Well, we’re...back—I
was going to say “home,” but I’ve learned to choose my words more carefully. We’re back where we started from, let us say
instead. One of our first discoveries
was that in our absence the old house had been home to a pack of Homo americanus rusticana (American
hillbilly). Of course, the habits of rusticana vary from place to place, but our
set seemed to have two overmastering preoccupations—a passion for hammering or
screwing fasteners into walls and woodwork, and a deathless hatred of window
treatments: blinds mangled or missing;
screens torn; screen-frames bent; sills stained, scratched, sawed, and
scorched. It must have been stirring
times here of an evening, with all the inmates hard at work on their individual
projects. So we have spent most of the
last six months trying to restore the house to conventional habitability
again.
But the
house was only the first thing we noticed—change now seems to be everywhere we
turn. For instance, while we were away,
dogs became people. Now we discover that
they wear what bipedal people wear, go where bipedal people go, eat what
bipedal people eat, and for all I know vote for members of congress to protect
their interests. It will take some
getting used to. Furthermore, I
understand that corporations are now people as well, but, of course, that’s not
as surprising, since they’ve had their own members of congress for years. As Robert Frost might have put it, “The dear
only knows what will next prove a person.”
Our home
town has changed as well, in that it has somehow been transformed into a
tourist destination, to the delight of local merchants and the exasperation of
local residents. Wander downtown now on
a weekend afternoon, and you’ll soon find yourself shuffling along in the wake
of Ethan, Tiffany, and Baxter, listening, whether you will or no, to a
conversation like this:
Tiffany: Wasn’t that a darling art museum? I didn’t know they could make such beautiful
things out of fish line!
Ethan: I’ll say.
Cool Beans. Baxter liked it too,
didn’t you, Baxter?
Baxter: (sniffs)
Ethan: Hey, I’m kind of hungry. Let’s stop in this bakery and get a cafecito and a palmier or maybe some madeleines.
Tiffany: Ah, but hon, no. Look, there are ten darling shops on this
side of the street, and at least that many on the other side. I think we should get to the end of the block
before we eat. Besides, Baxter can’t
have French pastry—the butter makes him break out.
Ethan: Well let’s let him decide. What do you
think, Baxter? Are you hungry?
Baxter: Woof!
Ethan: See?
Sadly, we
miss most of these enlightening exchanges because we rarely go downtown anymore,
for the simple reason that there is virtually nothing downtown a non-tourist
would want to buy. The pharmacy,
hardware store, stationery store, etc. were pushed out to make way for wine
bars, art galleries, cafes galore, and shops selling fair-trade place mats and
the like. So it’s lucky for the
merchants that they do have the tourists: they’d
be starving if they were foolish enough to rely on people like us to earn their
living.
Because evidently
we are not the only anti-capitalist subversives in our town: Kathryn has recently stumbled upon a Facebook
group called “Buy Nothing Bainbridge,” whose cohort are dedicated to
re-distribution on a massive scale of unwanted possessions. This is not barter, mind you. People simply post pictures of things that
they have but don’t want, and others arrange to come relieve them of the items,
gratis. Already, Kathryn has picked up a pair of
wellington boots, a compost bin, a mailbox, and half a dozen blank
notebooks. Last night someone posted a
picture of the bone from their dinner roast, a good deal of meat still on it,
and asked if anyone would like it for the quadruped person in their
family. Tragically, I am not making this
up.
Kathryn has
quickly formed an addiction to this particular group, and is constantly
checking throughout the day to see what new treasures are up for grabs. I have urged her to seek counseling, or at
least to look for (or found) a group called “Acquire Nothing Bainbridge,” where
people just hold onto the stuff they already have, and don’t try to fob it off
onto others. So far she has shown little
appetite for making the switch.
