It seems as though the professed imminent demise of anything and everything that is real is demonstrating to be greatly exaggerated. By “real” I mean things you can hold, things you can put on a shelf, things that your grandchildren might find in a box that will prompt a conversation about a time before their time. By “things” I mean books, record albums, photographs…real things that aren’t stored in a “cloud” or any number of electronic storage locations.

Storage locations that we can conveniently access from anywhere, anytime, unless we can’t. There are a couple of certainties in life, an electronic device will experience a terminal error and cease to be viable, and we will eventually do the same. Of course those that prefer to frolic in the technological landscape will argue that this is precisely why back-up is necessary, and possibly back-up to the back-up.

We humans in the worldly landscape don’t have the luxury of a back-up when we experience a terminal error. When that occurs, chances are that the electronic devices and access to the back-up, to the back-up, to the back-up won’t be accessible to anyone but your recently non-backed-up expired self. No “things” for anyone to have and to hold in remembrance of your time here. Maybe that’s okay with you, maybe you don’t want to leave “things” in your wake after your wake, but I think most of us would like to be remembered occasionally…maybe even fondly.

In the last few years the sales of e-readers, such as Kindle, have declined and the sales of actual printed paper books has increased. There has also been a resurgence of record album production and sales, and dark rooms are seeing the light again as film photography and Polaroid make a comeback. Why? Why would we want to dig through stacks of record albums and poke around boring old bookstores?

After all, the little google machine in our pocket can handle all these chores, freeing up ample time for us to attend to more pressing matters, such as backing-up our back-up. The other day I was trying to remember what the source of our anger and frustration was in our day-to-day lives prior to computers and the avalanche of other technological gizmos? A bookmark falling out?

I’m not anti-technology. It would be hard for me to procrastinate to the level that I do if I had to write this column by hand and then mail it in for publication. However, I don’t believe I’ve ever so much as raised my voice at my notebook and pen, but my computer has been at the receiving end of several death threats and embarrassing outbursts.

All of this came to mind the other day when I was listening to a few albums that I’ve acquired from various family members over the years. I know who most of them belonged to because someone took the time to write their name on them many years ago. Because of this I know that my Great Grandma Lizzy Gins enjoyed listening to Connie Francis long before she knew she was going to be my Great Grandma. I couldn’t access a “cloud” for that information.

Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Elvis, etc. It’s enjoyable to listen to these records and think about all those that held and read the album cover while the music played. Now, I can do the same. A google machine can’t do that.