Today I went into Rutland and got some groceries on a snowy day. The people I saw had pale skin and bad haircuts. At a distance they are indifferent, up close they are wary and guarded. If they are happy people they do not feel obliged to express their happiness with things like smiles and laughter. Smiles they save for threats and laughter for the expression of scorn.
But they are good and dependable. You can not count on them having a cheerful greeting for you in the produce aisle. But if you are desperate on the side of the road you can count on three things: you can count on them stopping, you can count on them having something useful with them, and you can count on them being generous, whether it's a matter of knowledge, muscle or the use of a cell phone.
And I love them. These are my people, these aloof and weathered masters of the half-smile. And I might as well love them. I mean, being fresh from California, I would have to say that I too am pale and have a bad haircut.
1 comment:
You're tribal, which is nice if you are part of the tribe I suppose.
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