Like many people, I don't like to admit when I'm wrong. I dislike it even more when I learn I'm wrong about something I have been vehemently opposing for quite some time.
Such is the case with online social sites and electronic communication.
For months I have been lamenting the fate of communication as more and more I see people texting, sending messages through instant messaging and communicating via email. "Where are the phone calls, the face to face conversations?" I'd ask.
I even went as far as to write a story on the fast fade of communication, thinking I'd find experts who agreed with me that before long, we'd be standing face to face with our partner, cell phones in hand, texting our "I love you's."
I was wrong -- but that's just the start of the "wrong" I don't like.
I did find one person who agreed with me that yes, the art of communication is quickly becoming lost. I found three others, however, who believed that the fact that people are communicating -- regardless of the mode -- is still a good thing.
OK, I can see that. It truly is a good thing that people are communicating and that we're finding many different ways to do so. Rather than oppose modern technology, I should embrace it as just one more way to keep in touch. After all, where would we be if people like me opposed the telephone as "too impersonal" and were successful in its demise?
Still, I couldn't get past the loss of the spoken word, the nuances of conversation, the meaning that is conveyed in tone and lost in the written or typed word.
Then along comes Facebook. And MySpace. And Twitter.
And my "A-ha!" moment.
I've got a Facebook profile I use daily for posting notes, keeping up with friends and even playing games. Through the games, I've entered into some friendly rivalries with co-workers, some of whom I'd shared little more than a friendly greeting in the hallway.
Now we find ourselves laughing about the latest results of the game (right now I'm winning -- not that I'm competitive!!) and gradually breaking into conversation about our families or interests. We're laughing in the hallways, chatting in front of the sinks in the bathroom or (gasp!) sending emails across the room, chiding the other about the latest score.
I get it now. All this modern technology and various communication really is a good thing. I won't say that I give up because to give up is to admit defeat.
With more options for communication, I think we all win.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Recovery
I know, in my heart, that things are going to get better in Cedar Rapids. Until that happens, however, it's going to be a long, emotional journey.
I got my first real glimpse at the flood-ravaged community last Saturday when I was covering a community clean-up day at the Mother Mosque of America. To get to the mosque from my newspaper's downtown office meant driving through the empty and desolate downtown, with many storefronts filled with broken windows and the sidewalks filled with soggy drywall and rotted furniture.
That part of the journey, however, only barely braced me for the second half: the mosque is located in the middle of the neighborhood that got hit first and, probably, worst. Driving through the streets, made one-lane by the Dumpsters, trucks and debris, was like driving through a war zone. House after house after house had not just a few belongings in the yard and curbside -- entire lives were stacked for all the world to see. Toys, furniture, clothing. A gas grill hung upside down in a tree in front of one home.
The city is filled with stories like this, streets still filled with remnants of what used to be. But it's also getting filled with more positive stories: a 14-year-old girl who moved from Cedar Rapids with her family two years ago and now lives in Tyler, Texas, started what she thought would be a small donation drive for things she and her siblings could drive back when they came to visit their father. The donations -- gathered over just two days -- instead filled two semi-trailer trucks.
One local bank, after learning that flood victims were being charged $2 each time they used their Red Cross ATM cards, found a way for the holders to access the funds without paying the fee.
Donation drop sites are actually making lists of things they no longer need, such as clothing, because the supply had been so great.
This is why I love Cedar Rapids, and this is why I believe, with all my heart, that the city will not only recover but will excel in its results.
I got my first real glimpse at the flood-ravaged community last Saturday when I was covering a community clean-up day at the Mother Mosque of America. To get to the mosque from my newspaper's downtown office meant driving through the empty and desolate downtown, with many storefronts filled with broken windows and the sidewalks filled with soggy drywall and rotted furniture.
That part of the journey, however, only barely braced me for the second half: the mosque is located in the middle of the neighborhood that got hit first and, probably, worst. Driving through the streets, made one-lane by the Dumpsters, trucks and debris, was like driving through a war zone. House after house after house had not just a few belongings in the yard and curbside -- entire lives were stacked for all the world to see. Toys, furniture, clothing. A gas grill hung upside down in a tree in front of one home.
The city is filled with stories like this, streets still filled with remnants of what used to be. But it's also getting filled with more positive stories: a 14-year-old girl who moved from Cedar Rapids with her family two years ago and now lives in Tyler, Texas, started what she thought would be a small donation drive for things she and her siblings could drive back when they came to visit their father. The donations -- gathered over just two days -- instead filled two semi-trailer trucks.
