Monday, November 14, 2011

Nan 1

Nan loved to news around and to gossip, but it drove Pop. He'd be poisoned with her if she got to talkin when he could hear.

He'd say "Ellen! Don't be talkin!"

And Nan'd come back with "Whist! I'm not talkin, I'm only sayin!"

Nan had an abrupt way. If you were on the phone and she got tired of you, she'd cut in. "Well I must let you go, now." And she'd hang up before you could say anything else.

(I never witnessed any of this. It's hearsay from my parents. Nan and Pop have been dead for a long time.)

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Home sickness

I have been too long from home. I walk the grid of this city but I can't be here fully, not in my mind. Streets shouldn't move in straight lines. I'm determined not to be at home here.

There are no hills. There are no vantage points. I am always within something, when I'm here.

I moved away from home, but home continually moves away from me. One day I'll get off the plane and the place won't recognize me. I dread this. On the day that happens, I will no longer be an ex-patriot. I will be an orphan.