At the end of the work day on Friday, I sent an email to a colleague who is on vacation in the Austrian Alps. On Saturday morning, I had an answer from him. It arrived in my Inbox at 6:27 a.m., when I was, thankfully, asleep. “I’m reading this from an Alp with bad connections,” it began.

It reminded me of a time on a different mountain this summer when I was slower than my bicycling companion going up a killer hill. He waited at the top as I panted and puffed my way up. Not to waste a moment, he was reading his email on his Blackberry when I arrived.

Is there no such thing as a vacation anymore?

But, you may ask, why was I reading my work email on a Saturday morning? Is there no such thing as a weekend anymore?

My 96-year old aunt doesn’t do email. There was a letter from her in today’s mail.

It was nice.