Going to town
When we lived on the farm a highlight of the week was a trip to “town,” either the nearby village or a more distant, larger community. You toured the stores and other businesses and sampled the wares of the cafe.
You renewed acquaintances, exchanged learned remarks about the crops, the weather, who was in hospital having a baby and whose cow had garget.
You also got to read the posters about upcoming dances and auction sales. It was a welcome break from farm routine.
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Old habits die hard. When I moved to the city I still had this yen to “go to town.” So, when the opportunity beckoned I would head for the downtown area to see the stores, chew the fat with people I met, note the offerings of the library and art gallery and see who was erecting steel for a new building.
To facilitate this I do my banking downtown and walk blocks to pay bills at central offices of utility companies.
I’m constantly asked: “Why go downtown when you can pay bills at a credit union branch a few blocks from your home?”
As a matter of fact if I’d invested in a fax and telephone modem for this computer, I could pay bills and send letters without leaving the house.
Yes, and if I hired someone to bring me meals in bed I could stay in bed 24 hours a day.
Not a bad idea when it’s minus 30 but look at the rubber-necking I’d miss.
I don’t know where this labor saving will take us. Soon we’ll be immobile from lack of exercise and have to spend hundreds of dollars to work out in a gymnasium to restore our physical fitness and regularity.
I prefer to go to town.
