I was listening to CBC’s “As it Happens” last night and they replayed an interview that focused on white nose syndrome, a commonly misunderstood disease that has affected over one million bats living in eastern Canada and the United States. I have read articles on this malady and the photos that inevitably accompany the piece are heartbreaking. I couldn’t listen to more than a couple minutes of the show because I felt as though my heart had been placed in a vice. In between deep breaths I kept repeating to myself, “those poor batties…those poor little batties.”
Sheesh – anyone who might have overheard me would probably have immediately written me off as “poor” and “batty” too.
But the crux of the matter is, I am very easily overwhelmed by things I read or hear about. It’s almost as if a temporary paralysis sets in, and I am unable to concentrate on anything else. Whatever “it” happens to be, completely derails me from my everyday mental and physical normalcy.
So, just as I cannot stand to listen about the untreatable ravaging of our little nocturnal flying friends, I also cannot get the image of my mother, sitting at her kitchen table, eating two massive pieces of toast, dancing to Maroon 5’s “Moves like Jagger” out of my head.
The difference being, of course, is that this image does not make my heart ache, but swell.
I should clarify however, she was not full on dancing – just shoulder-heavy, top half dancing, with quite a bit of arm movement thrown in for good measure. The kind of dancing you do when you’re sitting on transit and the BSE (best song EVER) comes onto your ipod and it’s taking everything in your being not to jump up and start breaking it down, because even though no one is sitting next to you and you have a good amount of room, and really, no one is looking, and certainly no one cares, and you think you might as well go for it, you really don’t want people to stare.
In trust, it was one of the most simple, beautiful and hilarious things I have ever seen. She had never heard the song before, and when it began to play on the radio she didn’t immediately react; my mother isn’t one to immediately burst into the shoulder swing. (Coincidentally, we were also listening to CBC – we don’t do much else in this family. Side note: I was having tea with a friend and I asked her if she ever listened to the station and she was like, “No, but my Dad does!” which only reinforced my belief that I may be aging prematurely.)
Anyways, there was mom, sitting, eating her toast, reading the Globe and Mail’s editorial cartoon, and as I’m watching her, I begin to see the song start to work its magic. The song itself isn’t revolutionary, but it’s darn catchy. It’s pretty hard to listen to it and not get a good foot tap going. So first, I notice a finger wag, then, a head nod. In no time, slowly but surely, and then WHAM! Shoulders shimmying for all of Canada.
Living so far away from my family members is hard. As much as I enjoy phone calls, skype chats and e-mails, nothing really can take the place of a face-to-face, in the flesh chin wag. If anything, as electronic means of communication get better and better, it seems to get harder and harder to maintain individual, in person relationships. (Also, is it just me, or to cross-Canada flight prices increase with each introduction of an iphone upgrade?)
This conceit is certainly not new, nor is it groundbreaking. That electronic media has usurped traditional forms of communication is a horse with a “flogged” tattoo on its hide.
The one thing I can, and do take to heart in knowing this, is that the things that make it okay for me to live so far away from my loved ones is not a machine with an operating system that will be obsolete in six months, but the images of a dancing mom, or a poker playing dad, or one sister that eats hot sauce on everything and another who always asks “do you love me?” before she crushes me in a hug.
I will choose a locket with two tiny photos sitting inside it, over an electronic picture frame any day.
Pragmatic addendum: these images that live inside of me are also excellent blinders for the times when I think that 5000km aren’t enough of a buffer between myself and these individuals (but this doesn’t happen all that often.)
In the mean time, I’m going to do a little dance. And since I’m not on transit, I’m going to give it. Because hot damn, can I move like Mick Jagger.