Klamath Writers' Guild

 

What may be one man’s junk is another man’s treasure. I begin this article with a bit of old-time wisdom, for I know it will go downhill from here. This morning I am thinking of what junk really is. My wife has uprooted the house because she wants to put down new carpeting where the old carpeting was in very good shape, but now it is junk.

In technical terms, any piece of equipment, considered obsolete by modern updating, is now junk. Although the item functions properly, it now has too little core, or too slow a return, or whatever. Regardless of how well it once worked, it is now junk.

It can be stored temporarily in the garage or back shed (until some more obsolesce comes along and demands that space.) It then must go. Most of the electronic computers or VCR’s or cell phones cannot simply be placed on the curb for the local ‘Yum-yum man’ to haul away. Oh, no! It must be discarded in such a location and in a certain condition. They will also charge for its disposal – a considerable fraction of what we paid for it in the first place. In short, junk and trash are not synonymous.

Living in our modern age, more and more things are thrown out as junk – so much so that the old-fashioned junk man cannot keep up with the discarded pace. When I was young, there was a junk man who came around in an old van and paid us a stipend for our old iron and aluminum or copper, or whatever for which he could see a ready market. He was a likeable chap; always had a smile and a ready joke for the occasion. We looked forward to his visits. Mom, in fact one time, gave him a sack of donuts she had just made.

When I first began to write, I purchased a Remington typewriter. I called her ‘Lady Remington’. She was a faithful friend for many years, as far as typewriters go. However, she was merciless whenever I made a typo, or when I wanted to insert a new paragraph. When the modern PC hit the market, I had to retire my faithful friend to the closet. I did not feel like tossing her out. She remained there on the floor for several years, occasionally becoming useful to fill out a form.

One time, while I was using a new computer, I imagined I could hear sobbing coming from my closet. Upon inspection, I found it came from my old ‘Lady Remington.’

“Hey, what’s the matter?” I asked.

“You don’t love me any more,” she seemed to say. “Just because that new contraption of yours can serve you better, I am treated like some worn-out shoe.”

“I am sorry,” I said, feeling a bit guilty. “However, you were very unforgiving when we made mistakes.”

“What do you mean, WE? I did not make those mistakes, you did! You made them all on your own. I only followed your orders. Don’t try to blame me for your errors.”

“There is such a thing as forgiveness, and you do not know what it is, I rebutted. “You have no idea of how many hours and erasers I wasted to clean up these errors. Furthermore, my text looked like that of an amateur typist from all those smudges,” I said a bit irked for her reminding me of my clumsiness. “With this ‘new contraption,’ as you so aptly call it, I can remove those mistakes very easily. I can place additional information wherever I want to insert it. Furthermore, I do not have to listen to your confounded ‘ding’ when I near the end of the line. Added to all this, I now have a spell checker and a grammar checker which informs me of my wording errors.”

“I don’t care,” she sobbed. I am hurt that you found me useless – after so many years of faithful service. You are very thoughtless.”

“I suppose I am guilty of that, but my life is far easier with my new contraption.”

I excused myself and returned to the computer, feeling a little guilty, but what could I do? I could return to the fundamentals, as the Amish people have. I could throw out all modernization from my life. I could eliminate my light bill, my telephone bill and the car insurance bill by returning to carried water, candles and horses. I then could restore my Lady Remington to her former status.

Some times, whenever I think of how complicated modern science has made our lives, I can only guess of ways to simplify my life. If it will console my Lady Remington, I have been through six computers after she was retired. Furthermore, she lasted longer in service than did those six computers. When we decided to move to Oregon, I had to get rid of her. I sold her in a garage sale to a man who was looking for a reliable boat anchor.

Until later, cheers!