Event Horizon?

My Dad turned 87 last week, my mother-in-law turned 90. While I could only talk to my dad on a video call due to distance, my in-laws held a large celebration.  We went away for the week, staying in a rental up in Yorkshire. It was a fabulous break.

These kind of events always make me think of the past - and I'm not referring to my last post about my dog. I think about when my dad was the same age as I am now. I think about time differences. Forty years ago doesn't feel that far back to me, but when my Dad was my age, forty years before was firmly in the 50s. Even when I was a kid, and he was in his mid-30s, WW2 was only 30 years in the past. A very different time.

Last week, I realised I have known people who were born in three different centuries. As a kid, I knew people who were born in the 1800s.  They say you can't put an old head on young shoulders, but I would love to see some of those people again, and ask questions about their lives. Even my Grandfather, who did tell me stories about his younger life.  I have so many more questions now, that will never be answered.

As I mentioned, 40 years ago doesn't feel that long ago to me. The 80s, a time when I was younger and my friends and I had a lot of fun. And because we don't notice gradual change, we forget how different everything was then.

Change continues, and it's getting faster and faster. Technology is developing faster than we can manage it. The singularity approaches, and we are so close to the event horizon - if we haven't passed it already.  apart from the spaceships and trips to other planets, this is the world I read of as a young reader. And I mean that both positively and negatively, depending on which book I was reading.

But I want the interstellar ships and to see other planets. Bring them on!

Our Own Exclusive Spheres.

As a teen, I remember spending hours perusing the racks in the record shop before handing over my saved money to purchase an album. Once home I would throw it onto the turntable as soon as I could, and sit and read the album notes. Anything, in fact, that was on the cover, the inner sleeve and even the copyright notices on the label.

The names seemed strange, exotic. Pink Floyd, for example, were Waters, Wright, Mason and Gilmour. There were no photos of the band, they didn't appear on Countdown (Australia's music programme), I didn't have any books about them - I simply had to imagine what they were like based on the music.

The same with Steeleye Span. The first of their albums I bought, Commoner's Crown, had pictures of little figurines, with their names alongside it. Vocals by Maddy Prior. I'd never heard the name Maddy before, and I must admit I imagined the band as living in some kind of medieval village as minstrels.

There was no internet, no way for a lad in the suburbs to learn more about these artists. I knew about the Beatles and the Stones from TV and books, but the libraries and shops I went to didn't have books about anything other than the most popular of bands.

I never dreamed that one day it would be possible to make contact with my heroes, or even to have conversations with them. We moved in orbits in our own exclusive spheres. These days, those spheres can touch.

Recently, I ended up having an online chat with one of my guitar heroes. A guy I listened to in High School, and loved. And when I started playing guitar, spent hours working out a couple of his riffs. And yet, all those years later, here I was having a chat as he shared a few little bits about the album I didn't know.

Also recently I had 'likes' and comments from another hero.  It is a strange, strange feeling when that happens.

The world is a smaller place, because of the internet, and our heroes are now within reach. Sometimes, it can be terrifying for them. We read of celebrities chased from Twitter or Facebook by a rampaging mob carrying metaphorical pitchforks and flaming torches. Some have had mental health problems following harassment by the public.

I just hope that I was respectful, and am extremely appreciative of the time given to me.