It's been about two weeks now since I left the world of daytime employment. (In case you missed it, I had worked at a large Medical Center losing my job because I disagreed with the Marketing folks. They had changed calling the ER to now calling it the ED... because "department" just sounds bigger. To me it made my penis limp... and before all of you chime in with your wise ass comments... limper than it was before. So there. I win that one. Sort of.)
This new found freedom has given me time to explore the quaint little seaside village I moved to recently. Think of it as a daily jaunt into "Murder She Wrote" without the commercials and the body count... but all the old people. Wealthy old people and annoying yuppie holdouts comprise the town... basically, as I believe you call it in your language "white people." (I wanted less diversity in life.)
Firstly, let me explain that my new town is called Manchester-by-the-Sea, Massachusetts.
It is not Manchester. That would be wrong because then it could be confused with Manchester, NH which is considerably larger and filled with those ghastly New Hampshirinians (That's what they are called right? I didn't think "Lethargic Lumberjacks" was proper.), old mills, drugs, and Fisher Cats (which appear when you take drugs). Manchester-by-the-Sea is pure blue blood country with boats and Volvos and no Lethargic Lumberjacks. (I am sure the drugs are of higher quality, as are the Fisher Cats who may actually be lions.)
Nor is it Manchester, CT, which is filled with... honestly, I have never been to Manchester, CT, so let's just go with the fact that it might not be by the sea.
Back in 1989, the town declared itself to be officially "Manchester-by-the-Sea" as it truly is... and now each time you mention this fair village you must use that lengthy moniker...
Unless of course you are hand addressing envelopes for 100 people at Xmas time, in which case I have just passed a law that says it can be Manchester, MA.
Many times I just put an * next to that on the envelope so that people know my writing hand is cramping up like a hooker in a Hand Job-a-thon but that I really know that I live in Manchester-by-the-Sea.
Note to the one hooker in town: You need competition for it to be a Hand Job-a-thon so we may need to challenge the nearby towns of Essex-in-a-Tidal-Lowland and Gloucester-that-is-an-Island. I am willing to be your training partner.
But I digress... or do I? Hang on a minute. I have to think about the hooker for a minute.
Okay. That's better... where were we?
Oh yes, Manchester* is a small town indeed. The town hall is not open everyday and the council is not to meet again until April. Even odder, we don't have any Chinese food...
Which is okay, because in my last location I fell in love with this beautiful Chinese waitress... except I could never tell which one she was.
The mailman has really large and awkwardly placed teeth. This is a good thing as I am lousy with names. I always remember his.
He also walks around checking his email while delivering the mail. He fails to see the irony in this.
There's a quaint supermarket in town that has fabulous homemade foods, beer, wine, AND liquor. Their sign out front says "Open some holidays."
The grocery bagger has one eye that goes in a different direction. He and I have chased down a lot of fruit as he often misses the bag. I don't know his name but that's good as there aren't too many names that rhyme with "one eye" or "bag."
I saw him at the dinner today and sat beside him but couldn't shake the feeling he was staring at me.
Manchester* has more cemetery plots than people. Most of the cemeteries do not have non-decidedly WASP names in them such as mine. (And they are all named John. Even the women.) I believe that is what the landfill is for.
The oldest cemetery is from 1661. All the tombstones are mashed between giant trees that have sprouted up since... some right through the center of the graves! I love the old tombstones with the epitaphs. Here's one of my favorites from the old burial yard...
Here lyeth John
Whilst he did no good
The dead ladies love him
Sporting his new wood.
Well, dusk is upon us now so I must go tend to the fire and prepare the chowder. More soon...