Aged Angels

You tend to think of angels as being either young or ageless so when someone told her she was angel, it went to her head. A heavenly being she is not. A picture of heavenly being she certainly isn’t. Kind person? Occasionally. Guardian and guide? Getting closer. Financial backer? Now, there’s the rub.

Along with the technologizing of the word – and lord knows there’s enough of that in the house - has come the technologizing of motherhood. The umbilical cord to her eldest child has been replaced by a broadband connection. Parents used to hear from their children a couple of times a term. She hears from hers a couple of times a day. He’ll tell her when he’s bored, ask what she’s doing, what the weather’s going to be like and can he have some money for the rail fare home? Before my hearing went, I saw an advert on television for a new service offered by the directory enquiries people where you can phone them up and ask them anything at all and they will find the answer to your question. She could do that job. Or they could do hers.

I don’t know how she’s going to cope when the next one goes. At the moment, communication can be difficult given that he’s in his bedroom most of the time, usually wearing headphones and I know for a fact that she’s sent him a message on MSN to tell him that his dinner’s ready. I suppose it all depends upon whether he engages fully with that university lifestyle you hear them raving about. After all, you can’t be sitting at the computer and the bar of the Student Union simultaneously. Or maybe you can; I don’t know, I can’t keep up.

And she can’t keep up recently either, I’ve noticed. Her knees are creakier than mine and I’m 92 (or is it 99?) so if she did grow angel wings, I’m sure it would be jolly helpful but somehow, it seems unlikely.