Author: Cat Pleska

Essayist Misses the Old Ways Of Communicating

 

Athena!

I just found out that if I were a Greek goddess, I’d be Athena! A proud and insightful warrior.

Or if I’m not Athena, maybe I was a royal queen in ancient Egypt. And this is fascinating—it turns out my aura is blue! These revelations must mean something!

Just take a few, or fifty, Facebook quizzes and you, too, can learn just how fascinating you are. It’s easy. Answer a few inane questions such as what’s your favorite movie or actor and the answer is: you’re Marilyn Monroe or Ryan Gosling!

I wonder: what did we do with our time before Facebook quizzes? Go down the street to visit a neighbor, who might offer you a cup of coffee and a chat? Or work in the garden cutting fresh flowers for a sick friend?

No need to find pen and paper, or type a letter, then struggle to find an envelope and stamp, just to keep in touch. Do it Cyber quick and post on a Facebook feed: how u doin? Lol — smiley face.

Give me the days of porch sitting on a hot summer night, listening to the stories of relatives. Lengthy conversations in person let us know who we come from and how to be in the world. The value of learning how to be in deep, lengthy, face-to-face conversations is still priceless.

Not one of my family or friends ever thought I was Athena, but they loved me anyway. And they showed it by listening to me, really hearing what I had to say. And the touch of my grandmother’s hand on mine as I listened to her funny or sad stories reminded me I was a vital part of a family.

Social Media is a wonderful way I contact folks via Facebook (but not Twitter—I can’t say anything in 140 characters) or to read their blogs. For people who aren’t mobile or who live far away, it’s a blessing. But it is one degree of separation that seems to stretch forever.

 I fear we are forgetting how to be in one another’s proximity, like sitting in a coffee shop mirroring one another’s joy or sadness. And I know through teaching that the upcoming generation is facing increasing anxiety once placed amidst real people, not avatars.

I hope we find our way back to being in touch—real touch–like a hug, or a handshake, more and more. Podcast or Skype if it’s impossible to be together, but if it is, then let me know your true self, and you can know the real me. I’m not a super hero or a movie star, but I am a little like Athena, a bit insightful: because I wish you were here.

Cat Pleska lives in Scott Depot, West Virginia. She is a regular writer for Wonderful West Virginia magazine. She teaches English at West Virginia State University and is the director of the WVSU Writing Center.

Water, Water Everywhere

“I learned to take a bath in a tea cup!” I often chortled to anyone who would listen. A slight exaggeration, of course, but one time when I had been without water for 5 weeks, I learned to adapt, plus this important lesson: “I’ll never take water for granted again.”

It was the late 1970s and my husband and I lived a “back to the land” life, a strong national trend at that time. We had chosen a home situated at the end of a road at the top of a hill that needed much remodeling and repair. One winter sub-zero temperatures lasted for several days, followed by weeks of below freezing temperatures. Our basement heat was inadequate, and we went downstairs one morning to discover a forest of bizarrely twisted water pipes. They seemed to reach out from their valves as if seeking sustenance or begging for help. But it was a helpless feeling for us, as we had no money for a plumber.

My husband eventually replaced the pipes, but by that time I had learned to melt the plentiful snow for cooking, fill jugs of water at friends’ houses, and to prevail upon family for the occasional shower.

Recently in the western part of West Virginia thousands of people endured a week-long ban on water. During this crisis, emotions ran high. They still do. People commented the same thing I did years ago: never take water for granted. This time, we had water at our house, and I invited friends over to shower and wash clothes. It was not easy for some to show up, washcloth and towel in hand, and climb in someone else’s tub. Yet it strengthened our relationships as those of us fortunate enough to have water reached out to those who didn’t. We felt we had contributed to easing the crisis for some in a small way.

On a larger scale, our world is running out of potable water. When I visited Peru a few years ago, my guide told me that when new homes are built, they have to rent water from their neighbor’s well—only one hour a day. The norm for the foreseeable future is no newly dug wells.

Conservation and protective practices are ways to extend our time with safe, clear water sparkling over our hands and slaking our thirst. Trust is again an issue in the news, and just as my friends felt a sense of trust in order to bathe in my home, trust must be restored that the water we use is plentiful and healthy for consumption. We really don’t have much time remaining to make good water our reason for living—its very essence is why we thrive.

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