The death of paper checks: a sentimental or historical read

One book of 20 paper checks now lasts me about a year. At one time, I blew through them at a rate for a book a month or more. How we pay and receive moola has certainly changed.

According to this morning’s newspaper, Target stores will no longer accept personal checks. Cash or card (or, I suppose, shoplifting) are the customer’s only options. I am glad to see that because usually the person ahead of me in the checkout lane is some old fart paying by check, carefully inscribing the date, pay to, numerical amount, written amount, description, and signature after a long search in their handbag for the checkbook itself. Me, I hand’m my debit card, collect my receipt, and, whoosh, I am headin’ for the parking lot.

I started using checks as a teenager back in the 1960s (I add the century since some people may think I am referring to the 1860s). Those were the days when one could simply reach for a blank check at the gas station counter. I don’t remember having checks with my name and address printed on them at the time. Checks were handy when it was close to payday and you needed gas. If you were careful, you could “float” a check knowing it would take a couple days to clear. If you were overdrawn, the penalty was like three bucks. 

As I became a more responsible adult, I started carrying my own checkbook, carefully recording each check - date, number, payee, and amount - and calculating the running amount remaining. Each month I would receive a statement from my bank, showing which checks and deposits had cleared and I could check my balance against what my checkbook showed. Easy peasy. My paychecks were actually physical checks, doled out each Friday afternoon. 

Of course in the bad old days, 90% of transactions were in cash - gas, groceries, clothes… Checks were written to pay the rent, car loan, and utilities. When writing a check, you could always ask to write it for ten bucks over the amount and get some cash back. 

Today? Hmmmm, I have finally started using my debit card to pay for even small purchases. The hundred smackers I get out of my ATM machine lasts a month, if not two. I use the tap feature on my cards so I don’t have to struggle finding the dark, hidden slot of the credit card reader. I suspect I will soon be simply paying using an app on my phone. (Are there already younger people standing in line behind me cursing that I take so long when using a card instead of my phone?) 

I can log on to my bank accounts - savings, checking, credit card - from my home office (my recliner) any time, as often as I wish. All my regular bills are automatically paid online as are my monthly donations to charities, club dues, and such. My children and grandchildren no longer get birthday checks from me, but Amazon e-gift cards or pre-paid VISA cards. I get an email each time my credit card or debit card is used to make a payment over a certain amount. When I get the rare paper check in the mail, I endorse it, take a photo of it with my phone, deposit the digital image, and tear up the paper copy.

So, Target, congratulations for keeping up with the times. Do, please, let me use my little plastic cards to pay until I figure out the banking app on my phone. I know that I am a grudging late adopter…

How busy is too busy?

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days.  Annie Dillard

A question I have been asking myself since I retired five years ago: Is it better to be too busy or not busy enough now that my days are my own? After 43 years of having much of my daily activity dictated by employers, finding a new balance of activity and leisure is somewhat tricky. I am asking myself this again after two weeks of what seems like non-stop activity.

Advice about pre-retirement planning tends to focus on finances. How much money do I need to retire in comfort and security? At what age would I receive maximum retirement benefits? What expenses can I reduce after I quit working? Should I downsize my home? 

I remember no questions like: How do you plan to fill your days when you no longer have to go into the office? What will give your life purpose and meaning? With whom are you going to socialize? How will you stay motivated? How will you prioritize your spending? How can you maintain your health? Will you have something to look forward to each day when you wake up? Will you have something to be proud of doing to think about as you go to bed each night. How do you find the right balance of activity and leisure, schedule and free time?

The graphic above is a screenshot of my Google calendar for the current week. It shows the volunteer rides I gave, Rotary meetings I attended, organized bike rides I participated in, my driving a senior living van for shoppers, training for a new volunteer role I am doing, trip planning calls I’ve made. It does not show my daily walks or regular workouts at the Y. 

Nor does it show the hours I cherish being able to read two newspapers each morning, play a few online games, and read interesting books. It does not reflect the time I get to spend with my friend Heidi and our meals together or our times watching movies or simply reading side by side. It does not reflect time spent grocery shopping, cooking, making the bed, or doing laundry. It doesn’t show time I’ve spent calling family members and friends. Nor does it reflect quiet times when I can put a few words down to later post on my blog, helping me remember the life I once lived and am living now. 

Early next week looks just as busy. Thank goodness there is a holiday toward the end of the week. We retirees need it.

The photographic explosion

Harbor on the island of Ven, Denmark

Taken on my most recent trip abroad, I uploaded 236 digital photos to storage. That averages out to about 20 pictures a day. And that is after weeding duplicates, poor shots, and “what the hell is that?” subjects. 

With the invention of digital photography, especially in cell phones, I find it difficult to determine whether I should take a photo of something or not. Who needs yet one more picture of the pyramids or the Statue of Liberty or a mountain valley? (My son takes a photo of every meal he eats, I think.) At what point do we have such a flood of personal photos available, they somehow dilute rather than enhance our memories? 

Back in the bad old days of my youth, one thought carefully about taking a picture with one’s Polaroid, Kodak, or Pentax since every shot cost money. You paid for the film, of course, but also the flash bulb (or cube), the processing, the printing and the album in which those shiny pieces of paper were organized and stored. Judging from my recent project of scanning old photo albums from the 70s, 80s, and 90s, I did not throw many photos away due to bad composition, lack of focus, or “what the hell is that?” subjects.

For whom do we take photos and why? I certainly love to bore people with my pictures and the presentations I make which incorporate them. Family photos comprise the calendar I create for my siblings, mother, and children. I throw a few pics in my blog posts from time to time. 

But perhaps more than anything, I take them for myself. To kindle warm fires of memory - of small children being held, of challenging adventures being accomplished, of a life being lived, both sweet and bittersweet. Somehow photographs prove one has actually been there, done that, got the shirt.

One photographer I admire is my friend Tim who lives in the Washington DC area. He fairly regularly posts his photos on his  blog, Assorted Stuff. He views photography as an art form and answered my query about why we take photos in this thoughtful email:

Your question about why we take so many photos is a good one, and lots of people I talk to can’t really answer it for themselves. "What do you do with all those images?" has been a major topic in the smartphone camera classes I’ve taught over the past five years. Most of my students (largely retirees) leave with some ideas to consider but no real solutions.

 For me, it’s a hobby, of course. But I still regularly reflect on why I enjoy it and where I want to take my photography next. I agree that the world probably doesn’t need another shot of an iconic site like the Statue. Which is why I try to find a perspective that is slightly different from what others might see.

I suspect that unless we are a recognized photographer like Ansel Adams or Annie Leibovitz our images will fade over generations. With some small curiosity I look at photos of my parents in their youth, my grandparents, and various relatives posed in dress clothes staring at the camera with serious looks on their faces, captured forever in black and white. Despite being insusceptible to deterioration like their print cousins, my digitals may well last long into the future. As long as there is power to the remote server on which they are held.

But perhaps we should paraphrase another question: If a photo exists, but there is no one to view it, does it matter?

Oh, a photo from my most recent restaurant meal…