Recalling a simpler, quieter time

BY JERRY LANE, LOS ANGELES TIMES

Does anybody write letters anymore? How long has it been since you received a written communication from a friend who had scrawled it with a pen on a piece of nice stationery and placed it in an envelope with a nice stamp affixed to it? Of course, I get e-mails — but it's not the same. It makes me wonder whether anyone can do more than fill out a check with all that penmanship exercise they went through.

Even my birthday greetings were received by my computer. I appreciate the fact that I was remembered, but the electronic good wishes leave me with a feeling that I was almost forgotten by a sender who didn't remember me until looking at their calendar on the anniversary of that all-important event.

Once upon a time, we sat at the kitchen table and wrote checks for all the bills that came in the mail. We needed nice pens and envelopes and stamps in those days. What are the companies that produced those supplies doing with their time now that so many people either pay by computer or have their banks deduct payments of recurring bills from their accounts? And how about stamps? I can remember specific issues that were almost too pretty to use. I am certain that the philatelists still line up for first-day issues, but what happens to the rest of each run? Has the post office cut back on the number of new stamps introduced each year? If not, how long does it take them to get rid of the stamps that used to disappear within months? Do they keep the unsold stamps in drawers until they are all sold, or can they send them back to whatever government office they came from?

Now that we send fewer pieces by "snail-mail," do we have fewer people handling mail than we used to have? Are we paying the mail handlers less these days? As the sage has said, "Inquiring minds want to know" these things.

It's been months since I received an unsolicited credit card from some bank in East Nowhere, and my reaction to that change is "how sweet it is." Of course, the mortgage companies have taken up the slack. They tell me they would be thrilled to refinance my home, quoting interest rates that sound pretty good to me. When I called them to ask some pointed questions, I learned that the company making the offer was located in a small Texas town that I had never heard of. I'm a bit skeptical about dealing with people who are too far away for me to drop in and talk.

I still receive an occasional offer to refinance my home, but now it comes by e-mail.

Not only do I receive refinancing offers on my computer, but I can get a college degree on the Internet or have all my prescriptions filled and shipped at prices that would stun my local pharmacist. And there are car dealers who insist they want my car. Unfortunately, I want it, too — and since possession is nine points of the law (according to Thomas Fuller), they are out of luck.

I don't like to brag, but I also receive all kinds of offers of things only hinted at by people who identify themselves as "Kim" and "Marcia" and "Teddi" who have pictures to share and maybe even friendly conversation. (See what you are missing when you aren't computer literate?)

I no longer receive telephone calls during the dinner hour. And no electronic gizmo talks to my answering machine either. When I bought my last telephone, I got one that blocks electronic messages — it just shuts off when it recognizes another machine trying to communicate. I am hoping it will turn off when it recognizes the canned messages that I find so annoying during political campaigns.

And now, to add insult to injury, someone is politicking for the creation of a cell-phone directory — a phone book that will list your cellular telephone numbers. I use my cellular phone only for emergencies. When I'm not using it, it is turned off. Although a change like this will not affect me, the principle annoys me. I keep seeing myself driving down the freeway when my cell phone rings — and I answer it, only to hear someone soliciting my help with a research project.

Life used to be a whole lot simpler when we didn't have all the luxuries that we enjoy today. It was a lot quieter, too.