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ATTACK OF THE TEENIE WEENIE ITSY BITSYS
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It is true, you young’uns. Many of us in my ancient generation still read newspapers.
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We actually pluck newspapers from the front yard or the corner newsstand, pop them open, examine them page by page.
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Then, we ruminate. We ponder. We return to certain sections of the paper and make sure we understand the information therein.
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Sometimes we tear out an article to share one-on-one with someone who might find it interesting. Once in a while we grab a marker and highlight passages or wisdoms worth re-reading, worth holding onto.
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Down all the years, when you young’uns are raking through the remains of my generation’s hoarded memories, you will find things like newspaper clippings, penciled notes on napkins, ticket stubs, dance cards, invitations, lined notepaper filled with obscure and private scrawlings, thoughts scribbled in book margins, comments deemed profound hidden between sales receipts, pocket-sized notepads with earth-shaking revelations, love letters tied together with holiday ribbon.
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And so on.
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You see, we elders have our own way of communicating and preserving our memories. Each itsy bitsy note is a physical object sporting its own texture, fragrance, its own fingerprint. Each teenie weenie epiphany is a small time capsule that cannot be virtualized and imprisoned hidden away within an invisible electric cloud.
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We old-time hoarders may seem puzzling to you young’uns, but we do know things you do not know, just as you know things we do not know.
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In our case, we know that an actual original physical object is worthy of preservation because it is there to remind of us of what happened when, what happened where, and what when and where felt like in the palm of a hand.
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The original, special feeling that resides within a handwritten note or a wrinkled clipping merely awaits the opportunity to jolt an old and lovely episode into sweet remembrance once again.
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No batteries necessary
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© 2017 A.D. by Jim Reed