The Brains of This Outfit

Greetings from Poosey.

I’ve always been fascinated by people who are fascinated, especially if they have a fascination for things that are old. Billions of bucks are spent on restoring old cars, putting old tractors on display, refinishing vintage furniture and homes. Lots of reasons for this I suppose.

There’s something to be said for the quality of a hand-hewn fireplace mantel or the way a John Deere A chug-chugs its way down the parade route. And the same fascination holds true for old movies, classic television shows, and golden oldie songs from the past. But although I appreciate the quality that can be found in many timeworn items, I wonder if the joy we find in wallowing in nostalgia doesn’t have deeper roots.

When Lawrence Welk and his Champaign music makers start whipping out their polkas and waltzes on the cable rerun circuit, millions of folks from the Greatest Generation onward tune in. Used to be I’d snicker when someone would say they had to hurry home to catch Myron Floren play “Apple Blossom Time” on his accordion. Now I purposely tune in to hear those magic fingers tinkling out the old familiar tunes. I sit there watching reruns of I Love Lucy and enjoying the hundredth replay of It’s a Wonderful Life and ask myself, is it the music and the story or do I simply yearn for a time when life seemed simpler, seemed safer and more welcoming?

I suppose that if you’re younger than 16 life seems to move too slowly. But for those of us who’ve been around for a bit, the opposite is true. Too many new developments, too many armed conflicts, new gizmos, crises and confusion. Time was we’d all sit down at 5:30 and listen to Walter Cronkite summarize the events of the day. He delivered his newscast in a tone that somehow assured us, no matter what the subject matter. When we’d go to work the next day we’d labor alongside folks who also heard what Walter had told us in his fatherly tones. We’d be on the same page with the rest of the world. It now seems as if the rest of the world is reading a completely different book.

As we peek around the corner of this new year of 2015 we tremble a bit at what further changes we’ll have to handle. Most of them will be a bother. Some will confuse us and a few will make us tremble a bit and fear for our world.

Change is not a comfortable thing whether it’s a new communications system, a health care system, or a new shoe. We love the convenience but we hate the very concept of change.

Which brings me to Grandma. When rural electrification first came to the Midwest and farm families were offered their first hookup to this new gadget called electricity a sort of general panic went out through my grandparent’s neighborhood. Folks up and down their road were afraid of what this invisible gizmo might do with electrical power surging through their walls endangering the family while they slept. Children were warned not look at the electrical outlets for fear of sudden blindness. So, while her neighborhood ladies were weighing the possibility of an electric washing machine versus sudden death by electrocution, Grandma marched into the utilities office and signed up. The same pattern kept repeating itself as she urged Grandpa to be the first one to switch from horse-drawn plow to Ford tractor, then a gasoline-powered car, a dishwasher, microwave, and if she’d lived long enough she’d have no doubt had the first Facebook page in the neighborhood.

“It’s all about what’s important,” Grandma told me. “I don’t trust these gadgets, I just use them. I’m the brains of this outfit.” Those words have stuck me over the decades. “I’m the brains of this outfit.”

No matter how the world changed Grandma was still in charge of her destiny. Regardless of what new development turned up tomorrow, she was in charge of her reaction to it today. She’d begin Christmas dinner by turning off the radio, unplugging the television, and simply announcing, “It’s time to be with each other.” Grandma never let the newest technology destroy the peace and love that she’d spent a lifetime cultivating in our family. We’ve yet to have someone receive a Nobel prize because he had the most gadgets, but I’ll bet many of them had a grandmother who taught them to think for themselves.

You ever ‘round Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.