Hello, World. I’m back. It’s been a while. Here it is, the middle of February already in a brand-new year, and my Blog folder is empty. It’s not that I haven’t been writing. A few poems. A vast number of emails. Journal entries every day. It’s not that I haven’t poured out written opinions of current events, as the editors of the local newspaper will attest. Why have I neglected my most personal space in the universe of the written word? Perhaps it’s my fault in not generating more “traffic” to my blog, and not tuning in more intentionally to what my readers, if any, might say back to me. Except for a few kind and faithful friends who often post their acknowledgments, I have no idea who may be finding their way to this page or what they may be thinking. I suppose I could fix that with better advertising or the appropriate links. But why?

I’m writing now for one urgent reason: yesterday the internet connection in our house failed. About ten o’clock in the morning, signals on my computer screen told me something had gone wrong. Then began a scramble to figure out what, and how to fix it. That’s when the stark realization dawned that I’d lost track of the do-it-yourself protocol, the phone numbers, the passwords, the account information, and—most importantly, the internet connection!—that would assist me in finding the solution. [Word of advice: Update your records of those things right now, and keep them handy.] Eventually I was able to have a phone conversation, first with a polite robot with the voice of a movie hero, and then with a live, optimistic, and carefully scripted helper somewhere in Asia. A service call was arranged to take place in late afternoon or evening the same day. All I could do was…wait. Not my best ability.

The reality of being CUT OFF from the Internet ground into the day, hour after hour.

Now it is morning of the second day. Last night’s timely visit from the service person determined that a squirrel (damn their fuzzy little faces!) had probably chewed through an outdoor wire some 270 feet from the terminal in our house. The knowledgeable and efficient service guy could pinpoint the location via his instruments, but was unable to perform the fix, in the dark, by himself. So now…I wait, hopefully, for further assistance.

All this jabber serves to explain my discovery (already known, really) how utterly dependent, addicted, life-support-connected I have become to The Internet. It isn’t just the pandemic, which has isolated so many of us in our homes. I’m sure my dependency preceded that enforced hermitude. Each week, a pop-up box on my screen tells me how many hours I have spent in front of the screen, with an average up or down from the previous week. Would I feel less guilty about eight hours and six minutes spent reading a book? Why??

As of now, I actually have spent eight hours and six minutes (and more) reading a book and the latest Atlantic (the articles always too long to sit still for!) and some poetry. We watched a movie via DVD on our neglected tv, an amusing and worthwhile thing to do together, rather than bury our noses in our separate feeds from Netflix or Prime. I picked up what appeared to be important emails on my phone, and emailed friends to inform them of the reason for my “radio silence.” However, the tiny screen and tiny keyboard of the phone will never accommodate my capacity to reach out. So here I sit typing a blog post which will go nowhere until…the internet is recovered.

Maybe this cutting-off is actually a breakthrough. Of awareness. Of gratitude. Of patience—I need that lesson the most. Because you are reading this, thank you for you. We are clearly friends, and I’m happy to be part of your tribe as you are part of mine. Have a blessed day. And keep in touch.

And…here’s the service truck, parked at the curb. You are reading this because we got fixed. Whew.