Wired
Linda
Therber
I
miss the sound of a screen door closing in soft reverberating
taps, in back-and-forth, ever-shortening intervals that end with
the world held back by a hook and eye bolt.
I miss that sound of yielding, of a hard wooden slap reduced to
a whispered tap, the resonance a little less dramatic, but no
less important.
I miss seeing the world through mesh marked by trails of candle
fly dust and messages soaped by goblins.
I miss the screen door's horizontal millwork where the preacher
slipped his calling card and the Watkins Man a brochure, where
a playmate tucked notes written in secret code.
I miss business conducted through wire with Bible sellers and
broom peddlers.
I miss the dull, flat, wooden knock signaling front porch deliveries:
laundry wrapped in a brown paper bundle, tied with twine; Sears
and Roebuck mail-order packages of taffeta dresses with velvet
sashes and patent leather shoes; Weekly Reader Book boxes packed
with Treasure Island, Heidi, and The Adventures
of Huckleberry Finn.
I miss hearing the one-man produce department rolling slowly down
the street, its truck bed covered with a makeshift tin roof where
a scale pan swayed to the call, "Market Man. Home Grown Tomatoes.
Fresh Corn Today.”
I miss the rattle and clatter of wagon wheels, syncopated clops
on blacktop; harness metal jangling counterpoint to soughing leather;
the pitch and yaw of a wagon drawn by a mule wearing a straw hat;
an old man in overalls and sport coat flicking the reins and calling,
"Rag Man. It's a Rag Man."
I miss wire-filtered songs of cardinals, bossy blue jays, mocking
bird mimics and aromas of wisteria, lilac, roses, and rain.
A glass door framed in aluminum replaced our screen door, and
we watched the world through the haze of our breathing. We stenciled
it with Glass Wax ornaments, wreaths, and candy canes, and Glass-Waxed
them away. We changed out winter curtains for spring ones and
replaced the door's glass with a screen panel that filtered sounds
and breezes and flower fragrances.
Updated and protected by a locking lever, we were still in touch
with the world, heard metal skates roll on asphalt and children
call "One, Two, Three, Red Light." But there were no
calls from the ragman or the market man, and the Watkins man didn't
stop by to sell liniment or vanilla anymore.
One day, we stopped changing curtains with the seasons and covered
windows with mini-blinds and thermal drapes. We took refuge behind
doors of iron-barred glass, posted warning signs in the yard,
turned keys in deadbolts, locked out the world, and locked ourselves
inside with battery-powered bird song and garden scented air-freshener.
Now, we enter codes on keypads, zap garage doors, punch buttons
to disarm and liberate a vehicle that talks to us on the way to
an electric-eyed superstore where no one talks to us while we
browse aisles filled with everything from apples to automobile
tires. We unpack our carts, self-scan our items, and pack our
own bags at a register that speaks but can’t listen.
I miss the sound of a screen door closing in soft reverberating
taps, in back-and-forth, ever-shortening intervals that end with
the world held back by a hook and eye bolt.
***
Linda
Therber has published in community and educational newsletters
and was a contributor to Helping Kids Learn Multi-Cultural
Concepts, A Handbook of Strategies. Her essay "Stocking
Up" appeared in Southwest Single Parents' Magazine,
and eighteen of her non-fiction pieces have appeared in The
Tennessean, “Nashville Eye.”
Linda
was born in Montgomery, Alabama, and grew up in suburban Middle
Tennessee. Fortunate enough to have spent some childhood days
on her grandparents' Tennessee farms, she experienced rural life
and heard family stories of bygone days. With that and twenty-nine
years of teaching in urban schools, she experienced diverse cultures,
discovered the nuances of language and behavior, and learned that
much is revealed in the unguarded moment and the unspoken word.
Add a fascination for what happens when words are strung together,
and the result may be creative non-fiction, fiction, or memoir.
Other
than writing, Linda’s interests include genealogical research
and oral history. She compiled a book of family history. In the
late 1980's, she worked on a neighborhood project for The Woodbine
Community Organization, recording oral histories, collecting historic
photographs, and researching the history of Old Mill Creek Baptist
Church, which led to restoration efforts of Mill Creek Cemetery.
©
Linda Therber