As I sit here, going back in time and recording it on a computer screen, I can still feel those delicious rivulets running down my chest and the crunch of that life saving ice in my mouth. I can still see those powerful, flashing brown arms and that wonderful smile on the iceman’s face.
The iceman has been replaced several times over by refrigerators that now can interact with their users, in addition to keeping the food precise temperatures. “Hello, I’m Icy, your refrigerator. Might I suggest you dispose of the sour cream? The “use by” date has expired. Thank you, and have a nice day.”
The dusty, unpaved streets gave way to interstate canyons. The old neighborhood, sad to report, is now close to a slum. Those kids, then hanging around the ice wagon, if they are alive, are now grandparents.
The “eras” pass more quickly now, each being hawked as bigger, better, faster. We seem to be going everywhere at once, albeit bigger, better and faster. Well, not so fast…have you flown commercially…lately?
I’m reminded of the story about the co-pilot seen coming out of the cockpit and sauntering down the aisle, obviously trying to convey “no problem” body language. When asked about the flight, he cautiously responded, “Well, I have good news…and bad news. The good news is that we have a tail wind and we’re making about 800 miles per hour speed over the ground.”
“What’s the bad news?” a passenger finally asked.
“The bad news,” and the co-pilot paused, “the bad news is that our compass is broken and we don’t the direction in which we are flying.”
Somehow, that sounds familiar…we are told our technological speed over the “ground” is ever faster, but do we have even a clue as to the directions in which we are going?
Bigger, faster, more “awesome,” perhaps, but better? I leave that up to you.
Why is it that I can’t remember much about the various refrigerators we have had over the years, or the succession of computers on my desk since the late 1980’s? But, why is it that the memory of our ice man’s smile, his warmth and kindness, the delicious stinging of the icy water dripping from that chunk of ice and running down my leg, and the fun we had in that old Camphor tree, are “good times” that I’ll take with me to the end?
Is there a “lesson” here? Perhaps it is to remember that the “good, better, best” of our lives is not measured by technologies, but rather by smiles, thoughtfulnesses, shared good times, Camphor trees…and a big chunk of ice in a dusty street provided by a thoughtful, generous black man on a hot Florida day.
© Tracy D. Connors 2015 All Rights Reserved