One local bank, after learning that flood victims were being charged $2 each time they used their Red Cross ATM cards, found a way for the holders to access the funds without paying the fee.
Donation drop sites are actually making lists of things they no longer need, such as clothing, because the supply had been so great.
This is why I love Cedar Rapids, and this is why I believe, with all my heart, that the city will not only recover but will excel in its results.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Guilt that comes with being safe
I am doing right now what more than 24,000 Cedar Rapidians can not do: I am sitting in my own living room, at my own computer drinking a glass of diet soda with my feet kicked up and writing a blog about how good it feels to be safe. I don't live in Cedar Rapids, I live in a small town outside city limits. I am safe from the rising Cedar River, the water shortage (how's that for irony?) and the power outages.
And I feel incredibly guilty.
People I care about can't get into their homes or businesses. They can't shower, or wash their clothes, and there's no real word on when that will change. People forced from their homes are sleeping on cots in school gymnasiums with hundreds of strangers just feet away.
And the city I've come to love as home in the short six years I've been here will never be the same.
One of the wonderful things about being a journalist is that while all the world around you is watching as news unfolds, you participate. You talk to officials who have the answers, you wade through the rising waters of the river as it begins its historic flood, you talk to families who have lost everything.
One of the hardest things about being a journalist is you're also human, with human emotion. It's hard to be sitting here, in my home, after having heard the stories I've been told this week.
One 35-year-old woman told about how angry she is with her father because he stayed in her childhood home too long and had to be rescued -- causing all the familybelongings to be lost.
"Those weren't just his things, they were our things. He shouldn't have made that decision on his own," she said. "I just hope I can find one picture, just one picture that can be cleaned and restored."
There was the 95-year-old man who had to be rescued from the second floor of his home because he refused to evacuate and leave his dog.
Another person, this time a close friend, two years ago acted on her dream and bought a specialty candy store in downtown Cedar Rapids. She took an already successful store and made it thrive. With the threat of flooding more than a dozen people showed up at the store to help her move all of her inventory to the fifth floor of the building into a cooled conference room.
By Thursday, June 12, the water from the Cedar River enveloped her corner store, just as it did dozens of other businesses downtown. Later that day, her son and his family lost their house.
Before the river had even reached its crest, city officials in Cedar Rapids issued a dire warning to all of the city: most of the city's water systems had been breached and the city was operating at 25 percent capacity. Water use had to be limited to washing hands -- only. The entire population was officially impacted by the Cedar River's epic flood.
And I feel incredibly guilty.
People I care about can't get into their homes or businesses. They can't shower, or wash their clothes, and there's no real word on when that will change. People forced from their homes are sleeping on cots in school gymnasiums with hundreds of strangers just feet away.
And the city I've come to love as home in the short six years I've been here will never be the same.
One of the wonderful things about being a journalist is that while all the world around you is watching as news unfolds, you participate. You talk to officials who have the answers, you wade through the rising waters of the river as it begins its historic flood, you talk to families who have lost everything.
One of the hardest things about being a journalist is you're also human, with human emotion. It's hard to be sitting here, in my home, after having heard the stories I've been told this week.
One 35-year-old woman told about how angry she is with her father because he stayed in her childhood home too long and had to be rescued -- causing all the familybelongings to be lost.
"Those weren't just his things, they were our things. He shouldn't have made that decision on his own," she said. "I just hope I can find one picture, just one picture that can be cleaned and restored."
There was the 95-year-old man who had to be rescued from the second floor of his home because he refused to evacuate and leave his dog.
Another person, this time a close friend, two years ago acted on her dream and bought a specialty candy store in downtown Cedar Rapids. She took an already successful store and made it thrive. With the threat of flooding more than a dozen people showed up at the store to help her move all of her inventory to the fifth floor of the building into a cooled conference room.
By Thursday, June 12, the water from the Cedar River enveloped her corner store, just as it did dozens of other businesses downtown. Later that day, her son and his family lost their house.
Before the river had even reached its crest, city officials in Cedar Rapids issued a dire warning to all of the city: most of the city's water systems had been breached and the city was operating at 25 percent capacity. Water use had to be limited to washing hands -- only. The entire population was officially impacted by the Cedar River's epic flood.
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