“In anticipation of the imminent Grand Reopening of America and in recognition that much healing, both of bodies and souls, must be accomplished in the coming years, the Luddite and Futuro Clubs wish to announce their joint operation going forward.”
Various names have been suggested by the membership of both clubs. Some are:
Fluff; Fury; Ludo; Chips; Futurity; Futility; and Future Luddites of America, but the decision was to simply keep both names united by a hyphen as in “The Luddite-Futuro Club.”
“Whew!” said Judy, the Luddite president. “Glad we finally got that announcement out. So much back and forth about it.”
“And micro-managing about the wording,” replied the Futuro president. “Not to mention which name should go first.”
“And how maybe we should call it a wedding.”
We both chuckled at that since the president of the Futuro Club is already my husband. He basically only started it so he could work on his computer in peace—away from me.
“Well, so now what?” he asked me.
“Now we convene a meeting of all the members of both clubs and celebrate.”
“On Zoom of course,” my husband added, “so the refreshments will be less than stellar.”
“Here’s the deal,” I announced to the screen full of members of both clubs. “To begin the healing we each have to voice what we most appreciate about the other club.”
“That will be a challenge after all this time,” said one of the Luddites.
“Maybe not,” I replied. “I suspect that I am not the only Luddite playing solitaire with actual cards who secretly wished I had an ‘Undo’ button like the one on the computer for when I’ve decided six moves later that I made a bad choice.”
“And I’m probably not the only Futuro,” said somebody else, “who’s been wishing I could cheat — just move one extra card! — but the software won’t let me.”
“I have a confession,” I said. “I’ve said terrible things about technology, but I must acknowledge here and now that I would have lost my mind if it weren’t for computers and the Internet. My Tuesday book club, my Friday night services, even family game night — all depended entirely on Zoom and technology. There are some things you just can’t do with pen and paper or even with telephone calls. Things like talking face to face with both kids in different cities at the same time. It was truly great that we could do that.”
“And for my part,” said my husband, “I am glad for the old-school books and games they have at the Luddite Club. When the power went out, we were ALL in the dark, and it was very nice to be able to play chess and read “Huckleberry Finn” by candlelight!”
“Can we talk about paper?” said one of the Luddites. “I just can’t keep up with all the boxes and bags that get delivered every single week. Even the Futuros have to admit that whatever you order by computer still comes packaged in paper and cardboard. We need an extra room just for all of it!”
“At least this country actually recycles paper,” said a Futuro. “God only knows what really happens to plastic even when you abide by all the rules.”
“I’m taking your complaint about paper a little personally,” I say to the Luddite. “I’ve been collapsing the boxes and putting them out on recycling day all through the pandemic.” At least I did it weekly after learning to wear gloves while I worked. Paper cuts from cardboard can really hurt.
“But you have at least 150 paper bags that Dad told us you’re hoarding in your back room.”
“Who let my son into this Zoom?” I ask.
“Mom, we’re club members!”
“Not that I ever noticed!”
“Of the Futuro Club! Dad brought us in to play computer games with him.”
“Oh, well. You needn’t worry about the paper bags. They’re all neatly folded up, they’re not hurting you. Besides it’s a shame to throw them away when maybe Stop & Shop could use them again.”
“I’ll call the store, Mom, and ask. But if they can’t take the bags back, you have to let me get rid of them some other way.”
“All right — but only in the interest of reopening America!”
