MorristownMemos

Grocer shopping can be deadly dull. So predictable. So ordinary. So uninspiring.

Sometimes it’s fun to shop at a new grocery store: one in which you’ve never been. Perhaps a shop in a new neighborhood; one you discover while taking a different route home. A new store will probably carry items that are unusual  from the ones you’re used to seeing back in your neighborhood. Different brands, different ethnic foods, different prepared meals.

So on my way home from the Randolph YMCA, famished from my workout in their warm water pool (temperature a theraputic 91 degrees) I pulled off Route 10, into the driveway of Stop and Shop. I walked inside and immediately got lost. The layout was completely different from Kings’ Supermarket, my neighborhood store. Since I was not in a hurry, an unusual situation for me, I was prepared to browse leisurely and select some unusual foods for dinner that night.

Yes, there were some different sights in Stop and Shop.  I saw the first female fishmonger behind the seafood counter: the first I had ever seen working in a supermarket. She was knowledgeable and helpful about seafood of all kinds. In the prepared foods section I saw huge hot vats of various soups, like broccoli-cheddar, cream of mushroom, and chicken tortilla. In the dairy section I found many more brands of yogurt than I’m accustomed to seeing, most of which were new to me.

Rounding the next corner I received an unexpected and scary shock. It was a moving, very very tall robot-looking machine that seemed to be following me! It was frightening looking, coming out of nowhere and going wherever I was going.I moved to the right, and it moved to the right. It could have been a creature from outer space invading this humble grocery store. I didn’t know what it was, had never seen one before, and didn’t know how to avoid crashing into it with my shopping cart. A woman shopper approached me, paying attention to her shopping list. Her eyes were focused on  tins of nutmeg, curry powder, and bay leaves lined up on the spice shelf at the left side of the aisle.

“Excuse me,” I said, awakening her from her stuporous dreams of spicy dishes resulting from today’s purchases. “Can you please tell me what THAT is? It scared me half to death!”

“Oh, That! It frightened me the first time I saw it too. Nobody warns you to expect to see it or explain what it is. It’s a floor washer. It rolls around and keeps the floors clean. It sweeps up fallen squished vegetables, spilled beverages and whatever else winds up on the floor. It has saved the store from complaints of slippery, dangerous spots, and probably from lawsuits too. And after school, neighborhood children like to come in and chase it around the aisles! It does make quite the first impression, doesn’t it?”

So my sightseeing venture to a new store turned out to be a lesson in technology and ingenuity. 

As I recall the experience and try to remember what I bought at “Robot Buddy Store” to prepare for dinner that night, I think that I was so upset by the experience of practically being kidnapped and taken off to a neighboring planet, that we ordered Carry-out dinners that night. Next time I run out of milk, bread or any other staples I will hop down to the safety and predictability of Kings. Why take the chance of being assaulted by robots, new fangled floor washers or children chasing mechanical monsters through the aisles of the supermarket?

Another cold, wet dark evening in the Northeast. Too miserable an evening to go out for pleasures that might otherwise be special. 

What to do as the snow falls and makes leaving the house hazardous? 

How about a night of slightly educational, slightly soap operery watching of happenings and doings in the lives of English royalty? The TV series, “The Crown.”

Tonight’s episode takes place in the exciting days of early space travel. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins make history as the whole world watched, fascinated and unbelieving as they landed on the moon. 

Prince Philip watches too, transfixed to his television screen. Something transformative was clearly going on in his mind, and he was excited, thrilled and anxious. He would, as his royal station decreed, have the once in a lifetime opportunity to meet the three heroes in person. 

The prince took great care composing the questions he hoped to ask the astronauts in the fifteen minutes he was allotted to be alone with them.

The three men entered to royal pomp and circumstance, and were shown into the Prince’s private chamber. 

And here is where the fantasy ends. These men, although they achieved greatness through their heroic willingness to put their lives at risk to achieve this great feat, were simply human beings after all. 

They started the interview with the Prince by sneezing, coughing, and otherwise being humans. They were subject to the same problems and dangers that plague every day, ordinary people. 

When Philip asked them for special observances while in space, he was disappointed with their answer. Much of their time was spent managing protocols that any pilot must deal with when on a mission. As the prince looked at the questions that he had so carefully composed, he realized that the astronauts were not able to give him the insights about the world and of life’s meaning that he sought. The achievements of the astronauts were not gong to clarify any deep understanding of the universe or its wonders. 

