a chat with betty

betty doesn't want me to know that she's dating ted the barber, who lives down the street. both recent widows, it appears ted's been coming over to help out around the house, join her on the porch for a coffee, or even, more scandalously, invite her out to mcdonald's at 7:30 p.m. for a coke. "and we talked until twenty minutes after 10!" she exclaims, chiding in seconds later, in a muted voice, that it's not serious, seen as it's only been twenty months now since Roy died. Both Betty and Roy had a keen sense of the neighborhood. Roy, blind as long as I'd known him, would call out my name if I was walking down the street, even without having heard my voice. He could discern different footsteps, and could recognize the neighbor kids simply from hearing their shoes scratch across the cement. But he's gone, now, and now Betty's sneaking around with the corner barber, and happy in between the memorial tears. She hasn't been in a department store in eight years, and has never been in a Wal-Mart [she says this with a sadness that I've never experienced in thinking about the place]. She giggles uproariously when she tells me the story of going into a ShopKo and flying around the store in one of their special motorized shopping carts. She spent $100, on a new spatula, stainless steel measuring cups (with the size written clearly on the handle--an addition she finds infinitely charming), and a Mister Coffee Maker, half price. Happiness does wonders, apparently, for capitalism.

While this neighborhood trist takes place under everyone's noses (and i love how they are the only ones that find it naughty), I think about how the neighborhood has remained relatively intact over the years. Only two houses on the street are unsettled, welcoming tragic family after tragic family, vomiting them all onto the lawn every few months or so. I had forgotten how quiet it is, though, and how simple. Though not protected from crime by any means, one still has the sense that the doors can remain flung wide open throughout the night (as my wild father does), that keys can be left under the car rug, that Betty or Dave or Coleen are gonna look out for you, and probably dig you out of the snow when you (read: me) don't know how to drive in the drifts.

Slightly restless upon my return to the U.S. and A., I'm making the rounds--house to house on the old familiar lane--in order to reintegrate myself. And with gossip like Betty's, it pays to live in a sweet little neck of the woods.

this is where we've been

we accidentally stumbled upon niagara falls. just happened to be on the road. bronwyn said she thought they shouldn't put the customs booth so close to the river. we informed her that the river is the dividing line. i thought it was a special moment. i took a photo of a yiddish family taking pictures of each other. a sort of timeless, ageless photo (minus the digital camera).

i am now in the midwest, five hours outside of lincoln. here is where i rediscover the jordan that this place makes me.

photos to follow.

a photoless update

from the edge of the world. i promise you, i sometimes shrink into my sweater, both in awe and terror, sensing very viscerally that one false move and i could tumble into the earth's core. this is where we are, where i write. a severe contrast to the landlocked nation I will return to tomorrow.

today, annapolis royal, one of the oldest european settlements on north america. a contested site, the french and english battled over the property for hundreds of years. and one quickly understands why such attention was bestowed upon the area--rich in green hills and wildly temperamental tides. the seaside is dredged, by natural lunar causes, twice a day, the coast blackened and exposed, until six hours later, the water rises again.

people are pleasant on this small island, despite all the historic disagreements. the bulk of our trip has been spent over tea or coffee or thrift store purchases discussing history and travel and healthcare in bangkok with locals and "come-from-aways" (as the old family lines refer to outsiders in Lunenburg) alike. this is rich, and where I thrive.

this is a short update. internet connections less than stable. will write once i'm back in the homeland, the good life, the arbor day state, all that effusive titling for the place i've left and am now coming back to.

cheers to the state fair.