You see how it is: I sound like a Luddite. Why, I remember when "The Times, They Are A-Changin'" was the theme song of my generation. The times are still a-changin', but I'm a-standin' still, especially at the end of my driveway - there's so much traffic now that I have to get up five minutes earlier in the morning because I wait that long for an opening in the line of cars. Who are all these people? And where did they come from? I went to bed one night in the 26th fastest-growing county in the U.S., and woke up the next morning in the 10th fastest-growing county. Who can keep up?
As for "Who are all these people?" - I guess I'm one of them. My family's been in Commerce for many generations, but I moved here from San Francisco just 13 years ago, and Frances Griffin, who worked with me at the library, told me at the time that there was no way to become a native: you either were one or you weren't. I got here ahead of the rush, though, which I think should get me points for perspicacity.
When I arrived, there were no computers in the library. Now there are more than 25. We use them for everything except making the coffee, and I suppose they could do that, too, and be better at it than I am.
But they couldn't make the tea, and these days neither can a lot of people. One person who can is Gayle Pritchett, and she says there's a secret to it. You can't let the water come to a rolling boil, although it has to come close. You mustn't squeeze the tea bags, either - that bruises the flavor. (Notice how close we're getting to the language of wine aficionados.) Another friend says you have to put a cup of sugar and a big pile of lemon slices in the bottom of a pitcher and then pour the hot tea over all that and let it sit, and then stir it VERY gently with a wooden spoon.
These are the stalwarts who are still making the wine of the South. These are the people who care about tea. In far too many dining establishments, "tea concentrate" is mixed with water to create a dreadful concoction, dark as coffee and so sweet that it cloys. This is the kind of progress we don't need. (Notice that "we" - I'm still trying to go native.) Some people order an Arnold Palmer: half tea, half lemonade. Luddite that I am, I just mutter, "Bring back the wine of the South."
And by the way, we do have a camera/cell phone in our family. It belongs to my dad. Now there's a fella who keeps up!
Susan Harper is director of the Commerce Public Library.
