I’ve been crisscrossing a university campus this past week, lugging my three year old computer notebook and new Ipad through the expected heat of a midsummer in Iowa. Late adolescent bodies in tank tops and cargo pants stroll briskly by, with an occasional peasant skirt or strapless sundress to break the monotony of the college student uniform. There are others like me, (what used to be called, "non-traditional age students) here for a writer's workshop. Mostly women, we're empty nesters, career changers, people who use writing to process and communicate life experiences, people for whom words provide a gateway to a creative life.
Being on a college campus again renews my awareness of different generations and what our gifts to one another might be. As I struggle to master the complex security codes required to print a document, and to finesse my computer into participating in the university’s wi-fi system, I secure the help of young students close to the age of my eldest grandson. The young people are kind, patient, and for the most part, helpful. The early twenty something woman in the computer lab didn’t seem to mind guiding me repeatedly through the same basic operations I do easily on my own computer. And she seems to agree with me that the fancy updated version in the lab is some kind of overkill. The young man with the sweet smile and large dark eyes in the IT department treats me with respect, but not so my notebook computer. Though he gets it working, he warns me that since it's so old, it would probably need to be replaced soon.
