Cellphones and ice-fishing

A funny thing happened on the way to the theatre last week. My daughter was home for Reading Week and we had tickets to a show at the Royal Alexandra Theatre in Toronto. We both got dressed up for our downtown mother-daughter date, and were on the QEW driving into the city when she got a text message from her room-mate, who had returned to her home near Thessalon for the week.

“What did she say?” I asked in my usual nosy-mom fashion.

“It’s —30 and she’s at her camp out on the lake ice-fishing,” my daughter replied, as if this were an everyday occurrence. As if maybe she and I could toss out a line on the way home after the show.

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it slightly surreal that one leggy blond 19-year-old student dressed to the nines and sitting in a car hurtling along a highway in southern Ontario can chat away with another leggy blond 19-year-old sitting beside a snow machine in the bush some 400 km away and bundled to her eyebrows in winter gear? Who knew that cellphones work at —30, or that you can get a signal in the middle of winter out on a frozen northern lake? I can’t even get a signal in Parry Sound in the middle of summer!

Personally, I love this ability to communicate, to keep in touch and know what’s going on. Even when we go to our island cottage, it takes me a few days to get over e-mail withdrawal. What about you?


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