Index Cards

According to Wiki,"An index card (or system card in Australian English) consists of heavy paper stock cut to standard size, used for recording and storing small amounts of discrete data. It was invented by Carl Linnaeus." Linnaeus,  being famous for his contributions to taxonomy, is rarely associated with his invention of the index card, a "revolutionary" invention for managing data. This fact was brought to my attention while I was web-surfing to see where I could purchase some special paper to use for printing some new greeting cards and invitations that I've designed, which I will be adding to eventually include in the store-front pages of my web-site via my Canon Pixma. I often get side-tracked when web-surfing and discover many facts I might not have known (or even care to know) when looking for information on the Internet. Regarding index cards, I knew about the"heavy paper stock being cut to standard size" and that index cards are "used for recording small amounts of discrete data," but I did not know they were invented by Carl Linnaeus — nor, I must confess, had I thought much about their origin.
I was first introduced to the index card in its "standard" white variety (not the pastels shown above) when I needed them for a research paper on Joseph Smith that I was doing in grade school. The lesson in school was not rooted in Smith's relationship to Mormon history, but was a lesson in the gathering of data (life before Google), and extrapolating pieces of salient and concise information, and then recording it onto index cards.


The topic had been chosen by the teacher (in those days kids were seen and not heard, as opposed to today when it often appears adults are seen and not heard). The task was  somewhat daunting for me because I had great difficulty keeping my handwriting within the confines of those ruled lines that appear on the cards. If you follow my blog, then you may recall that I am legally blind, so you might imagine that being sight challenged can make it difficult to adequately make use of index cards. My complaint about this was not accepted by my teacher, who gave me a very poor grade in penmanship, though she did acknowledge that I had excellent research skills. The nightmare of filling the space properly when using ruled index cards came again when I had to type information within those ruled lines to fulfill school assignments. For one thing, I had not mastered typing. In those days typing was taught — at least where I went to school — with the teacher placing text above the blackboard so that the students would not look down at the keys on the typewriter. My problem was that I could not see the text from where I sat, and I was put out in the hallway when I voiced my protests. I received a 'D minus-minus' that year for my efforts in "personal typing" and never did master putting  text on the ruled lines of an index card via handwriting, or typing either. To this day, I still type with one finger, and I look at the keyboard.




In terms of index cards, years and years after my grade school experiences I was faced with the "challenge" of writing my contact information on an index card. This time it was for a teacher in a voice-over class. It was a big class, and the teacher remarked how she needed to use this method in case she wanted to submit us for auditions and keep notes about us on the cards. In any event, I fulfilled the task by putting my information on the blank side of the index card. The instructor did not send me out in the hallway, and instead remarked that two people had given her information in this matter, a woman named Joan Copeland and myself, and, she saw this as a sign of creativity.

At the time I did not realize that Ms. Copeland was Arthur Miller's sister, even though I had met him at my audition for Death of a Salesman, as I mentioned in a previous post. In any event, besides having the class put their pertinent contact information on the index cards, the instructor wanted us to watch and tape television commercials so that we could learn the "rhythm" of voice-overs. I did not own a television at the time (nor do I now) so Ms. Copeland loaned me one of hers for the duration of the class, and while I never auditioned for a voice-over, I was healed of my FORIC (fear of ruled index cards).

Today, I've learned (via Science Daily) that Linnaeus' invention of the index card "marked a major shift in how eighteenth-century naturalists thought about the order of nature" and "the natural world was no longer ordered on a fixed, linear scale, but came to be seen as a map-like natural system of multiple affinities." Linnaeus liked the idea that his method allowed information to be "complemented and reshuffled" (today's joys of cutting and pasting), and it strikes me that such a mindset would not have insisted that handwriting remain on the ruled lines as my grade school teachers, did, but, like the voice-over teacher, would've marveled at one using the other side in an effort to record the necessary information.


