Lifelogging! Who knew?

After completing this weeks reading, I was reminded of my lack of tech/web/cyber-world knowledge (heck, I don’t even know what to call ‘it’, the ‘it’ that I lack!). I selected my University major at a very young age, probably around grade six or seven, when I decided I wanted to work in a Museum and therefore should take History and Art. I carried this academic and career choice forward through high school, where I quickly abandoned classes I saw as ‘unnecessary’. I turned my back on classes like Computer Science, Finite Mathematics, Physics and Chemistry, without much care, knowing, contrary to what my guidance counsellor told me, I did not need Grade 12 Physics to get into a History program! Looking back, I probably should have stuck it out with Computer Science - but really, who knew computers would become so indispensable? (… evidently, only me).

With my lack of computer knowledge I geared up for my second week of Digital History readings (which I printed out and highlighted the 'old' way). My conclusion after these readings - I am: annoyed with my lack of proficiency, gasping at other’s extreme expertise, left wanting to know more, and yet, craving my previous ignorance! The one reading that struck me as most noteworthy was Alec Wilkinson’s article, Remember This? A Project of Recording Everything we do in Life. Wilkinson explores Gordon Bell’s pioneering act of ‘lifelogging’. Gordon Bell, who works at Microsoft and is described by Wilkinson as “the Frank Lloyd Wright of Computers” (finally, a description I can relate to), is literally digitizing everything from his birth certificate, to random business cards, to personal family photos - all making up an extensive and massive personal archive (or a “raw archive” as Daniel Cohen would suggest in his article, Raw Archives and Hurricane Katrina). The main thought running through my head as I read more and more about this extensive archive, an archive that will live on for others to explore, was - what if they can’t access it? What is the purpose of a lifelog if it will be lost in the technological changes of the next five/ten/twenty years? This was explored in Wilkinson's article by Bell, who addressed his fears and anxieties over the loss of his lifelog. He questioned, “Will jpeg format still be in existence? Will Word 6 be readable?”

Well, will they? …

I thought about my own experiences with record keeping and archival sources, and initially thought – paper (!), it stands the test of time! I thought about my Grandma, who kept extensive diaries throughout her childhood, up into her late seventies. These acted as fascination primary documents for me in my childhood (before I even knew what a primary document was) and I often read them or had them read aloud to me. I had to hand it to my Grandma, her diaries - bound in leather, written in ink – were standing the test of time… well... except for the one box of diaries that had extensive water damage from the time the basement flooded at 21 Cluny, and (eek!) those few pages that I ripped out of one diary because I liked the drawings! As I started to think about the longevity of these diaries, I started to question: Is there anyway to really secure our artifacts? (A question perhaps I can explore in my Archiving course?) Maybe my Grandma’s diaries are as sensitive to time as Bell’s lifeblog?

Indeed, I am now left wondering - “what’s the point?” - a feeling I have had a few times this week (previously after reading Keith Jenkin’s What is history?). For me, I am still questioning, and although I haven’t come up with a ‘big picture’ answer, for now I will settle with this: The ‘point’ is to preserve information for the future and acknowledge that the more that is left about the past, to those in the future, the more they will be able to piece together different theories and ideas about life in 2007. If we can keep both digital and printed artifacts, certainly the people ‘of the future’ will find our articles, diaries, lifelogs, pictures, books, digital libraries, etc… The argument for information overload will creep up now (like David Talbot's argument about selection), but for me, isn't it better to have too much and avoid the fear of having too little? For Bell, without doubt, there will be someone as dedicated to computing in the future, as he is now, who will uncover ways to keep his lifelogging alive. For my Grandma’s diaries, well, they are out of the basement and have a new, dry home in Massachusetts!

(On a sidenote: According to my Grandma, WWII was a fantastic, never-ending party! She often talked of non-stop dancing, oodles of dates and lots of ice-skating! As a child, her diaries, mixed with my attachment to Kit Pearson novels (The Sky is Falling, Looking at the Moon, The Lights Go On Again), left me with a romanticized view of Canada during the World Wars. Today, this memory acts as a gentle reminder that I should always back up my personal knowledge and research with multiple accounts and interpretations of an event or time).

In the Shadows of Casa Loma: My Newest Weakness

Spadina House, located at 285 Spadina Road, has an uphill battle (yes, it’s located on a steep and eroding hill, but that’s not what I’m talking about). Spadina House is situated beside Casa Loma, one of Toronto’s most frequented tourists destinations, and while Casa Loma does mention Spadina House to its visitors, it often gets the cold shoulder from drive-by-tourists, adhering to a strict tour bus schedule.

Growing up in downtown Toronto, I probably visited Casa Loma approximately five times before the age of sixteen. From school trips, to winter galas, to weddings - it was a popular destination. Unfortunately, I did not discover Spadina House until my early twenties and even then, it took me months to enter. While training for the Toronto Marathon, I would run up and down the steps that led to Spadina House multiple times a week. One afternoon I finally decided, sweaty and out of breathe, to check the place out. To be completely and grossly unoriginal, ‘it was love at first sight’. My first trip through Spadina House uncovered a new, exciting and nerdy weakness for me: the Historic Home.

Spadina House energized me and gave me the surprising rush of being able to snoop through a neighbours’ private residence, while taking a trip back to the late 1800s and early 1900s! (I know I’m not alone with this 'snooping' excitement, as a fellow Public History student touched on this idea earlier in the week). On my first tour, I felt as if I had literally stepped inside a restricted household, where at any moment I would run into a family member and have to explain who I was and how I got in. This often led to a detailed inner-monologue and meticulous mental role-playing on my behalf, as I toured through the house. Maybe I could be Nana, the children’s playful nanny who flirts excessively with the chauffeur, but dates the butler? Or Nana, the severe and irritated cook who fumbles around in the root cellar only to find out that we are out of turnips and guests are arriving in two hours? Or Nana, the dependable gardener who tends to the Austin’s Palm Room and Orchard, but who occasionally takes samplings home to her personal garden? …

… but I digress …

My point was (I believe), visit the little museums, the ones lurking in the shadows and hiding behind stonewalls. For me, my first visit to Spadina led to a growing respect for historic homes and a volunteer opportunity with the Children’s Program at Spadina House. Eventually, it opened doors for me to become a Docent, teaching and exploring the house with other curious and excited guests, who were often surprised by what they found in the house beside Casa Loma!