Bubbe - Refusal to Adapt - Cultural Relic and Master Technophobe

At my father's funeral I read a very meaningful Hebrew poem by the Israeli poet,  Zelda, Every person has a Name:

Zelda Everyone Has a Name Everyone has a name given to him by God and given to him by his parents Everyone has a name given to him by his stature and the way he smiles and given to him by his clothing Everyone has a name given to him by the mountains and given to him by his walls Everyone has a name given to him by the stars and given to him by his neighbors Everyone has a name given to him by his sins and given to him by his longing Everyone has a name given to him by his enemies and given to him by his love Everyone has a name given to him by his feasts and given to him by his work Everyone has a name given to him by the seasons and given to him by his blindness Everyone has a name given to him by the sea and given to him by his death. (Translated from Hebrew by Marcia Falk, quoted from "Generations of the Holocaust" by Bergmann and Jugovy) Like Madonna, Cher and Prince, for the last 30 or so years, my mother was known by one name: Bubbe. I stopped calling her mom and called her Bubbe, my friends and my kids' friends knew her as Bubbe, and while many people knew her as Ruth or Ruthie, for me, it was always Bub or Bubbe. Like Jeff Foxworthy's definition of a Redneck, my mother lived her life in with a delightful and amusing lack of sophistication regarding all things technological.  As if society stopped all forms of creation and innovation after about 1956.  It's not that my mother was ignorant of technology - she both denied and refused to be bothered by any tool other than a television with a screen, and certainly nothing with a keypad or touch pad. This led to many situations and stories about my mother's interaction with both technology and the people who use it.  While my friends' parents were using smartphones, and Kindles and joining Facebook to keep up with the lives of their children and grandchildren, my mother wanted letters mailed with printed photos inside, and always wanted to know how we each knew what our siblings, nieces and nephews were doing if she hadn't told us yet. I'm not sure how far back I want to go - sometime in the early-to-mid-eighties we bought my parents an all-in-one stereo with phonograph, cassette and AM/FM Stereo Radio (it was new then, but everyone under 30 is thinking, "WTF, did Steve deliver it to them in his Model T?").  I showed Bubbe how to use it maybe 10 times.  She could play records on it, but nothing else (her parents had a hand cranked Victrola - my Aunt Wilma may still have it).  Every once in a while, when they were still in Silver Spring I would go over so she could listen to newer music on a cassette; that's just to warm you up. In the 80's, we got our first computer with a dial up modem, and since Judy was expected to log on from home, we decided to get a second telephone landline (again, WTF Steve, did the installer come over on his dinosaur like the Flintstones?).  We bought a couple of two line phones in our house (yes, we can and did put people on hold, and yes we did swap out the computer with a fax machine every so often). With two phone lines it was easy to do three way calling.  I don't remember what the issues was, but one day I was speaking with my sister and we decided to conference in Bubbe - I was in Maryland, Debbie was in New York and I guess my mother was in Wilmington.  You've never heard such a confused person in your whole life.  "Steve where are you?"   "At home in Maryland." "And Debbie's in Maryland?" "No, She's in New York." "So if Debbie is in New York, how is she on the phone in Maryland?" "Debbie's not on the phone in Maryland, she's on the phone in NY.  I called Debbie on one line, and then I called you on the other, and the phone can put the two calls together into one call." "I don't understand, I'm hanging up." as if we were involved in some kind of sorcery or devil worship, and she wanted no part of it. If only my mother didn't understand three way calling, Dayenu. My paternal grandparents lived in North Miami Beach, and they died about 11 weeks apart.  My father, an only child, went down to clean out the condo and consign the furniture, etc.  He came home with a few pieces of silver and my grandparents' various televisions in my Grandfather's 2nd hand 1974 Plymouth Fury (think about a car that would need one of those OVERSIZED LOAD signs on the highway).  As my father carried the TV's into their house in Wilmington, my mother, who could be critical of an angel of God, said with derision, "Bob, why did you bring those televisions here?  They only get Florida stations!" meaning when she went to watch her shows while visiting in Florida, nothing was ever on the "right" channel.  That was Bubbe. My mother and I went to college at about the same time and we finished with our respective graduate degrees (My JD and her MSW) at just about the same time.  By my count, she spent a total of about 10 years between her AA, BSW and MSW while I did my BA and JD in about 8 (I worked for a year in between).  She finished at age 51. We had a lot of time to talk about papers and reading.  Thankfully, she had an MSW/LCSW (my dad) in the house as her private tutor.  But in college she learned to "like the gays" as she would say and at least had to appear to have a pretense of being tolerant of people who were different from her (which was a real effort for her).  She did like hanging out with her younger classmates, though I don't recall her staying in touch with any. So what's in a name?  When I think of Bubbe, these are the stories that make me smile.

זלדה לכל איש יש שם לכל איש יש שם  שנתן לו אלוהים ונתנו לו אביו ואמו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו קומתו ואופן חיוכו ונתן לו האריג לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו ההרים ונתנו לו כתליו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו המזלות ונתנו לו שכניו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו חטאיו ונתנה לו כמיהתו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו שונאיו ונתנה לו אהבתו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו חגיו ונתנה לו מלאכתו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו עונות השנה ונתן לו עיוורונו לכל איש יש שם שנתן לו הים ונתן לו מותו.