The Medium is the Message
I am communicating almost exclusively via text message
with Janie, having seen her again in Cleveland on what happened to be my
birthday more than 2 months ago. She and I attended our senior prom together in
1974 (48 years ago). She joined me (and my brother Dan) for diner at The Pier W
restaurant overlooking Lake Erie. The reservation is late, due to my flight in
from Saint Louis. Dan’s wife Annette had to work a shift and was unable to join
us. She is a nurse. I am tickled that Janie agreed to meet for diner. It was as
if no time had passed at all.
Janie is everything she always was. She is a bit
guarded but she sparkles in the low light of the outdoor waiting area
overlooking the Lake. She smiles easily. We hugged before our table is ready.
The Cleveland skyline is in the distance as we enjoyed our meal near the
window. The conversation is largely dominated by me. I came armed with index
cards designed to get some answers from the woman. In my way of thinking, time
is of the essence. She told me she was divorced three years ago at one of those
sort of contrived High School reunions. I only have a sketchy idea about
details of her four children and five grandchildren. I noticed early on that
she didn’t really want to focus on my iPhone images of my amazing two children
and my wonderful two grandchildren. I get it. The family stories and pics are fun but you cannot make up for lost time this way. She did warm up, however, to the gamesmanship of
the prepared interview questions on my list. It’s good fun because most of the
questions are either trivia or subject to our collective memories. The real
purpose, perhaps, is just to get reacquainted for what it might be worth.
Dan was a good sport, sensing correctly that I just
really wanted to take advantage of this short window of time with Janie before
I filled the balance of the weekend with the Cleveland Museum of Art, Dan’s
travelogue of Lakewood haunts, and the St. Luke grade school (1-8) reunion which kicked off with a 4:30 Mass followed by festivities at the school Gymnasium.
So the texting becomes the way for Janie and I to keep
talking (sort of). It is apparent that the nuances of communication without
regard to punctuation, sentence structure, and subject to fumbling thumbs and
auto-correct is gonna be flawed at best. But I kinda love it nevertheless.
We text about the weather. We text about art. We text
about movies and theater. We text about family and all in all we’ve covered a
lot of ground in staggered exchanges that may be choppy, disjoined and a kind
of shorthand.
ABOVE: Rothko Painting at Saint Louis Art Museum
BELOW: Snail-mail card (front and inside) for Janie mailed in July 2022 commemorating the flavor/flaws of our textmessaging.
