to trade her in for a new car after I got married, the first time, I laid my face on the hood and actually cried, as I said good-bye.

Third, was my typewriter. It was a hand me down from my Aunt Juanita, now that her girls didn’t need it for school anymore. I wrote my first stories on it. It is in the storage room, of this house, as I type this, even though I know that I will probably never use it again. When the time came to part with the old manual, I couldn’t bear it.

Fourth, my first lap top. Strangely, not my first computer, because I shared that with my first husband, so it wasn’t mine. The lap top was mine. No games were ever played on it. Nothing was ever put on it, but my stuff. It was mine. I kept it for fourteen, or fifteen years before it finally gave up the electronic ghost. (Yes, it was a very long time for a lap top to keep working.) Jon finally talked me out of it, because it was starting to do the things that computers do before that last big crash. I let that one go, and we got a new one. Jon even finally persuaded me to get a desk top, as well, which is what I’m typing on right now. But that first lap top, was mine in a way that the others are not. The lap top was never part of a computer network. It was never linked up to anyone to share files. It was my little isolated world, and I liked it that way back then. Both of the computers I have now are all shared with Darla, and Jon, and even Charles has come and worked on them. The first lap top was shared with no one. Strangely, I never named it.

I would have counted the Foose mustang as fifth, but the iPod is older than the car. I do love the Foose. It is the Baby. I love the roar of the engine, the feel of the road under the wheels, and the reaction you get from people. I love the way the car gleams in the sunlight, and I watch it’s rear end the way I watch my husband’s; that nice proprietary that’s-mine-feeling.

But today is about my fifth gadget crush, not the Baby. I didn’t know I liked my iPod this much until it wouldn’t work. The gray screen of death, and there was no saving it. It’s internal workings have gone off, and so we bought a new one for me. It’s a generation, or two, newer, but it’s not my first love. That slim, black, nano will lie in a drawer at my desk, until I can either bear to part with it, or figure out something to do with it. A lucite block would just be silly; wouldn’t it?

Some bits of tech and mechanics rise above their origins, and like the Velveteen Rabbit, they become alive for us. My iPod was my comfort on many a flight, and my de-stress on many a day. I raise a virtual glass in one last toast to my slim, mechanical, companion; no longer functioning, but not thrown away.