My Sister

My sister’s life lies somewhere between inspiration and calamity. She is the bravest person I know. But she also has life skills that lead her to exclaim that her life is “mostly a warning for others”.

My sister makes principled decisions anchored in what will be most meaningful for her and for others. She then lives the hard consequences with courage. She gave up a surefire job after college to work as an unpaid intern at a museum. There she made critical contributions to a new display on race relations. To make ends meet she lived in my aunt’s basement and waited tables. Out of conviction, she then left the comfort of her familiar life to move to a new city where she endured a soul-withering job, but found her soulmate. She recently left a top-tier college for a new post at a small Midwestern school. She believes in their cause and in her ability to make a difference there. She is an inspiration….

….and a warning. Take her recent trip to China. On her very first day in Beijing she became separated from her tour group. Soon hopelessly lost within the labyrinth of the “Forbidden City”, she was obliged to show someone a card that the tour company had given her. Written on the card in Cantonese was something to the effect of: I have lost my tour group. Please call my tour company at…. A panicked guide soon appeared for her. Life Skills – 0.

Next was a boat trip up the Yangtze River. Onboard she shared a cabin with her travelling companion. It had a small balcony off the side of the boat. One evening my sister prepared to go up on deck for dinner. She shut off the cabin lights. She closed and locked the balcony door and the cabin door. Seated alone at her dining table, my sister became increasingly annoyed that her roommate was taking so long to join her. Finally she began to eat on her own. Sometime later her roommate appeared, none too pleased. For quite some time she had been locked out on the balcony. She had since been pounding on the balcony door and yelling for help. She was finally rescued by someone in the adjoining room. Life Skills – 0: Calamity – 1.

Near the end of the trip it came time to buy gifts for the family back home. My sister discovered that to do so in a local Chinese shop, one had to barter. She does not like to barter. So instead, she returned to Philadelphia and went straight to the shops in Chinatown. There she bought all sorts of Chinese knick knacks for our family. No bartering, and we were none the wiser. Besides, she reckoned all the stuff came from the same place anyways. Life Skills – 1.

[If you know others who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them WordsfortheWearyThe more the merrier.]

Image found at funnysigns.net

The Border

Crossing the border between Canada and the US used to be pretty easy. That’s to be expected between the best of neighbo(u)rs.

Take for instance the time I crossed from rural Maine into rural-er New Brunswick. To reach the border I foolishly took a minor road through the heart of Maine. Don’t ever do this. When eventually I hit the border, the crossing booth looked like a glorified port-a-potty. There were two female Canadian border patrol members squished into its cedar-lined interior. I expect they saw fewer than 20 cars a day.

I rolled down to the window and handed them my passport.

The guard looked into the window of my car. “Sir”, she said. “It looks like you have a car packed for a family. But I don’t see a family. Is there a family in there? You didn’t forget them, did you? That is generally considered bad for the marriage.”

I explained that my wife and children had flown to Halifax. It was only me doing the 1,000 mile drive because we needed a car once we got out there. I was solo, but would soon meet the family in Halifax.

“Sooooooooo”, she said with faux chastisement, “No family. That would explain the beef jerky and cigars at 10:30 in the morning”.

Indeed. That morning on the way out of Bangor, Maine, I happened upon a shop that sold beef jerky, whisky, and cigars: the holy trinity of road trips. Of course I hadn’t had (much) whisky since I was driving, but I was happily nurturing a cigar and chomping on beef jerky as I rolled up to the border.

I confessed. Mea culpa. Guilty as charged. Then I asked her not to judge me since Maine is – truly – an exceedingly boring state through which to drive. She agreed. Then she added: “Looks like we got another liberated husband here. Enjoy your time in Canada”.

That was it. Not a single question about where I was staying, for how long, what I was bringing in. Nothing. I was clearly not an existential threat to the legal or sovereign interests of Canada.  That’s to be expected between the best of neighbo(u)rs.

[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWearyThe more the merrier.]