This morning as I woke up and did a few thing around the apartment and made my way to our little office, I found myself singing to a tune I haven't heard in years—and one I'd really rather not admit I still know the words to after all this time. And, really, I'm a little perplexed by why this song is seriously stuck in my head or why it even popped into my brain to begin with.  It's funny that it did, though, because in some ways it ties in nicely to what I wanted to write about today.

Whatever happened to predictability
The milk man, the paper boy, evening T.V.?

You can chime in anytime (I know you know the lyrics, too). . . 

You miss your old familiar friends, but
waiting just around the bend . . . 

So, maybe the lyrics for today go a little differently, but this 1987 theme song to (do I even  need to say it?) Full House—my favorite childhood show—muses at what is apparently an age old question: what happened to the good old days? 

It seems that no matter what era we were born or raised in or how much we love the technology and advancements of today, we all, at some point or another, wonder what happened to yesterday. Where did yesterday (the literal yesterday) disappear to? Why can't things be more like yesterday (our childhood days) today? Where has time gone?

Whether you're 20 or 40 or 70 years old—we all wish for things of our past. For the good old days. For some it's the milk man or the paper boy, for others it's for the days of a cell phone without texting or a  T.V. without DVR. 

I have to be honest, here. I often wonder why I am sewing or crocheting or working on a craft that some would say is not of our generation. I know that some of my friends just don't get it. There are some I don't even share this side of myself with. It just seems so old fashioned.

But, I am happy that these have become my crafts. If you'd asked me five years ago if I ever thought I'd be sewing, I'd have laughed and said something like "No. Why bother?". Today, though, I am thankful that I've found this respite from the monotony of my technology-ridden lifestyle. It's a way for me to connect with my past (my family has a history of sewing and knitting, etc.) and to create something for my future. It's a way to step away from the keyboard/phone/iPod/email/texting and do something of value with my hands. And, for this, I am grateful.

Last night, Chris and I opted to stay in. It wasn't our typical Friday night. There was no night out having our typical date which might include dinner and a movie or whatever. Instead, we made a nice dinner and then settled in together in the living room each with our respective projects. I spent the night sewing and crocheting and, eventually, making a batch of cookies. I still had my iPod beside me, but I wasn't checking it for new email or new blog posts constantly. I kind of unplugged. And it was a really nice feeling. We just spent time together talking and catching up on some shows we'd missed this week while working on things that we enjoy. 

I love technology. I love my computer and iPod and my dSLR and texting and the internet and our DVR and the fact that you can instantly watch Netflix rentals and don't need to wait for a physical DVD. I love what the iPad is doing for publishing (and hate it at the same time). But, there's something about technology that really irritates me. The first craft that I ever loved was scrapbooking (and, I have the crazy supplies to prove it). But I'm a technological scrapper . . . using the computer to edit and print photos and to create my journaling. There was a point a couple of years ago when I suddenly found myself dreading scrapbooking, though, and I think I owe that to the fact that I sit at a computer all day long and just didn't want to come home and do the same thing at night. I guess I can't blame that all on the technology because I'm sure that some of the redundancy and hesitation to work on layouts at home stems from that also being my day job as a magazine designer. Regardless, I feel like technology and that feeling of always being plugged in and connected is actually a hindrance to being plugged in and connected to who we are as individuals.

So, today I'm making a vow to try to spend a little less time being plugged in when I don't have to be. A vow to spending a little more time doing the things I love and less time worrying about missing an email or a call.

We'll see how long that vow lasts . . . but I think even a few days of keeping this in the forefront of my mind will do me some good.

This whole train of thought came to be as I was cleaning up the kitchen late last night (I must've been pretty sidetracked because this morning I realize I forgot to put our leftovers in the refrigerator) after making a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I was standing at the sink realizing that I'd spent my night cooking and cleaning, sewing and crocheting, and then baking. I was feeling like I was quite the little domestic goddess . . . and I really liked it. So here are a few pictures of the evening that inspired this post that has now gone on and on and on . . .

Martha Stewart's Soft Chocolate Chip Cookies. Made with sour cream . . . they really were this white. Not the best recipe ever but nice and cakey and soft.


mandy said...
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mandy said...

My sentiments exactly - I could not agree more! Love your quote: "I feel like technology and that feeling of always being plugged in and connected is actually a hindrance to being plugged in and connected to who we are as individuals." You really hit the nail right on the head.