Venice, an old city past its prime, is hanging on as floods overtake it while at the same time it sinks into the rising ocean. I can sympathize, for I too am old, past my prime, and often have the sensation of sinking. Yet in my case it is not rising water, but life that sometimes threatens to overwhelm me. Venice had its glory days as it stood on its pine pilings at the head of the Adriatic. Venetian naval and commercial power made the city almost invulnerable so that it became a flourishing trade center between Western Europe and the rest of the world. At the peak of its power and wealth, it had 36,000 sailors operating 3,300 ships, which brought in such wealth that Venice's leading families vied with each other to build the grandest palaces while supporting the work of the greatest and most talented artists.
But during recent severe flooding, more than 80% of the city was covered by water damaging many ancient sites. And what was the reaction of the city? To reject a plan to combat global warning, just a few minutes before the chamber of the vetoing Regional Council of Veneto began flooding.
So what about me? I am not sure I ever had glory days to compare with those of Venice, but I certainly kept a lot of balls in the air, and adequately handled the limited technology that was available at the time. Today I do have a cell phone, and do text. So when did I flood? Let me give you an example. I recently had a chance to have lunch with a dear friend who lives a distance away. I drove to the neighboring city arriving at the restaurant a little early. I checked at the desk. As my friend had not arrived, I seated myself in the lobby to wait for her. And I waited and waited. I only had her email address, and decided not to send her a message, as I did not want her to feel bad if she had forgotten our lunch date. So there I sat. Unbeknownst to me, she was already in the restaurant, patiently waiting for me, something the front desk had forgotten or neglected to tell me. She also sat and sat a few feet away from me as we both let our looked-forward-to meeting slip away. She at least tried calling me, but to my home phone, and of course I was not there.
Finally, I just got in my car and drove away. I told my daughter about my abortive lunch, and she made a great attempt to look sympathetic, and finally could not help herself. She convulsed with mirth as tears ran down her face. When she could finally speak, all she said was that her generation is so connected by cell phones that something like that would never happen. I could feel the water rising, and the pine pilings of my life beginning to crack. While I may not be able to keep up with all the intricacies of modern life, or even care (I will remain unbirdlike and never tweet), I fervently hope that I will not follow in the footsteps of the Council of Veneto. I do not want to find myself crashing through a stop sign and hitting two pedestrians, moments after telling my pleading family that my driving is still just fine.