Tech Diary | At Home with Tech

February 12, 2023

I Walked Out of my Childhood Home for the Last Time

I grew up in an apartment on the Upper East Side of New York City. It’s where my father and I posed for this fun picture that my mother took decades ago. This place held so many memories…

This past week, I closed down my father’s apartment, the same place where I grew up. When I shut his front door for very last time, the lock clicked with a painful finality. I will never walk in again.

He’s been gone for almost two months now, and I’ve been spending all of my spare time going through his belongings and clearing out his apartment.

I powered down his Verizon Internet modem and cancelled his phone number that was in place for almost six decades. It originally began with an ‘R’ and an ‘E’ (reflecting the word, ‘Regency’) instead of the corresponding numbers ‘7’ and ‘3.’ I can still remember how he used to proudly repeat the classic version of the numerical sequence, “My number is Regency 7…”

Last week, the movers came, and his furniture vanished. And then I finally walked into the moment I had been dreading for weeks. His place was entirely empty.

And then I had to shut the door.

Yes, it’s been a punishing few weeks.

Saving Memories
My father’s apartment was his castle. He filled it with objects and things that he loved. It was his own little museum.
My father seemingly drew energy from his home. I was influenced by that growing up. How could I not be?

In some ways, I approached clearing out his apartment like a type of evacuation. I searched urgently to uncover the most meaningful objects and photos to save.

But I think I wasn’t rescuing his belongings as much as trying to save my own memories.

It feels complicated.

A Child of the Building
Plus, I can’t help but accept the reality that I’ve also been struggling with the emotional loss of this Upper East Side Manhattan apartment that I grew up in and returned to across my entire life.

The 21-story apartment building and I were effectively born at the same time. My parents and baby Barrett were among the first to move in. And my dad was the last original resident.

I feel a type of cosmic connection to this place. I’m not talking only about the 15th floor apartment. I mean the entire building.

We grew up together. As a child on Halloween, I roamed its hallways each year with a small band of kids. I was there when the building was dark for 25 hours during the New York City blackout of 1977.
I have walked through its lobby with my father across the decades and two redesigns.

I am a forever child of the building.

And now, I am cast out.

I’m just beginning to deal with the loss of my father. Saying goodbye to his apartment is another blow.

I moved out decades ago, but I never really left.

My Mom’s Kitchen Pot
During the apartment clean out, I also ran across a number of my mother’s belongings, not to mention everything of hers still in the kitchen, which was her domain for over 40 years.

She’s been gone since 2006, and much of the kitchen froze in time from that point forward.

Recently, back home in Norwalk, my wife was cooking chickpeas and accidentally burned them, and the pot was ruined.

The next day, I found myself standing in my mom’s kitchen, and the perfect replacement pot appeared right in front of me.

It looked almost new, and it was, of course, spotless. Even with a light coating of dust, my mother’s pot still sparkled. And it called it me. So I stashed it away in the black transport bag I had.

After all of these years, my mom was seemingly still looking out for me. Still anticipating my every need. (Yes, she was always an over-protective Jewish mother.)

But I really appreciated this imagined effort…that somehow she was able to reach out across space and time with this loving gesture.

And as today is my birthday, I think I’ll extend out my psychological projection a little further.

Thank you, Mom for your birthday present. It’s perfect.

Goodbye
Yes, both my parents are now gone. And I’ve walked out of their apartment and the original center of my universe for the last time.

I’ve saved some meaningful items, a few pieces of furniture that my family and I will repurpose and lots of photos that need to be digitized.

If there’s any kind of silver lining to this grueling experience, it’s this: Perhaps I don’t have to entirely say goodbye to my childhood home. The memories of my life there continue to live inside of me.
And the photos I’ve retrieved will hopefully help to maintain the memories for generations to come.

Time to Move Forward
So now what? I’ve done a lot of doing. My back is sore, and I’m tired.

All of the physical work is finally done. I’ve returned home. I am present again.

It’s time to start some emotional healing.

