Our department’s email system crashed on Thursday. “Crashed” is probably too gentle of a word. More like “obliterated itself.” We were suddenly separated from the rest of humankind. Unable to send or receive. Bereft of the ability to “mark as read.” Prevented from updating a calendar. Cut off from our contact lists.

It was nothing short of a return to the Dark Ages.

Friday was equally dismal. I moped through some projects. Tried to do some writing. Pretended to be creative on a task or two. But all the while I was jonesin’ for an email fix. What was the rest of the world doing, I wondered. What profoundly important messages were evaporating in the ether? What if I was being blind cc’d and not knowing it?

Saturday was no better. I woke up, grabbed my Treo (I know…ancient technology) from the nightstand, and hit the “send/receive” menu. The little arrows spun and spun, but eventually conceded defeat. No connection. No connection! It’s like being told I didn’t exist!

And then somewhere Sunday morning I realized: Technology was ruling my life. I had been seduced by the siren of software — that singular song that insidiously insists one’s importance is measured in the volume of email one receives. And in one’s ability to be in constant contact…just in case.

I thought back to a time not so very long ago (okay, not so long ago for those of us who measure life in multiple decades) and wondered how we had ever managed to communicate without email. Picking up the phone seemed so 20th Century. And actually getting up from my desk and walking to a colleague’s office??? Well, I might as well be dragging a club behind me and talking in grunts and gestures.

But that’s where we’re at today. No, not grunts and gestures — but actual face-to-face conversations, or resorting to a phone dialogue that allows me to talk with a friend before launching into a tightly worded request or response. I can actually say “By the way” or laugh out loud without resorting to BTW or LOL. I’m discovering all over again the nuance of vocalization. Amazing! I don’t have to add a ridiculous emoticon when I actually talk with someone because she can tell when I’m joking or angry or teasing.

So will I give up the technology when OIT rescues our failed servers later this week? Sorry, but not a chance. This is, after all, the 21st Century and I am still seduced by the siren’s spell.

Somewhere among answering some e-mail, reading the NY Times online, organizing my digital photos from the Singers’ European tour, and working on a short story for my nieces, it occurred to me: riding the bus to campus is a sweet deal.

I live north of the city in one of the suburbs that used to be fruit orchards and dairy farms until developers snapped up the land and turned sleepy pioneer settlements into a vast expanse of stuccoed houses. Don’t get me wrong; I like living there. It’s a great place to raise a family (even though my nest is now empty). But living there requires a 35-minute commute when I drive to campus, or an hour commute when I ride the bus. Each way. Every day.

The drive often drives me crazy. Actually, other drivers drive me crazy. So riding the bus is a sweet reprieve from cursing everyone around me for 35 minutes. Instead, I settle into my seat (always the starboard side, to avoid the sun) and let the bus driver put up with the idiots on the road. For me, it’s an easy commute. The 455 picks me up a block from my house, and drops me off 60-minutes later a block from my office on campus. It’s almost like having a chauffeur…that I share with 40 other people.

And I’ve come to realize this: The bus ride takes longer, but it’s all useable time. I can read, or handle e-mail, or do some work on my laptop, or listen to a podcast, or (my personal favorite) take a nap. When I drive, all I can do is drive. (Okay, I can listen to the podcast…but it’s hard to focus on the speaker when I’m yelling at the other drivers on the road, many of whom seem to be napping.)

There’s also the unmeasurable benefit of connecting with other humans, however transitory and vicarious that might be. I’ve eavesdropped on conversations that vary from fascinating to painful, observed the human condition in a spectrum that ranges from stumbling drunk to silk tie and suit, chuckled at people singing an off-key drone to the music in their headphones, and, on rare occasions, fumed at people who forced the entire bus to participate in their one-sided portion of a cell phone conversation. I’ve enjoyed seeing students climb on board and unpack books and notes to study on the drive into campus, and listened to them moan about papers and professors and test scores on the drive home. I’ve marveled at how the ones we might deem least among us can often be the most gracious and grateful, and learned to view with greater empathy those who share this spot on the globe with me.

So add “insight” to the list of benefits I garner from riding the 455. That, and considerably less cursing. All in all…a pretty sweet deal.

With a solid WiFi connection, I can finally upload some of the photos of the Singers’ European odyssey. Again, apologies for not being Ansel Adams….

Czech Republic

Prague Castle

Singers preparing for performance at the Czech Republic Mission Office of the LDS Church

St Vitus facade (in Prague Castle complex) at midnight

Concert performance at Nymburk (45 km east of Prague)

Hungary

Hungarian Parliament Building

Concert at Telki (very small chapel, very big audience)

Croatia

Some things proved universal -- like kids and Mickey D's

Concert at Varazdin (beautiful venue, sweltering heat)

The Castle at Varazdin

Slovenia

Rehearsal in Knights Hall, Brezice...

...and kudos from Brezice's vice-mayor that evening.

Concert at Nova Gorizia

Koper Cathedral and tower

Concert in Koper

Slovenian hilltop towns (near Koper)

Old Town Ljubljana along the river

Ljubljana concert at St. James the Greater

Austria

Making the hike to the Church of St. George, Bergheim

Steps and fountain at Mirabell Palace, Salzburg

Alasdair and Riley...demonstrating a critical Singer survival technique: crashing on the bus.