Whoa, zoom, I’d like to fly far away from here… — The Commodores, with Lionel Richie
My immediate family is spread out across the country, and this pandemic time has strained the fabric of our connectiveness. Where we used to impulsively announce a family gathering in, say, Forest Hills, Maryland — a gathering that would summon family members from all of the states and cities where we’ve encamped — we can no longer have these kinds of close encounters. But my nieces and nephews and children are all well-versed in electronic ways of communication, and on April 5th, I was invited to join a Zoom meeting with a cluster of them.
My eldest daughter called to tell me of the meeting, and sent me the invitation to attend. Attendance required me to download and install the Zoom program, which would allow me to access video meetings. For those who were born this morning, Zoom is a video conferencing program that allows multiple participants to connect with each other via cellphone, desktop, laptop or tablet. Because so many of us, unwilling to be culled from the herd, are avoiding large social gatherings, the really smart ones among us have adapted to a technology that allows us to overcome social and physical distancing to establish virtual contact.
My first virtual/video gathering with my people lasted until the wee hours of the morning, and just might have involved alcoholic beverages. The greatly — though gently — aged among us may have stepped five feet sideways, away from our screens, to slide into our beds (me and my sister) and left the youngsters to their own devices. Great fun was had, and when my invitation to attend my niece’s birthday festivities via Zoom came through on May 5th, I eagerly launched my program and joined another, far more raucous and over-the-top celebration, replete with unwitting participations in bathroom breaks, as well as tours of each other’s spaces. My bedroom in the basement, with its burgundy-painted brick walls, won “Space Most Likely To Be a Jail.” Once again, the kids (the youngest being about 45 years old) outlasted the old folks, but we hung tough and happy for a long time.
On Wednesday, May 6th, I showed my proficiency and comfort with the new gathering paradigm (I’ve been waiting all my life to use that word) when I joined with the Active Eastside Art Collective to discuss and critique ongoing art projects. I climbed out of my self-imposed shell and shared with the group an idea I’ve been gnawing on for a couple of years and got some good ideas on ways to execute it. (Code word: E6000.) I also saw some demonstrations of ways to share images while in a meeting, but my notetaking did not capture instructions that I might be able to utilize in future Zooma-Zoom Zooms. (And a boom-boom. Fragment of a song reference.)
I have the free version of Zoom; I believe that there is a more complex and versatile version that requires payment, but my virtual meeting needs are satisfied with the free version. But the genius or geniuses behind this technology have certainly made containment more bearable, and — judging from conversations with teachers and observations of their social media posts — teaching the children possible. Lionel Richie sang that he’d “like to greet the sun each morning, and walk amongst the stars each night,” and to “know the taste of honey, in my life.” As would we all, except that now, we might desire to just walk without fear, in a group of people or with a group of our family members.
Until then, we’ll Zoom.
cjon3acd@att.net