I am always on the lookout for ways to incorporate technology into my everyday life. It seems a bit odd to say that these days, knowing that most folks have the complete opposite problem of trying to disconnect from their electronic lives. As I look out at the sea of customers in the library or at eateries such as Small World, I notice that all eyes are riveted on the screens in front of them. People on the street walk along, looking down at the phones in their hands, stumbling off curbs and out into traffic, paying no attention at all to the world around them.
Tick. Tick. Tick. The hands of the clock are moving closer and closer to the dinner hour, begging the question, what should I make tonight? I always wait until the last minute and then have to rush. Should I try something new or fall back on an old favorite? However, I'm tired of most of my tried and true recipes and have decided it is time to freshen up my repertoire.
Each Sunday, The New York Times Book Review has a column, By the Book, in which famous authors are interviewed about their reading habits, past and present. The chosen authors are asked a variety of questions, which can differ from week to week, and include ones about what is on their nightstand, what would they recommend, what's overrated, couldn't get finished, or which famous authors you would have to dinner if you could pick three.
It's quiet here at the Welcome Desk. In this lull between customers, I have a chance to restock the displays, check out the newest books and thumb through a few professional book reviewing magazines. So why is it, with all of this lovely reading matter literally at my fingertips, can I not find anything I want to read. Nothing appeals to me at the moment. Nada. How is this even possible? It makes no sense whatsoever. I am in the (reading) doldrums.
Call me Sisyphus. You might remember him from your elementary school literature unit on Greek myths. He's the guy who is tasked with rolling an enormous ball up a hill only to watch it roll back down, leaving him to start all over again from square one. For eternity!
It seems everyone knows someone who knits, used to knit, wants to learn to knit, is related to someone who knits, or just appreciates the handiwork of others. Seeing someone pull out knitting in public is an invitation for a conversation. I've seen people knitting on buses, in line at the grocery store, even here in the library. So that makes knitting, which might seem like a solitary activity, a shared one and I have yet to meet a knitter who does not knit for others, be they family, friends, or their community.
There is something so timeless about watching a movie in an old-fashioned movie theatre that I jump at the chance to see as many movies as I can at the Princeton Garden Theatre. Whenever I step through the door, I am reminded of the Lyric Theater in southwestern Virginia, which I would visit in my childhood. Recently, I went to see "Mr. Holmes" at the Garden.
I live in a small house. And I'm not just saying that to garner sympathy. It's just a fact. My daughter recently referred to it as "dainty." It is one room wide, tall and deep, built shotgun style. Just for fun, I measured it: 13-feet-3 inches wide at the front narrowing to 8-feet-5 inches at the back which is about the width of a sofa. With tiny closets, a crawl space basement, an under the eaves attic and no garage, there is basically no useful storage space.
Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you that I am a late adapter to just about everything, particularly technology. I'm sure I was the last person using dial-up Internet, last to get a cell phone, very last to get a smart phone, and I still own a computer with Word Perfect on it.