Turning next to church leaders, who were likewise questioning their faith and the meaning of life, he established meaningful relationships with them and developed lifelong friends.

So what is the meaning of life? What is the meaning of faith? Long will pondering minds question these issues.

As for me, I will to go into the kitchen and make a lovely, soothing cup of steaming hot chocolate.  That is the extent of my brilliant philosophical ideas and conclusions for the day.

THE CROWN

Who would have thought, after all the years of giggling at and making fun of opera singers, that I would become an opera fan?

My younger brother, Jerry, used to imitate the sound, as he heard it, of an operatic tenor. In his most sincerely serious mock voice, the eleven year old made up a heartbreaking aria, using self-invented words that sounded somewhat in the area of Italian to him. In his self-written masterpiece of operatic music, he put on his most painful facial expression and sang his famous leading aria, 

“Ah cha pa TAT-IO!” As he belted out his big performance to his audience of one: me. I pretended to emit a sad, soulful sob at the start of the song.

How odd that I would remember that song after all these years, but I do remember it with great clarity. Today, over fifty years later, I anticipate with great excitement, my husband and my opportunity to see the opera “La Boehme, ” in New York City, at the Metropolitan Opera House. What a thrill!

The theater is imposing: five balconies high. Tickets in the 4th or 5th balcony, since they are so far from the stage, are referred to as the “nosebleed section.” 

As in many large arts institutions the attraction on the first floor is the gift shop. It is stocked with clever, if overpriced items like long rectangular note paper to leave at our telephone to jot down phone messages. The notepaper’s heading is, ”Chopin Liszt.” And if you would like a special pen with which to write your phone messages (on the Shopping list), try the ball point pen styled to resemble William Shakespeare. 

The restaurant in the theater, The Grand Tier, offers a unique treat; enjoy your lunch and head back to the theater. But first you may order and pre-pay for dessert. At intermission simply return to your table to miraculously find your dessert and coffee (or tea) awaiting your return.

We reached our seats. The curtain rose to the stage setting of a Parisian garret, home of a young, poor artist. I was surprised that there was no overture; the conductor advanced immediately to the scene of young artists preparing their work while suffering from the cold and from very little food. The voices of the performers filled the auditorium with the beautiful, melodic sounds of Puccini’s opera. The music is glorious, the acoustics superb, the stage setting spectacular. La Boehme was staged by the film director, Franco Zaffirelli, and is as dramatic and beautiful as the music.

So, on many levels, this  afternoon at the opera was a memorable experience.

“I’ve heard so much about it but have never tried it.” And that was the feeling we had when we encountered a class in mediation while on vacation.

So we signed up and prepared to experience a new technique in living.

We entered a simple, unadorned room with chairs set up in a circle for the 20 participants to occupy.

The instructor started by explaining the importance of clearing the mind. And that is one of the most difficult things to do. “But,” she explained, “ You can’t see your reflection in running water: only in still water!” 

“Hmm; interesting analogy,” I thought.

We must try to clear out our “judging minds,” and be open to new ideas and thoughts. Most of us keep our minds in the past or wondering about the future. She said it was difficult to stay in the present. I was reminded of a saying I had heard years ago: “The past is gone, the future is unknown. We only have right now, which is a gift. That is why we call it the present.”

She described different kinds of people” the Mr. Fix-it, who always looks for solutions to problems, the Snow-baller, who makes all problems larger than they are the longer they go forward; just like a snowball rolling down a hill. 

“Our minds are like tofu;” they are blank and open. The mind takes on any flavor that is added to it, just as tofu has no flavor of its own, but takes on whatever it is served with”

And with that, we were prepared to clear our minds and be open to meditation.

In clearing our minds we would experience life in a different way. Starting with the sense of taste. This was her cue to pass around a platter of dates. “Take one but don’t eat it yet,” she told us. And she passed around the platter of dates.

“Now we are ready to enhance our sense of taste. Put the date in your mouth, but don’t chew it. First be aware of the sense of the date being in your mouth. Notice its weight, its shape and its texture. Explore it with your tongue”

After noticing the characteristics of a date, we finally were permitted to bite into it and be aware of its taste. 

It’s sweetness filled my mouth in a way that I had never felt before. Although this was not the first time I had eaten a date, this awareness created a new sensation. I was really aware of the taste of a date.

I was being mindful of taste.

We went from the taste experience to focusing our attention on our breath. 

“If you concentrate on your breath, breathing in and out, you will find your whole body slowing down. If thoughts break into your consciousness, just acknowledge them, push them away, and return to concentrating on your breathing.”

