A guy came this afternoon to fix the bathroom window. We recently had several storms in the space of 10 days or so and during a few of those days, the wind was blowing hard straight from the Atlantic behind us and across the side of the building, opening our bathroom window in the process. It wouldn't stay closed until I used packing tape to keep it shut and Bill wedged a towel around the handle between it and the bottom pane. Apparently, the latch was corroded or something which is common in the salty sea air. This guy had come to look at it a couple weeks ago, and was talking about getting up on the ladder to fix it from the outside, since it's situated in such a way that makes it impossible to fix from inside without removing the window. At the time he was here, another wind warning--orange this time--was just coming into effect and 100 kph gusts were possible. Bill suggested to him that it might not be the best time to be up on the high ladder at the top of a hill as the wind blew gales from the sea. Upon reflection, Window Guy decided to come back another day. Today was that day.
He fixed the latch then came up to check it and to measure the window in the living room that had been replaced by someone else who broke the new window in the process. Then he wanted to chat. He commented that we're not from here and we talked about that and other things.
A while later, I saw a comment from Linda on yesterday's post about the names of the grocery store in the next village. She talked about people 'holding on to the past.' This is in a good way--it brought to mind the idea of having good memories, feelings of attachment, home, etc. As I read her comment, I was thinking about how different my experience is. Many people like Window Guy have asked us things like, 'Are you going home for the festive season?' I always reply that I am home. People have asked me through the years where I am from or where I call home. My answer to the first question is, 'I'm from nowhere.' and to the second it's, 'Wherever I am at the time.' I honestly do not have anyplace that I think of as 'home' other than wherever I live. When we tent-camped across the northern US, we'd set up the tent and I would create my little corner and that was home for however long we stayed there. The longest I've lived in any one place is about a decade, so there has never been time for me to be nostalgic or remember how things used to be in the place I am. We almost never go back to places we've lived once we've moved. And while I try to learn from the past and know that some things will always stay with me, I don't really feel connected to a place and I never have. Honestly, I am not comfortable in the consumer capitalist world into which I was born. I understand it really well though, and that helps me maneuver through it, but as an outsider. This quote by Simone de Beauvoir is totally me, 'I was made for another planet altogether. I mistook the way.'
I grew up in corporate suburbia, which was a nightmare. What I learned growing up was how not to live. I have never not been an outsider. I learned how to be an anthropologist and an actor at a very young age, since I had to learn the rules I was supposed to follow and then proceed to at least present the right persona, even as the real me was (mostly) kept hidden and private. This was true within the biological family unit and in public. I am very good at these things.
Because I had to start observing and understanding what was going on around me at a young age, I have always felt at a distance from places and most people. I truly have been doing a form of participant observation for my entire conscious life. This has served me well and I wouldn't know how to be any other way. Nor would I want to. As an adult, I am always grateful for the observational and analytical skills being a perpetual outsider bring me. But it does contribute to the fact that I hold things lightly. I don't get attached to things/places/situations or think things will stay the same--change happens. Sometimes I can see it coming and prepare and sometimes it comes out of the blue and I have to adapt quickly. I do not put down roots. Having too much stuff agitates me. People have asked us if we've ever considered buying a house here. No. Just the thought feels like an anchor around my neck. First of all, we're not DIY types and we're learned from past experience that we don't like home ownership. I like the fact that I've experienced life in various kinds of places and that I can walk away from wherever I am when it's time to move on with a minimum of fuss. I love not owning furniture, dishes, etc. I used to think that I would love to find *my* spot and settle in for years and years. Then I got some clarity and understood that I'm just not made that way and I would be miserable.
Bill lived in the same place for the first 20 years or so of his life. He talks about places and memories of that place still. He can look at a picture of what it's like today and tell me about what used to be there. When we were going to Maine, he suggested we take a detour through the place in New Hampshire where I was forced to move when my father got a promotion at work. I was not at all interested. Living there was horrible and I truly did not care whether or not the house was even standing anymore. But he was driving and he went in that direction. He asked me once or twice if he was going in the right direction and I had no idea. I just didn't remember--or care. He found it, we drove by, I glanced at it to make him happy and then we left. I wouldn't have been able to tell you anything about the place 5 minutes after we'd gone.
We've listened to many stories told by people about their memories and the way things used to be in a particular place. Sometimes this has been in the context of sitting around with friends or acquaintances. We've done more formal life story work with people as well. And we hear a lot of stories when we're on a bus or we have conversations with people there or in gatherings we happen to attend. I love hearing these stories and I enjoy reading about people's life experiences on blogs and in comments. These things help me understand both the world around me and my place within it, especially since these experiences are so different from my own.
