Communication

In the blur that is my life, I've missed another posting day!

Once upon a time there was only sea mail to communicate with those in far flung corners of the world, so if one were to be two days late in posting a letter, one wouldn't be discovered. In the event that an economy was melting on one side of the earth, it would take months for the details to become clear on the other.

Life in the Antipodes was simple then, and venturing off our shores was literal, undertaken in an often arduous sea journey which itself took months to complete.

In those days, communications with one's far flung off-spring was simple and to the point. No one worried unduly, as long as a reply was received within a reasonable timeframe, and given the available modes of transportation, reasonable could be anything less than six months.

A letter would be dispatched and some months later, and a reassuring response would simply as if by some sort of magic, appear in one's letterbox.

Mothers had no need for concern. As there was no hope of receiving a logical reply in a timeframe which made any sense at all, instead of asking questions, they'd make statements: "I hope you are keeping warm enough." "Remember to eat lots of oranges", and so forth, and in doing so, subconsciously assured themselves that indeed all those things were being taken care of.

Sadly, with the advent of technology mothers worry endlessly. Reality is not in itself reassuring.

The video conversation is the worst culprit:

He didn't look at all well did he? Perhaps he's past the worst of it, or is he lying? Maybe it is serious?

Her hand transplant seems to be working well enough, although it would have been nice if they'd told us about the mistake and that she now has two right ones.

Was that a hospital bed they were calling from do you think?

Do you think we need to go and see if they are OK?

No.

Let's just write a long cheery letter filled with descriptions of blue skies and sunny beaches, and send it sea mail.