Thanksgiving Photo by Anjali -- IV
I was walking to the post office this week when the crossing guard showed me her cellphone.
It showed a "Hi, Gram" text message.
"Where does she live?" I asked.
Upstate, she said. She was beaming.
"It makes you feel good," she said, turning her attention to the drivers barely in control of their vehicles and their impulses.
We oldsters often talk about the new breed who start flicking their thumbs in social situations, when families used to sit around and talk.
But the phones have their moments, particularly at holidays.
One of our grand-daughters now lives a mile away; she texts us all the time, sometimes with her latest photograph.
Anjali often sees things nobody else sees -- utility wires, somehow blue, outside her house, on a day of slush.
11/27/2014 07:25:12 am
Thor A. Larsen
11/28/2014 05:14:35 am
11/29/2014 01:33:24 am
Thanks to you both. She just sees it.
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From the great Maureen Dowd:
As I write this, I’m in a deserted newsroom in The Times’s D.C. office. After working at home for two years during Covid, I was elated to get back, so I could wander around and pick up the latest scoop.
But in the last year, there has been only a smattering of people whenever I’m here, with row upon row of empty desks. Sometimes a larger group gets lured in for a meeting with a platter of bagels."
--- Dowd writes about the lost world of journalists clustered in newsrooms at all hours, smoking, drinking, gossipping, making phone calls, typing, editing.
"Putting out the paper," we called it.
Much more than nostalgia.