Confession: I’m not on Facebook or Twitter; although my phone has the capability, I do not text and do not wish to; I open my e-mail every two or three days, but admit that I don’t forward all the entries which carry that request.
Discovery: I am my own social network. Reason: I am part of several groups, many of which are not connected with each other; as I move from one group to another, I learn things to share. Not gossip, just something that somebody may want to know or perhaps could reap a benefit from.
Case in point: When I was in a water exercise group, I met many folks not in any of my other circles of friends. One of them, much younger and more physically active than I, was just ready to retire and looking for “things to do.”
Among my several suggestions to her was “check out our senior center.”
Now I see her enjoying Silver Sneakers classes (on a much more vigorous level than the ones I can do) and proudly displaying her paintings at the Bowen Center’s “Young at Heart” art exhibit, along with others who are in classes at the senior center.
Several other friends from church and from my neighborhood have decided that if an old gal like me can do it, they will also get into that exercise mode. If there were such a possibility, Senior Center Director Margie Weaver might give me a commission.
If I can inspire some more folks to deliver Meals on Wheels, I’ll bet she will.
There’s always a need for that particular volunteer service — and to be honest, it really is a rewarding one.
Another recent looping through different groups occurred when I learned, at a funeral home visitation, that the old Dr. Palmour house had been moved from Maple Street to Bradley Weaver’s Pumpkin Farm.
A few days later, in my chiropractor’s waiting room, I recognized Karen Weaver (Bradley’s mom) from having seen her at the recent homeowners’ meeting, and I shared with her that my late husband’s family had grown up next door to that Palmour house.
She not only reiterated her son’s invitation for me to bring my sister-in-law to visit the restoration, the Weavers would like to have some more details about its history.
But we may do even better than my in-laws: I’ll encourage Dr. Palmour’s grandchildren to share more detailed information and perhaps even to give permission to lend the doctor’s old dentist chair, which now languishes on the second floor of the Historic Old Jail, where it is seldom seen.
Again connecting some history and the Bowen Art Center, I served as catalyst in J.M. Burt’s giving that center a copy of “God-Fearing Criminals,” his novel about earlier days in Dawson County. Marcia Chelf was delighted not only to put it on display but will take some copies to have for sale there.
Just as there are numerous interrelationships with families in our area (just try to trace all the kinfolk), there are opportunities to connect newer residents with its history. And that’s one reason I am grateful still to be able to get out and go — and to weave some of those threads into Dawson’s beautiful tapestry.
Social networking has several definitions.
Helen Taylor’s column appears periodically in the Dawson Community News.