I like Amazon. I like that shopping requires no trip to town or standing in a checkout line. Shopping does not require walking down overstimulating aisles with blinking colors and blazing signs. Amazon provides me with instant reviews so I can evaluate before I buy. I like Amazon.
I like box stores where I know exactly what brand we like and where it's placed whether we're in Memphis or Moses Lake. I like good deals that come from buying bulk. I like box stores.
I like gift cards. They're money hidden in my wallet. They justify buying a gift for myself that I wouldn't normally get. I like gift cards.
I like the internet. I like being able to get in touch with someone quickly without committing hours or days or weeks. I like being able to see our grandchildren's faces and hear their voices every day. I like being able to research things I want to know without having to buy a book. I like the internet.
I like anonymity. I like to shop unnoticed. I like solitude.
I am a paradox; I like these conveniences and yet I mourn the loss of community. All of the above contribute to that loss.
Amazon takes away from my community shops and stores. It's been years since I've walked into the stores down on Main Street. They won't stay open without customers.
I like unique, hometown, and homegrown. Box stores can't provide that.
Gifts remind me of the giver and their influence in my life long after the gift was given. Whenever I see the pewter bread plate we received 36 years ago from Isabelle Loughmiller as a wedding gift, I remember a sturdy woman with a robust character and a hearty laugh. She was tough as nails and a strong example of endurance. That bread plate reminds me to be strong. Every morning when I make the bed and smooth the quilt that our daughter Cali made, I think of her eye for detail and her generous spirit. Cali is precise and deliberate in her decisions; she craves color, light, and beauty. Her example has helped me be more aware and less cavalier, it's inspired me to do better work. Gift cards are quickly consumed with no lasting reminder or message like the quilt and bread plate give to me.
I like the libraries before they became internet cafes, old-fashioned visiting we did in each others' homes, and the days when the phone was hooked on the wall and didn't follow us.
I like belonging. I like friendly faces with hugs and hellos. I like people.
I like it all. The new and the old. I just don't know how to effectively combine them.
Our son-in-law Ray recently said to me, "The disease of this generation is loneliness." I was struck at the simple truth of his statement, and the reality that stable communities help cure loneliness. Some of my habits today don't build a sense of community.
I've got to do some more thinking on this.
