"Invasion of the Bookworm"

Whenever I get the hankering to write something other than a grocery or to-do list, I'll typically scroll through the pictures I've taken of little mundane parts of my day. Things that give me pause or sometimes even make me catch my breath. I'll email a few to myself as a reminder to journal. Opening the laptop and trying to ignore the yellow sticky notes of reminders I've written, then pressing the power button, my screen lights up with a beautiful image of some sort; sometimes a landscape, or wildlife. I used to recognize some of the locations, but lately I don't recognize them at all. Are they taken with a much wider angle lens? Is this some remote place in the world that has yet to be discovered for commercial purposes? The skeptic in me whispers "I bet it's A.I.", and I quickly open the tab for my online blog and start dragging and dropping my pictures into a file.

I look at a few images I'd asked Chat gpt to create of a landscape for the west facing side of the addition to our cabin. It looked rather spectacular. But something about it left me feeling a bit hollow.

As a young mother, I'd frequent the public library, usually weekly. It was a respite for me and for my littles; something to look forward to and break up the sometimes mundaneness that occasionally crept in. I'd check out as many as were allowed, keeping careful count; the expense of a lost book always weighed out the bargain of a loaned out one. The kids and I would eat our lunch and then huddle up on the couch and read until nap time. I'd doze for a while on the couch for my fifteen-minute refresh and then browse through the gardening or home decor books I'd gotten for myself. Turning page after page, I soaked up ideas and day-dreamed of having my own patch of dirt someday to grow vegetables and flowers.

One year for my birthday, my mother bought me subscription to Sunset Magazine and Better Homes and Gardens. These magazines became worn out with countless dog-ears, to which eventually became torn out pages. I studied composting, square-foot gardening, pruning, and mulching. My father-in-law, who was the landlord of our little apartment, gave me a little patch of his own garden so I could plant a few things with the kids. I begged him to let me mow the lawn and to do the irrigation even if it came on in the middle of the night. I'd set my alarm and pull his galoshes on over my bare feet, take a flashlight and go turn the cover valve a few times till the water would come gushing out. The scent of the water pouring onto the dry Bermuda grass on a hot Arizona summer night was so satisfying to me. I'd sit on Grandpa Joe's lawn chair and watch the clock so I'd know when it was time to shut it off. Our next door neighbor Dean, would always come outside a few minutes early to be ready to tend to his own yard.

Dean was a grumpy little old man who lived with his very sweet little old mother Amy. He was her forever child and he took his lawn work very seriously. Dean didn't like if my children ventured over the long ridge of lawn that divided our two yards onto his side. If their baby dolls and blankets drifted too far over, he'd come outside and tell them in a gruff voice they needed to get back over to their side. I complained to my mother-in-law about his complaining about the children; I was annoyed but she was smart. She baked him a plate of cookies every week; and all I ever heard was that he told her he only ate one cookie each day so they would last the the whole week.

I've been going through bins and boxes of clothes, books, and housewares. I think I've taken my clothes down to about half with a commitment to not purchase anything else. Housewares? Same. Books? Wwwweeellll......I'm not making promises about that.

What does the future look like? Robots dropping off packages to the porches of our homes that we never have to leave? Packages containing clothes that we ordered online because we were influenced by an A.I. generated model with an other-worldly body and hair that we can look just like if we just purchase what she's selling and eat what she's eating (or not eating), and if we don't want to feel the human instinct of hunger we can just take a shot and make the feeling go away because we never can feel full on food that's been manufactured in a lab by scientists anyway. Our bellies can never feel full, but neither do our souls. Young adults hesitant, even afraid to reach out and meet one another. "Is he real?" "Does she do this just for likes and follows?" "Does he know how to connect?"

Data centers are popping up all over the place; in our suburbs and rural areas. To what end? I'm no techie and don't claim to know the importance of them. I suppose we should just trust the powers that be and assume there is no downside; but my trust has been broken. Over and over again.

My mother was not an organ doner on her drivers license. She was adamant in her position on that status. "But Mama! What if one your family members needed a kidney or something?!" "That's just my stance.", she'd say and I knew not to press further. But upon her passing the hospital apparently did not know to not press further. They kept questioning me, albeit ever so calmly and gently. I very much not so gently but very firmly told them, "My mother has made her decision, and so please do not ask me again."

Mama and I loved to watch scary movies together. 1978's "Invasion of the Body Snatchers", or "Coma". It was all seemed so other-worldly and impossible at the time, even campy.

First Lady of the United States Melania Trump recently hosted an event at the white house with an AI powered humanoid robot named Figure 03 at an event focused on education. They even gave the robot the insanely annoying vocal-fry. The approximately fifteen seconds I watched was enough to make me want to throw every electronic devise we own into the trash. But then how would I text or call my kids, or watch the hour by hour update on which country is warring with which, or how would I write this journal entry? I guess I could write with pen and paper; but I write in cursive and if my grandchildren ever wanted to read what I'd written they'd likely not be able to since cursive is no longer taught in schools. Why would they be taught cursive since, after all, the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution are written in cursive? And also how would I ask Siri what temperature it is outside? And most horrifyingly of all, an artificial womb has now been invented. Yes, yes....the premise is always so grand and with the best of intentions, but the pesky human factor takes hold and we're off to the races with babies not only being created in tubes but raised for their first nine months in them. Godless men and women, playing God. And the most vulnerable among us always will suffer for it.

I get angry about the state of the world sometimes. I am my mother's daughter. But I am also my father's daughter. Daddy didn't get worked up about things he had little to no control over. He kept his life very simple. He loved God, his wife, his children and grandchildren, he loved music and he really loved his books; typically reading two novels at a time.

I think I'm going to start searching for a manual type-writer to purchase. Do they even make them anymore? What about typewriter ribbon? Or how about an electric typewriter that had that little ball that bounced around with every finger stroke and typed the letters onto the paper? I'll have to start searching. Maybe I'll send smoke signals for a day or two before resorting to searching online.