I think that’s the best birthday gift I can give myself.

January 29, 2023

Are You Also an Adult Child of Paper Hoarders?

Saving your life’s paper trail may feel useful, but it actually promotes a life-long descent into disorganization. Here’s how to avoid that fate.

As I work to close down my father’s apartment now that he’s gone, I’ve had to go through literally decades of paperwork before disposing most of it. I’ve realized how critical it is to review everything, because every so often, I’ve found priceless paper artifacts hidden away in the mess. (My most recent find was a small portrait photo of my grandmother Rae from 1922 when she was young.)

Paper Trails Everywhere
Both my father and mother seemingly saved most every piece of paper that came into their apartment other than marketing mail and catalogues, though I uncovered some of those too. It was all loosely organized into many folders and stored away in different parts of their apartment. I think that simply reflected multiple decades of organization. Instead of consolidating and throwing away across time, a new file cabinet for storage was eventually curated until it became too large to handle. Rinse and repeat for the next decade.

Why all of this excess? I’m not quite sure, but I think it has something to do with having proof of transaction.

And I am an adult child of this paper-hoarding mentality. (Believe me, I’ve had my own struggles with this.) Not that my parents taught me specifically to save everything, but I know I’ve clearly picked up some of this irrational organization (though I must admit that laziness and other priorities are also part of the equation).

To be fair, though I save paperwork longer than I should, I do have a process to throw away the old, clearing up space for more incoming paper.

The Online Solution
Still, I have an unstoppable cycle of incoming paper. Who needs the mess in a digital world where most everything can be done online, such as online bill pay?

That solution is real progress for humanity right? And it works just fine.

Until it doesn’t.

Incorrect Bill-Reminder Email
I received an email this week from my wireless provider that informed me that I hadn’t paid my bill yet. What?!

This was a bill that I had set up for auto pay. (Yes, how digital of me.)

I looked at the email and wondered what could be wrong. Did my credit card expire? So, I logged in to my account and looked for my balance that was due.

It was zero (phew), and my credit card was just fine. There was also a little note documenting the recent auto pay.

All was normal, except for that email I received. (I reviewed the email address again to confirm it wasn’t spam. It wasn’t.)

Just a little glitch in the Matrix?

So now I’m left with a little less confidence in the system.

Trust your Bank Teller’s Math?
I suppose this little aberration is a good reminder that even though you shouldn’t save a physical copy of every transaction, you can’t give up total control either. There’s a balance to maintain.

Yes, you should to be able to trust our digital ecosystem.

Trust but verify.

I remember years ago when my bank stopped requiring its customers to submit deposit slips with their own math. That change was difficult for me, because I would have to trust that someone else’s math was correct. (Not that I still couldn’t do the math ahead of time and then compare it with the bank teller’s.)

That mistrust is another example of my parents’ view seeping out.

I eventually made my peace with this change. Plus I know there are other checks and balances in the banking process.

The Power of Paper
Sure, today’s digital world eliminates the need for most paper. But clearly, it’s not seamless. No, it’s not.

Still, I feel guilty admitting that I still like to receive certain bills in paper form, simply because I can leave them on my desk as a clear reminder to pay them.

Of course, there are any number of digital reminders that I could set up. But nothing beats the impact of a physical bill staring at me when I sit down at my home-office desk first thing in the morning with my cup of Joe.

Organize your Legacy
Yes, I am an adult child of paper hoarders. And if you were to take a look at a couple of my bins in our basement, you might wonder how much progress I’ve made.

But this experience has really opened my eyes. Having gone through my parents’ belonging, it’s been shocking to bear witness to such a paper trail. Literally.

I know that’s not the kind of legacy I want to leave behind.

I talk a lot about the importance of telling your own story. I haven’t really reflected on that in relationship to the concept of legacy.

I hope I have many years ahead to curate and slim down all of my stuff that may travel forward beyond me. But I clearly see this really needs to be a life-long endeavor.

