They Should Sell a Patch for That

They Should Sell a Patch for That

A couple of weeks ago, the unthinkable happened. We suffered an Internet outage. Our fast access turned no access for four full days and nights due to a “maintenance incident.” I maintained that it was a ploy on the part of my husband to get a few things done around here.

I work from home as a freelance writer. My fondness for the Internet is no secret. I love the fact that I can research anything and everything at any given hour.

Do bluebirds nest more than once per season? Yes! How do I know that? We have a pair in our front yard that have done so, but just to confirm, I can read all about it and look at photos at www.bluebirdnut.com.

What’s the name of the song with the lyrics that go “If you ever go across the sea to Ireland?” That would be “Galway Bay.” Found that at Lyrics Depot at www.lyricsdepot.com.

What’s the best price on an Xbox Live 360? Lost my breath at www.pricegrabber.com. We did buy one. When the Internet access was out, the 15-year-old son experienced Gears of War withdrawal so bad he actually showed up for dinner the first time I called him.

Without Internet at home, I discovered that I could get a week’s worth of housecleaning done in a couple of days. I could read one of the countless books that stand ready on the shelves. Meals were ready early. There was more lap time for dogs and talk time for kids and listening time for spouses. At the end of the day, I was bone tired, the house was in order and I craved email so badly, I developed a debilitating tic.

“I can get online at the library,” I told my husband. “Tomorrow, if we don’t have internet, I’m going to turn on, log in and drop out from 9 a.m. until 5:30 p.m. Wait. Tomorrow’s Thursday. They’re open until 7:30!”

He regarded me with open disgust while checking work email on his Blackberry. “McDonald’s has WiFi right now,” he mumbled.

We were parked at a booth sipping Diet Cokes and basking in the glow of a laptop in less than fifteen minutes.

“I didn’t know you could drive like that,” said my white-knuckled husband.

“I didn’t know that was a turn lane, honest,” I said as the energy flowed from my Web mail and into my trembling fingertips.

None too soon, our Internet access returned at home. I caught up on email, read articles from a half dozen newspapers and checked the price on tea in China. OK, not really, but I could have checked on literally anything. Somehow, it just wasn’t the same.

The dogs looked like they lost their best friend. The beds weren’t made and the dishes sat in the sink. Postal mail sat neglected on the kitchen table.

Instead of reading a piece on underwater basket weaving, I got up and got busy. It felt good to get things done. I had left so many things for later.

Cormac McCarthy called my name from the cover of “The Crossing,” the second of a trilogy I started reading offline to soften my Internet cravings. His “All the Pretty Horses” took me to Texas and Mexico and reminded me of why I love the language, the beauty of timeless writing.

Books were meant to be held, pages flipped in the afternoon sun. A scrap of paper as a bookmark assures an easy restart should the impulse to write or cook or visit a neighbor arise. No logging in or out required.

Some things are best enjoyed away from a computer monitor, but sudden withdrawal can be a bit harsh. Somebody should make a patch for that.

They say tragedy can bring out the best in people. Perhaps an Internet outage isn’t a true calamity, but it can feel like it when you rely on it too much. Like anything, too much of a good thing can be bad. At least, that’s what I tell the dogs after so much belly scratching. When you want information, it’s good to be able to Google it. But when you want to live, the best of life is definitely found offline.