Is it live or is it Memorex?

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

About thirty years years ago a good friend called me and said she had just bought something I had to come see, and help her figure out. It turned out to be a TV video tape recorder. It was the BETA edition. For those of you who weren't around or don't remember, when digital video-tape recording first became available to the consumer for household use, there were two formats competing in the marketplace, VHS and BETA. VHS won ultimately, but it didn't matter that day. That thing was amazing, even if it was BETA. Television programs could be recorded even while everyone was at work. It was a God-send for the Days of Our Lives crowd. But that was not all. She had also bought a video tape camera, which was about the size of a microwave oven, and weighed about the same. But it was amazing. It was cool.

And it was obsolete within five years.

There are many ways that I index my memories, not the ones on video, but the ones in my head. It seems that one of the ways is association with popular technology.

I can put a date on an event from my early childhood based on whether the TV show I was watching was black and white or color. I will never forget the first time I saw the opening animated fireworks scene set off by Tinkerbell on Disney's Wonderful World of Color.

How I listened to music may be my best memory marker, because the technology became so much a part of the memories. Early on there was the static filled, interference distorted sound of AM top forty radio from WVOK or WSGN out of Birmingham in the daytime, or the cool sound of Chicago's WLS on a night with good atmospheric conditions as I rode around with my older siblings, or lay in bed at night worrying about the Tet offensive and the draft age that I was approaching in a few years. Then there was the miracle of eight track tapes. Any car was cool if it had an eight track tape player, even if much time and money was wasted extracting malfunctioned tapes that were eaten by the machine. And the music wasn't interrupted by news of the war, which was a real plus. The proper mode of receiving music was an important element of social status and social success, especially during the teen dating years. Some of those systems would drain a battery quicker than one might think, but that's a different memory and a different story. Then FM radio, which had always been around but dominated by elevator or classical music or public service announcements, suddenly became the platform for edgy rock, and everything changed. I was in college by then and the war was ending. Now my songs are on my computer and in my ipod, many of which are reminders of the people who shared the songs with me. I like that. These days relationships are shared through playlists. The health and rhythm of my heart, physically and emotionally, are dependent on them, as I jog along an actual road or negotiate the up and downs of the journey of life.

Now radio is for listening to the news while I drive.

Or take phones. Please. From rotary dial landlines to keypad phones, from party lines to private lines.

My first cellular phone was a bag phone. The transmitter was in a black vinyl purse like bag, with the cord running from the bag to the handset. It was about the size of a microwave and weighed about the same. I remember the first week or so that I had it making a call from somewhere in the backwoods of Kentucky and being absolutely amazed and relieved at being able to communicate with my office from such a remote place. Now I am not so sure. Despite the bulky bag, it was so cool. But my children and their friends still make fun of it fifteen years later.

Computers, DVR's, smarter phones, I-pads, satellite technology, embedded chips, time and memories sprint along.

I started thinking about this today because of the final flight of the space shuttle, the Atlantis being the particular craft that receives that historical honor. It was about the same time that my friend bought the Beta recorder that the space shuttle program got underway. That first launch created a bit of excitement from space enthusiasts hungry for the excitement of the space race of the sixties and seventies. But the efficiency of the system and the lack of a defined mission soon made the subsequent launches seem unnoteworthy, almost mundane. Very few of us could name astronauts as we could when the moon was our collective destiny, except for names like Christa McDuffie, the first teacher to take a space ride. Unfortunately that ride was on the Challenger in 1986.

It is unfortunate that for most of us, the most prominent memories of the space shuttle program will forever be the two horrible disasters. I remember a friend, in fact the same friend with the Beta recorder, calling and asking if I had seen the news. The Challenger had blown up shortly after launch. I hung up and turned on the TV. For the first few minutes the nation hung on to the ridiculous hope that somehow the passengers could escape. I don't believe the national psyche was ever the same after that shared tragedy. And then a few years later the Columbia basically disappeared on its way back to earth's atmosphere, exploding and burning like a meteor. I was riding with a friend to a meeting in Birmingham that Saturday morning when the news came on the radio. It was a quiet ride that I will never forget.

And now the last shuttle flight is in progress. If you are like me, since the Challenger and Columbia disasters I cannot shake a lingering fear for every mission. So I pray for their safe return.

But, like BETA and VHS, big tube televisions and rotary phones, bag cell phones and eight tracks, technology will move on and give us something else to replace the shuttle.

And new ways to mark our time.

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