I thought about mopping my kitchen floor over the Fourth of July. Don’t faint: I often do that–think about mopping the floor. I never get around to it for one reason or another. It always seems like an effort to fill a bucket for this job anyhow, since the kitchen floor isn’t much more than 6 x 3. Three swipes with the mop and I’m done. So if the job’s over as soon as you start, why go to the trouble of starting?
I did notice that the mop head was getting dusty, and thought about buying another. It’s one of those fancy mops where you can detach and throw away the old spongehead and replace it with a new one. I trotted around to a few grocery stores and hardware stores to look into the matter.
Ah, you guessed it, apple dumpling! The company which made my mop does not sell that kind of head any more. They have moved on to the New Improved Mopbus 5000 with a swifter slurp and a completely redesigned latch so you couldn’t fit this mophead on an old mop without duct tape and a gluegun.
I have a couple of different typewriters around the house; I think I can buy new ribbons for one of them. The computer that uses the big square floppy discs waits over in that corner. Maybe I should have hung onto the one that used audio cassettes. I still see those once in a while.
I just wanted to mention to those of you with electronic book devices that technology moves on. There are only a few minor compatibility issues if you use a book made of paper from fifty years ago: you need light, eyesight, and an ability to read the language. There’s no adapter to plug in, no battery which may become obsolete with the next new model, and, as last year’s Book Fair Co-Chair pointed out, no chance that someone at a terminal somewhere will decide, “Sorry, you can’t read that” and delete the words on the page.
So although I will be one of the first to consider that robot maid who will mop my floor, I wanted to take a moment to remind you of the joys of low technology. This has NOTHING to do with all those slide carousels I’ll be trying to sell this year.