I realize that this posting is apropos of nothing in terms of my blog's intent (laid out in the "About" box at the top-left corner) to discuss gardening and my work as a photo artist, but I found knowing Carl Linnaues's motive for inventing index cards interesting, which is reason enough to share it with you, dear reader, and perhaps you would be willing to share your memories of the index card with me.

Thoughts on Arthur Miller

On this sixth anniversary of Arthur Miller's death, I came across this disturbing article about his son, Daniel, whom, apparently Mr. Miller refused to acknowledge, because the son had Down's Syndrome. Having associated Arthur Miller with a reconciliation of sorts that I had with my father (referred to in a previous post), as a result of an audition (where I met Mr. Miller) that I had for a 1980s Broadway production of his play, Death of a Salesman, I was now sorry to hear of Miller's inability to enjoy his son, Daniel, because of his having Down's Syndrome. There was a time when a "well-meaning" aunt would tell me that my father did not want to be around me (he moved out of our family's house when I was a child) because I was a reminder of his failings. She was referring to (among other things) my having very poor eyesight — which he had too — and she "reassured" me that she was telling me this "to make me feel better," to which a friend said "tell your aunt if that is supposed to make you feel better, perhaps she should tell you something to make you feel worse."

A Lesson Learned from C. Michael Curtis: How the Apple Presentation Fared

Once upon a time, I wrote an article about a reconciliation of sorts that had happened with my father (he even sent me a card years later which I wrote about in a previous post), which was the result of what I'd learned when preparing for an audition that I had been selected to do by Dustin Hoffman, after I had met him in a chance encounter.
It was my first year (or was it my second?) of living in New York City. I had been waitressing during those years, but was thinking of becoming an actress. However, I had done very little towards realizing that goal, except to get head-shots. As it happened, one very early morning, Hoffman came into the coffee-shop where I was working, and I seized the opportunity, putting my head-shot inside his menu under the words "The Good Morning Special." This evidently moved Hoffman to ask me to audition with him for the 1980's Broadway production of Arthur Miller's Death of  Salesman, in which Hoffman played Willie Loman, the play's protagonist. The role I auditioned for was The Woman from Boston, whom Willie had had a fling with while on the road as a salesman. Coincidentally, my father was involved with another woman while married to my mother. Like Willie's son, Biff, I was devastated by it. Preparing for the role of "the other woman" offered me different perspectives and insights which led to an understanding about my father.

I had compared the play's characters with my family's in an article that I had submitted to The Atlantic Monthly, but I did not include the outcome of the audition. For me, the essence of my story was how a piece of literature and a chance meeting brought about an understanding. The Atlantic's editor, C. Michael Curtis wrote me a lovely letter and commented that I was a "nice writer," but told me that my reader would want to know if I got the part. (I had purposely left out certain details as I like the reader to be able to form his/her conclusions.) But, FYI, I did not get the role Dustin Hoffman asked me to read for, nor did The Atlantic Monthly publish my article. I have, to some extent, lived happily ever after. I now realize that some folks often want to know what happened in a variety of circumstances, and so in this post, I am following up on my notification (in a prior post) where I announced a presentation that I'd been selected to give at the Apple Store on 67th and Broadway. The photo posted above was taken (by Alan Metrick, an Apple trainer/greeter) at that event. It is of yours truly giving a site tour. You can see I am referring to a large screen. This is where my web-site, the on-line brochure, called The Last leaf Gardener was projected. I was very gratified to be one of four selected to make a presentation, and was particularly touched that one of the trainers, Cat Morris, came to the event since it took place after her working hours, and she has a big commute. Two of the presenters were from Apple's Fifth Avenue store, and a gentleman and myself, were the two selected from Apple's Broadway (at 67th Street) store.  It was fun to see my site on the big screen but, more importantly, it was a pleasure to be able to thank Apple for its wonderful programs and extraordinary trainers who were instrumental in the building of my on-line brochure web-site. The trainers are also mentioned in my on-line brochure web-site in the Acknowledgment Page.