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Archive for the ‘Low Tech’ Category

Box o' Letters

If you were born before 1980, it’s likely you are writing in code.

That’s right. Cryptic code.

We have a young houseguest staying with us. She’s nineteen. I literally have t-shirts older than she. Needless to say, having her with us has been an education, on both sides.

The other day, she watched with fascination as I sat down with pen and paper and slowly, over the course of the day, wrote a letter, by hand.

The fact that my correspondent and I had never met didn’t seem to faze her–in this day of social media, it’s commonplace. Nor was the idea of sending a letter by snail mail particularly foreign; presumably she’s sent a bill payment or a birthday card in her lifetime. She was curious about the slowness of the process, that it took several sessions at the desk to complete a single letter, but that wasn’t the big issue.

No, what really puzzled her was something much more basic. (more…)

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1962 TR3B

I miss Erector Sets. I blame my car.

Pepper (or Peppah-Girl as my Hawaiian friends call her) came home last week and since then I’ve been somewhat…preoccupied. She was in the shop for a loooong, long time, but it was necessary. I let the pros fix all the critical issues (like steering and brakes and such) and left the small, non-crucial items for myself.

There are many things I like about this car, but one thing that pleases me most is her simplicity. Pepper is a decidedly low-tech vehicle. She has a tractor’s engine (seriously…the engine Triumph used was designed for tractors) and simple hydraulics for brake and clutch. The steering is unpowered, requiring a good deal of brute force to turn the wheels (especially when stopped). One part of the engine is actually made of glass, and parts of the body are supported by pieces of wood.

All this pleases me greatly.

It’s been a long time since I worked on a car. I never really got into the serious gear-head stuff like pistons and differentials and transmissions, but the things I was doing this weekend were well within my capabilities. I fixed some wiring, replaced dashboard knobs, installed a grab bar and lap belts, swapped the old locks for new ones I have keys for, and trouble-shot a tail light problem. These were all–even drilling holes for the lap belt anchors–pretty straightforward tasks and while I was working on these fixes, I felt like a kid again.

Growing up, one of my favorite toys was my Erector Set. The set I had wasn’t anything like today’s versions. Almost everything in it was made of metal, not plastic. It had actual nuts and bolts, not thumbscrews and snap-together pieces. The metal beams and angle brackets were somewhat sharp at the edges, the set had no specialized parts, and the instructions were basically just pictures of what you might want to build instead of step by step Ikea-esque pictograms. The biggest difference, though, was that you could build anything, not just the one or two things for which the set was designed.

And build anything, I did.

I built the cranes and helicopters pictured in the booklet. I built skyscraper superstructures with playing card walls. I built things that weren’t anything at all, but that pleased my eye or used every piece in the set (or both). The Erector Set of my youth taught me about load strength, cross- and angle-bracing, lock-nuts, pulleys, and a hundred other practical attributes of construction. Mostly, though, the set taught me not to be afraid of working with my hands. Later, with this grounding in the basics, I taught myself household repair, woodworking, cabinetry, watch repair, and yes, car maintenance.

So, this afternoon, as I disassemble Pepper’s door panels to gain access to the door locks, it will be like I’m back in the old house on Briarwood Drive, sitting cross-legged on the linoleum, playing.

k

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The simplicity and durability of the codex book is hard to match. A decidedly low-tech marvel by today’s standards, a book is still a nearly magical thing.

I have books in my house that are hundreds of years old. I have one was made in the early 1700s. That’s three centuries, my friend. And all of them still work.

The printed book has held many secrets. A lover’s note hidden between the leaves. Scribbled  marginalia penned by a previous owner. Messages constructed with the first letter of each physical page. Code keys built from characteristics of specific editions.

And here’s a new one. “Fore-Edge Paintings.” (more…)

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Back in grammar school, I did not tease girls. It was not my…not my…

Idiom, sir?

Yes, idiom. My idiom consisted of puppy-eyed longing from afar, followed by tragically romantic love notes, sometimes in conjunction with a back-channel whisper campaign extolling my many but unvaryingly abstract virtues. This engendered little more than epic disinterest, which I naturally interpreted as a sudden but inevitable betrayal, bringing on a mournful but grandiose suffering during which I would often carve my cruel beloved’s monogram into the sole of my boot so I could tromp her name into the dust with my every petulant step.

Others boys had other, more direct methods. Sitting in our rank and file desks, the girl who sat in front of such a boy was a constant target. If the girl had long hair and the boy was deft enough, he might tease out a single strand and–quietly, gently–tie that glossy thread around the body of a housefly he’d caught. Released, the fly would buzz up into the air, quickly reaching the limit of the strand. A clever boy could tie two, even three in place before releasing them to zip around her head like fighters around the mothership.

I don’t know if their methods worked better than mine. The desired culmination of this pre-teen proto-courtship ritual was never thoroughly clear to me. My personal goal (a kiss) was never achieved, but the other boys may have achieved theirs, hazy and conflicted though they were likely to be at that age.

What I do know is that at least one of those boys grew up and got a job at the Smithsonian Institution.

(more…)

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Misty MorningOur drive west to the ocean is quiet, the road hissing beneath our tires, the drizzle hiding the greater world around us. It is just us, the dashed stripe down the pavement, and the last vestiges of winter along the highway’s edge.

Washington is the Evergreen State, and it is always, ever, green; winter or summer, rain or sunshine, something is always green. In this season, it is the cedars, pines, firs, and spruce. They covered the hillsides and the slopes between us and the limits of the grey-misted world: tall, shaggy, dark green sentinels ranked in thick forest ranks, or short, stripling, pale green youngsters rising from the steaming refuse of clear-cut acreage. But not everything is green.

(more…)

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As I’ve often mentioned, I do not like single-taskers in my kitchen. In order for a single-tasker to remain in my kitchen it must:

  1. do its job very well
  2. take up a minimum of space
  3. be inexpensive

Today, I’ve got two of them. One was a gift from this past holiday season, and one is an old stand-by that has proven itself time and again. (more…)

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Ages ago, in a place and time long forgot, I acquired an old-school cheese lyre. It was, essentially, a Y-shaped piece of steel with a stiff wire across the opening. It did not have one of those roller bars that dictate the thickness of your slice of cheese; the makers assumed you were an adult, and could decide for yourself how thick you wanted your cheese, from wafer-thin to inch-thick hunk. It was a marvel of low-technology—a bent piece of steel with a wire—and it lasted nigh on twenty years.

Two years ago, it broke. Since then, I’ve been looking for another one, but it’s impossible. (more…)

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