CCD

They're calling it CCD - colony collapse disorder. I am referring to the mysterious disappearance of bees from their hives. German scientists have linked the cause of the bees' demise to cell phone radiation that interferes with the bees' ability to communicate with each other. They become disorientated and are unable to find their way home. This is just one more reason I am anti-cell phone for anything other than urgent communication. I confess that I do have a cell phone and it's usually turned off or lying in the bottom of my purse with a dead battery. I still somehow manage to live a relatively normal life without relying heavily upon it. Oh, I know. Some of you are rolling your eyes but do we really have to be accessible all the time? In our cars, at work, at school, while we eat in restaurants and my pet peeve - in the grocery store! And don't even get me started on Blackberries and those phones that take pictures and download videos and whatnot! Growing up on a farm in northern Manitoba way back in the day, my dad would have had to go to a neighbor's house to use the phone if he had a breakdown and perhaps needed a part from town. He may have even needed to wait until the phone was free as we were all on party lines back then. Certain neighbors had a propensity for long winded conversations about what was on sale at the Co-op store and how Mr. Hart at the post office charged too much for stamps the other day. You could interrupt these kind of conversations but there was an unspoken protocol that was innate to rural residents. Furthermore, an interruption was always listened in on and an interruption to order a tractor part would have been a week long source of gossip and consternation. No matter. That meant there was time for a cup of instant coffee and a quick visit with the neighbor. Dad didn't call my mom just to chat or to say he'd be home for lunch in half an hour. They used to look at their watches and Mom would start cooking when she figured Dad would be home and Dad would start heading home when he figured Mom had lunch ready. Nine times out of ten, things worked out. I clearly remember when things went "high tech" and Dad installed CB radios at home, in the truck and in several select pieces of equipment. The one in the house was called "Base" but Dad and the hired men came up with their own radio names or handles. I wanted a handle too, something catchy and unique, but Dad said we kids were not allowed on the radios. They were strictly for work and not for goofing around, as he put it.

So, I wonder how we moved so far away from the necessity of communication to the point where we have lost our manners and now we're messing with Mother Nature. Times they are a-changin'...and I'm not sure I like it.