The Folks on the Corner

When I began writing this blog, I made a conscious decision not to write about politics, religion, or anything that might cause serious philosophical arguments between myself and my reader-friends. But something has been festering inside me, something rotten and biting, and I just can’t hold it in any longer.

This spring, I avoided paying my taxes until the last possible moment. It wasn’t for the usual reason–my desire to keep my money away from the wasteful “people’s” government for as long as possible–but because I simply did not have the money.

Saint Patrick

I’ve met plenty of people who have managed not only civil, but friendly relationships with their ex-spouses. Perfect strangers have told me their stories, including one woman who let her ex live with her for years after he lost everything in a fire; and a man just the other day who has become “roommates” with his ex-wife–his best friend–for the financial benefits of couplehood. Unfortunately, these stories are not the norm. We speak in hushed tones, eyes wide, amazed to have found kindred spirits.

The Hunt for Green

There is a certain, special comfort that comes with living in a land of regular seasons. While my Midwestern friends enjoy their cold winter days interspersed with tee-shirt weather, slaves to the unpredictability of temperature change and unable to put away shorts for the winter, I enjoy the consistency of one cold day after another, chains of chilly or sticky or downright freezing nights all linked by weeks and months upon the calendar.
Along with the comfort, however, there comes a nagging brand of monotony.

Just a Little Nudge

Winter in this neck of the woods is far-removed from the mixed bag of Midwestern weather-mood swings. The seasons here are amazingly consistent and long. The results are predictable–for everyone except the local weathermen–and the road crews are well trained. Unfortunately, when the snow exceeds a couple of inches in depth, they are well trained to plow that snow directly into my driveway.

Last Stop Before Home

When a business closes in a small town, everyone notices. First there are the rumors at the church social. (“I talked to Bob and Sally the other day. Looks like they’re having trouble making a go of it at the store.”) Then there are rumblings at the bank. Then decisions are made, and as quickly as they are, the crowd at Stewart’s has the full story and passes it to everyone who wanders in–which, in a town the size of Hoosick Falls, means everyone. Period.

Dying to Get Into the Zoo

Despite Katie and Biscuit’s penchant for chasing the neighborhood stray cats, my back porch remains a cat-friendly hangout. Regular visitors like Scruffy, Fluffy, Blackie, and now Tux, gobble up my cheap, discount store cat food faster than I can fill the dish.

Hoosick Hooligans

HF is an odd little town. It is equal parts classy and trashy. Unfortunately, the trashy parts are very vocal and very visible. When walking the dogs, I encounter many different elements, all blended together in a strange little quilt of small town diversity.

Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat!

…One of the more moving aspects of small town life is the Community Event. I generally skip such activities, having enjoyed more than ten years worth of “big city” life. I became accustomed to the inherent privacy and disconnection of being surrounded by thousands of neighbors. I enjoyed it. Having grown up on a farm near a very small town, I rebelled as an adult against being a part of everything that happens around me. …

Strays…and their dogs

… I set a bad precedent with Katie in our first week as a family. I didn’t make her walk right. My thought process was that I would let her get Biscuit and his excitement out of her system, and get to know the smells of the town; and in our second week, just the two of us, we would work on her leash behavior. But week two came and went, and our first walks alone were decidedly unpleasant. …