At the end of this first meditation class, about an hour,  most of us felt more relaxed. We thought that with practice we could achieve the goal of slowing down, being more aware of our surroundings and less likely to allow ourselves to be swept into the chaos that every day life has become. IF we practice!

This was an enlightening and interesting class, and I would like very much to carry this slower version of myself through my days. But just to fact check with reality, ask me at holiday time. Let’s see whether I am dealing with that stressful time of year more successfully than I usually do.

Space is running out, and nobody knows what to do about this odd problem. There is a shortage of cemetary space for the unknown or indigent bodies on hand with nobody to step forward, claim the body, and defray the costs of a funeral. 

So it is time to get creative and find another solutions to this land shortage for the poor but nonetheless dead, of us who find themselves totally and altogether dead.

So I have come up with a new concept of dealing with the dead.

We are all familiar with the concept of “Air B’n B.”, where people can rent accommodations for their vacation stays.” MY idea is “Earth B & B.” I don’t call it exactly a cemetery but a rental space for the formerly living. 

I don’t think that death is a funny matter, and I’m sure it’ll be even less funny when its my turn to share the experience with my ancestors.

But rumor has it that I have no way of escaping the fate of so many others. Notice that I refrained from stating “the fate of ALL others.” The reason for that turn of phrase is that we can’t be absolutely sure of all occasions at all times. For example, Anastasia. Does anyone 

know for certain, what happened to her and what her story ending is?  There have been books, movies, and even a Broadway show about her confusing disappearance, but no solid proof of her fate.

 And what about the three convicts who escaped from Alcatraz prison in California? Nobody can guarantee whether they escaped still walk among us, or whether they lost the challenge to survive those vicious seas in their small boat, and now lie with the sea creature in Alcatraz Bay.

My plan, a cemetery rental can help with the short space problem. Some American Indian tribes solved their similar problem by stacking bodies; several bodies rest, one on top of the other. In a space-saving cemetery. Visit one grave and be rewarded by honoring several generations of your departed in one single trip. It just takes starting with one very deep hole for the placement of the first departed one in the first coffin.

But my “Earth B&B” idea, rents the space for a coffin to be buried in. I think it is a great idea. The trouble is that I haven’t gotten to the next step, which is evicting one dead guest for the next to arrive.

But I’m working on it.

This is the most diabolical situation I’ve ever seen, heard or experienced. It is hard to believe that this is really happening. The state of communication is in terrible condition.

 Pay attention. Listen. Notice. People, our fellow human beings, are being phased out of every day-life. We humans are being replaced with machines in a frightening  way.

Blank space and electrically generated words have taken the place of warm, human voices. Inflections, which add color and tone to the human voice have been traded in for monotonic, outer space non-character, un-character sounds impersonating speech.

Voices have been replaced by computer responses, vocalized recordings and cold, impersonal messages, and this has been a cruel affront to me.

Whenever I spoke to operators or service staff professionals I always enjoyed making light comments and frivolous statements with them. They always told me that my calls lightened their day; added some humor to their jobs. I related to them as if they were human beings: not just empty voices without feelings.

But how can you crack a joke to a robot?

How can you kid around with a canned recording?

And how do you get an original response from a computer?

My first memory of change came on an elevator. I remember elevator men and women, working in department store elevators, asking what floor I wished to be taken to. I remember that human operator telling everyone in the elevator what merchandise could be found on what floor as we elevated up the floors.  They also were there to answer questions we customers may have had.

And a human voice once responded when you called the pharmacist with a question or request for a prescription.

Now the-phone delivers to your anxious ears the pre-recorded message asking which button you would like to be connected to. The switchboard is gone, along with human operators answering questions from fellow humans. Operators have been replaced with metal boxes that answer phones and answer the questions of callers in synthetic voices.

Even in emergencies such as storm related blackouts, the electric company challenges callers to report problems such as power failures, downed trees and cats stuck on high branches by responding to motorized, mechanical questions.

To get help may I report my emergency to a person? Of course not. Report emergencies to a computer. And be thankful that you don’t receive an electric shock in return. Is this progress? Is dehumanizing human contacts a good thing? Are we better off turning our communications over to cold, steel devices and pushing out into oblivion, people?

People once spoke to us, we, the clients. Who did we become?  An audience for sophisticated devices that need help adapting to make themselves compelling? And what is the next step; who or what will replace those automatons: Robot Calls?