Perhaps like you, I have a phone that talks to all my email accounts, except my work account (which is okay by me), and also allows me to social network (never thought I'd learn to use that as a verb without stuttering or blushing) and I can take pictures (I'm not good at it, so that kind of puts paid to the adage 'practice makes perfect') and write notes inside the social networks to people I've known for a hundred millions years, like Rik in Berlin, and others not quite that long, Dave in Texas and Patrick in DC, and chat away as if it were only yesterday when we last saw one another.
Rik, who earlier in the week was taking some teasing on line about his bicycle, which did look a little girly but if it gets him to where he wants to go, who cares--we last saw one another in his house not too far from AFN Berlin about two weeks before my wife and I learned she was pregnant with our son, Patrick Michael who turns 28 in July. I even corresponded with his daughter, Heather, who may well have been about the right age for Rik's current bike when I met her damals.
Just a few days ago I rediscovered a friend I had lost out of my eye after close to two and a half decades--typed in his name and dozens if not hundreds came back and halfway down the first page was a photo of a fellow with his eye in a video camera viewfinder whose profile talked out of hiking the Alps. Sure enough, it was he. He has children of his own and a life quite different from what any of us in the little production studio under the rafters, a floor above the Paternosters at the Abrams Building, the I. G. Farben Hochhaus, on Gruneberg Platz in Frankfurt could have ever imagined.