I enjoy book clubs because they head in the opposite direction of technology, most being as old fashioned as a 1920s sewing circle or ice cream social. There's usually an in-person gathering with good talk and good refreshments. Members don't send an avatar instead of their actual person, or contribute their comments via MySpace or Facebook or Twitter. No one posts a video on YouTube of themselves reading the book while in the bathtub. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to be the guest at one of these events and other times I appear via speakerphone, a small Space Age technology that's allowed. (In person is better because there are usually delicious baked goods.)
![](/sites/default/files/images/cover_buffalo_gal-704192.jpg)
Outside of Buffalo readers like to talk about how we lived during the 1970s --- canning fruits and vegetables and how in summertime kids left the house in the morning and weren't seen again until dinner. This was not only BC (before cable) but before video games. We laugh about the days when there weren't any cell phones, answering machines, call waiting or caller ID and you could say that you'd been trying to call someone for weeks, even though you hadn't. It seems like more people used to have vegetable gardens in the backyard, and all the tomatoes and zucchini arrived the third week in August. It was the only time of year people locked their doors in the suburbs, afraid that someone would dump a box of squash into the garage in the middle of the night.
Talk also turns to politics. When I started writing Buffalo Gal I thought it would be a nostalgic look back to a time when we were mired in recession, an energy crisis, and an unpopular war (Vietnam). But now we're back in a recession, an energy crisis, and an unpopular war (Iraq). I hope that I didn't jinx anything.
Best of all, folks in book clubs have their own terrific stories. Last week a woman told about a funeral where half the mourners got lost between the service and the graveyard, and had to be rescued by state troopers. Another woman had her grandfather's ashes temporarily impounded at the Canadian border. One member could actually sing the entire Dr. Pepper jingle --- very impressive because it's one those things like the national anthem and assorted holiday songs where you think you know the whole thing but after the first verse it turns out you don't. If I start writing all these down I'll soon have the makings of a brand new book.
---Laura Pedersen