Living on a property that has limited electricity and mail delivery that remains sporadic means that subscribing to a normal Internet subscription is not yet an option. Thus, our household web access comes from a “hotspot.” It draws from our family cellular data plan, and so gigabytes have become a scarce resource. Since streaming services eat up the most data, this has meant no Netflix, no Youtube videos, no streaming music, and (worst of all) no Skype dates. Even with these restrictions, we barely make it through a month without going over (and I don’t even have a smartphone). It is definitely, definitely a first-world problem, but it has been one of the hardest aspects of this season. I feel disconnected, sick of all my music playlists, and–since most of my books are packed away in storage–cut off even from the knowledge feeds me.
But the sweetness? By depriving us of any passive forms of entertainment, our data scarcity has reminded me how many stories hang in the air all around us, waiting to be savored. For the last several nights, my husband and I have been reading from a book that a dear friend put in my hands just before the moving truck left Alabama. It’s Roger Lancelyn Green’s tales of Robin Hood, and the stories are enough to make even a grown man’s eyes flash. Enough to make a me feel so close to the friend who gave it to me — closer even than Skype.