I felt utterly utterly stranded.

As mother of a newborn and her two-year old sister, I was far too busy to learn how to speak Polish, yet here I was in Poland. A city girl, born and bred, I was on a farm. Completely dependent on my husband’s linguistic abilities, I was alone for weeks at a time while he traveled on business for which we had relocated in the first place.

And then I turned on the computer. It had been sitting quietly in the corner, as all alone as I was, and nearly as dust-covered. And I almost immediately stumbled over a very good friend from home who just happened to be in the same chat room! We couldn’t believe we were who we said we were – we kept asking each other questions that only we would know the answers to. Although we weren’t at that time chatting by microphone, I’ve known this person so well and for so long that I could actually hear her voice and laughter in my mind as her familiar phrases and way of speaking flashed onto my screen.

From that time on, life was full. Instead of laboriously calculating time differences and long-distance rates, keeping an anxious eye on the clock and hoping the baby’s nap lasted another minute so that my mother and I could try to think of all the things we meant to say to each other, I could sit down at the keyboard, at whatever time of the day or night suited me, sending short messages or rambling missives to all and sundry. I could touch base twice a day during anxious times and keep up weekly with all the news that a growing and moving family generates. I could access newspapers, headlines and (more importantly) People Magazine – hey, I miss Rosie’s, Demi’s and Shania’s shenanigans!

A most significant and comforting discovery was that I could get advice, sometimes immediate, from any number of medical sites about health concerns I might have especially regarding the children. When baby’s screaming and you’re so very far from home in a non-English speaking country, it’s indescribably reassuring to hear your own diagnosis confirmed by a professional (“Sounds like she’s just having trouble with that tooth. Have you tried…?”).

Similarly the parenting web sites were a terrific find. Behavioral situations could be detailed, compared, and lots of advice garnered from people who have had similar experiences. Just grousing or laughing or letting off steam with other stay-at-home mothers was a sanity-saver; I terribly missed the daily kvetch-over-coffee sessions at the “Mom & Me” playschool. Both professional and anecdotal help with breastfeeding, diaper rashes, pet turtles, and playdough were only now a keystroke away.

I was able to be of some use myself to others, by sharing knowledge amassed over years of volunteer work in the field of cat rescue and rehabilitation, on sites appropriate to that subject. There were any number of heated debates about declawing and on the question of how to handle ferals. Each encounter would entail a real give and take of experience and emotion; of extreme versus moderate views, probably more honest and intense via the safety and anonymity of the computer than had the groups been physically face to face.

As I gained skill on how to search the web, I found other useful sites pointedly pertinent to my somewhat unique situation: a near-by University professor, for instance, offered free Polish lessons to English-speaking people, giving me some at-home structure to my offhand studies. One site translates over 700 languages! I spoke Spanish for a whole day, just for the fun of it. (It drove my neighbors crazy.) Through its web site, I found a local private school that specializes in teaching English as a Second Language and volunteered my services as a native speaker of English. Not only did I end up with a full-time job offer, but (probably more important) I met a large group of English speaking people, some of whom have subsequently become friends.

Cultural homesickness became less intense due to the internet. What I mean is this: if I tell you that my allergies are so bad I sound like “Mr. Magoo”, or that I had a crush on Gilligan and wanted to be Ginger when I grew up, you'd (if you’re of approximately the same age) probably know what I’m talking about. If I burst into a rendition of “Mr. Ed” or “Hey Hey with the Monkees!”, you're likely to warble right along with me. But no matter how hard I try to explain an “Archie Bunkerism” to a Pole, they didn’t live it – they can never be part of that collective consciousness – the thing that makes our parents honest-to-god remember exactly what they were doing when JFK was shot.

The web provides me with access to all of the above, in chat rooms and on message boards and on zillions of sites. If I feel the burning need to talk about Sea Monkeys, I’ve got the URL. If I just have to roar out "Puff the Magic Dragon”, I found the lyrics. If I can’t live another hour without a “Sloppy Joe” (try translating THAT into Polish!), I can do a search and come up with the recipe in no time flat. I’ve got access to Americana, to my past, to my memories, to my childhood.

Certainly there are other obvious differences between countries besides mass-media-related cultural background including language, mannerisms, lifestyle priorities and so on. I did not, however, expect that food would be such an exceptionally big hurdle for me to overcome (never was much on sour cream, beet soup or sausages, being rather Big Mac oriented) and was absolutely shocked to discover that peanut butter is an as yet unappreciated staple in Poland, impossible to buy, beg, borrow or steal. I complained bitterly to my new-found web friends, mommies all, who understood the importance of the crushed nut. And do you know that my mailbox was soon full of Jiffy and Kraft jars from all over North America?

When an item as impersonal as a computer can somehow result in love and concern walking in your front door from 3,000 miles away and feeding your kids, you know you’re on to something really great!