There is an ongoing dialogue between those who appreciate modern art and those who don’t. The detractors most commonly argue, “I could take a canvas and splatter it with paint like Jackson Pollack, or paint simplistic stripes of color like Barnett Newman, or paint an entire canvas white like Kazimir Malevich, and call it art.” Thus, diminishing the works’ merit, relative to the proposed ease in producing them.

The customary defense is, “But you didn’t.” Perhaps most noteworthy is that he or she didn’t do it first.

It is not the aesthetic significance that often justifies a modern painting’s value in the annals of art, but the creation or concept of something new. 

Given a malleable piece of wire, we could all form it into a paperclip.

But we weren’t the first to do so.

Annually, two tomes were delivered to my door: the White Pages and the Yellow Pages. I used each often in seeking a service or someone I needed to call. They were unwieldy yet invaluable. Finding a place for them, while living in a small apartment, was almost a chore. But I could not imagine living without them. Notes were made in the margins, some of which I needed to recopy before replacing them with the latest editions.

It never occurred to me that these staples, in virtually every American home, would slip into obsolescence. I also assumed other items, like phone booths and film, would be around forever.

Convenience plays a huge factor in replacing or updating objects, and advancements have unquestionably been made, but certain items seem less improved. If I do not place my hands precisely under the electronic faucets’ sensors in certain public restrooms, no water falls.

I am hoping the future will be tempered by those who discern the proven designs of old with the promise of the new.

I generally begin my letters with “Dear.”

If it is a business context, I use a formal “Dear Sir or Madam.” If I know the name of the person, I will begin the letter with a “Dear Ms. or Mr. So-and-so.” Of course with family and friends I use a first name and at times a “Hey” or “Hi”. For many years this convention has served me well.

Attending a writing workshop a short while ago, the teacher instructed us to address a letter to a particular publisher with, “Hi Dan.”

“Hi Dan?” I thought, “I don’t know him and he does not know me.” “Isn’t that extremely informal, perhaps even rude?” I inquired. “Not at all,” she breezily replied. “Besides, he will read the letter because he thinks that he knows you.” But what will he think of me when he discovers that he doesn’t know me at all? I thought, but dared not ask. And how many times will this undoubtedly intelligent man fall for the same ruse?

I have come to learn that this professor’s advise is not hers alone. Increasingly, I am noting a familiarity from strangers. People are addressing me in letters and on the phone using only my first name. It seems to be more and more the norm.

I will need to adjust, but for now my terms of address and my expectations for others are seemingly passé.