All the little birdies on Jaybird Street

My Hebrew name is Tziporah, like Moses' wife, and it means "bird." My maiden name is Jay, like the bird. Nevertheless, I refuse to tweet.

I have recently received a number of invitations to join Twitter. My hairdresser, Dennis, also gave Twitter an enthusiastic endorsement. He is a self-described addict who follows the tweets of numerous personalities, from Lance Armstrong to Ashton Kutcher. I have a difficult time explaining to my Twittering friends my resistance to this medium. After all, most of my friends know that I check Facebook regularly, even if I post status changes rarely. Naturally, they assume that I would also enjoy the occasional tweet. Would it be insulting to tell them that I hardly ever check their status feeds? (Oops! I think I just let them in on that secret.) When I want to know what other folks are thinking and doing I read the NY Times--the version that leaves ink smudges on your hands and coffee mug. When I want to explore an idea or get lost in someone else's imagination, I check a book out of the library.

I readily admit that I am enjoying my new cell phone with Internet access, and I have already bookmarked my iGoogle and Facebook home pages. But I embrace new technology with the appropriate caution of an immigrant to the digital age. I chuckle to myself, marveling at the speed with which my teenager is able to type with her thumbs, but I am not tempted to text alongside her. I eschew texting, with its funny initials. IDK, YRU texting me? Just call me – we can LOL. I have 750 minutes, and they roll over better than my dog can most mornings. Dare I mention that I pay 20 cents for every incoming text? Oy, i h8 that!

So, for now I do not tweet. It's not that I am not interested in what my friends are doing. It's just that I'd rather meet them for a coffee and hear about it in a real-time conversation.

Following Julia's Blog

Julia is the first blogger I ever encountered, and I began following her blog on my Google home page last year. I don't check it daily, but I take a peek when her titles catch my eye. Julia is my pottery friend and a librarian, and although we disagree on all things political we have similar tastes in books and movies. She is really smart and articulate, and wickedly funny. I switched pottery classes in January, and I miss sitting next to her in class and getting shushed by the teacher during demos. Following her blog makes me feel a tiny bit more connected to her, and allows me to enjoy her sense of humor until I can occupy the wheel next to hers again in the fall.

Last week she posted a link to a nerdy librarian quiz -- it's kind of like a horoscope written in "Dewey Decimal." Her post was just funny and quirky enough to entice me to try out the quiz. Here are my results:

Pamela Gottfried's Dewey Decimal Section:

906 Organizations & management

Pamela Gottfried = 613521750068954 = 613+521+750+068+954 = 2906


Class:
900 History & Geography


Contains:
Travel, biographies, ancient history, and histories of continents.



What it says about you:
You're connected to your past and value the things that have happened to you. You've had some conflicted times in your life, but they've brought you to where you are today and you don't ignore it.

Find your Dewey Decimal Section at Spacefem.com

By the way, Julia's blog is http://brainella.blogspot.com.

There's a fine, fine line

"There's a fine, fine line between a fairy tale and a rhyme," goes the witty song in Avenue Q. I have been noticing these fine lines lately -- they are appearing on my face around the eyes and mouth, and also in my daily life. The lines are most visible to me at the food pantry, as the distinctions between my life and the clients' lives become quite blurry.

I was inspired to volunteer at North Fulton Community Charities by my friend Rochelle. She worked a number of shifts there in the fall and found it to be a humbling experience. It is not like the Atlanta Community Food Bank, where you spend several hours in a warehouse sorting and boxing up food to be distributed to food pantries throughout Northwest GA. When you volunteer at NFCC, you actually hand the bags of groceries to the clients, sometimes exchanging a few words with them. "Do you need to take the buggy to your car? You can just bring it back in a few minutes." "There is no Similac, so I gave you Enfamil with iron, okay?" "Azucar? No, lo siento. Quieres Splenda?"

At first I was concerned about this personal contact. In order to be helpful to the clients and efficient as a pantry volunteer, it is necessary to maintain some distance. At the same time, I cannot stop from making eye contact, smiling and offering a few kind words. The first time a client grabbed my arm and said, "Thank you. God bless," I was sure I would lose it. But I held it together until I got to my car at the end of the shift. God has already blessed me and I am so grateful. I may not have a full-time job right now, but I have a spouse who earns enough to feed our family. And I can walk into the supermarket to buy fresh fruits and vegetables any time I want.

What separates the person filling the grocery bags in the pantry from the person receiving them in the lobby? An unanticipated illness? An insurance hike following a car accident? A salary cut or enforced furlough time at work? Is it just luck or circumstance or fate that I’m the one saying "take care" and hearing "God bless?" There's a fine, fine line.