It’s a lesson… I suppose the last lesson… that my parents have taught me.

It’s time to get organized.

January 22, 2023

I Found this Lost 1903 Letter from my Ancestor Harry

While going through my father’s belongings, I opened an old file box of papers to throw away. Instead, I found century-old letters that revealed the identities of my great-grandfather’s brothers.

There’s chaos in life. And there’s some inevitable chaos in death. At least that’s been my experience. With the recent passing of my father, I’ve been working hard to keep it all together, both emotionally and logistically.

One perspective my dad shared with me several times in recent years was that after he’s gone, there will be no one for me to talk with about the past. He was referring to his life story, but it also extended out to our larger family history.

Unfortunately many of those details are still not entirely clear to me. And it’s a punishing reality that the keys to that door of knowledge are lost forever.

Missing Pieces of the Past
It’s not like I didn’t try to understand my family history over the years. And yes, I asked my dad on numerous occasions. Sometimes I got different answers. I think that because he was fuzzy on some of the details.

So putting together my family history on my father’s side has always felt like a complex puzzle.

And now he’s gone.

There is Another
Fortunately, there are still ways for me to continue forward in my research.

Thankfully, there’s my first cousin. We’ve already talked a bit about this, and I intend to share my notes with her in the near future.

A few years back, I convinced my father to do a DNA cheek swab, and I signed him up for myheritage.com along with me. My Heritage is an online genealogy platform, which I’ve been using to try to fill in some of the blanks in my ancestry. It’s a slow process, but it’s a helpful tool.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve found some buried treasures of knowledge as I’ve gone through his New York City apartment. For example, I found two letters to my great-grandfather Isaac from his brothers.

One is from 1903 and the other from 1909. I never knew for sure what their names were. Now, I do. They were Gustave, Harry and Julius.

The 1903 Letter
Here’s Harry’s letter to Isaac and his wife when Harry was away in the Catskills during the summer of 1903.
I love his line about giving a 100 kisses to the “little peppie” who just turned one. That was my grandfather’s sister Nora.

I can’t believe I found this amazing sliver from the past from an ancestor who’s name I didn’t even know. That’s priceless.

Building my Digital Archive
Those letters contain casual correspondence. But they were saved by my great-grandfather, passed on and stashed away by my grandfather, and then transferred and forgotten for almost five decades by my father. (Perhaps my dad never even knew he had them. They might have just come in with some other random paperwork from my grandfather after he died.)

This sounds crazy, right? The irony is even with all of the neglect and disorganization, those letters survived for over a century.

Now, I’ve got them.

Of course, I immediately digitized the letters. And then I uploaded them to a cloud folder.

They’ve joined my online family archive. I’ve been building it slowly across the years, but now I feel this huge need to accelerate my efforts.

I’ve talked about digitizing my family’s old photo albums. And I recently begun digitizing some of my father’s analog slides. I’ll also add many of those images to my online family archive.

Trying to Finish the Job that Nobody Really Started
It doesn’t take a psych major to know that my organizing behavior is being driven by my sense of loss. It’s an effort to replace what is gone forever.

But while I’ll never be able to talk with my parents again, there is certainly an independent value to completing a family’s history… as best one can.

And that’s what I’m doing.

When I’m finally done, I’ll focus on how to best preserve it, so the knowledge can be carried forward into the future.

The Challenge of Preserving for the Future
While digital organization is great, I can’t help but wonder how well hard drives and uploaded content in cloud services will withstand the ravages of time.

I think I’ll likely create an analog version (book?) that could make it to the next century in the back of another closet. I’ll also pass forward the original photos and letters that I’ve carefully placed in Print File archival sheet preservers.

And if you’re a descendent of mine reading these words in the 22nd century or beyond… and if you haven’t found the archival preservers or my family history book yet, but you’ve uncovered random pictures of my son as a twelve-year-old boy holding an unidentified cat… that was his pet. The cat’s name?

Zane.

You’re welcome.

Category: Tech Diary

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