It was the woman who lives in the white house on the corner.
|Little Edie in front of Grey Gardens|
Other days, we’ll come out of the house and look across the street to find that she’s set up a tea-party on her lawn. She brings out all kinds of things: pots, fake flowers, buckets, rolling office chairs, stuffed animals, and arranges them in a semi-circle as if she’s had all sorts of company while we’ve slept (although I’ve never seen anyone at her house besides the young man who painted it). The tea-party will sit on her lawn for the day, or even two, and then just as mysteriously disappear. It’s rare that I see her out during the daylight hours.
So, to suddenly find myself walking behind her into town was a surprise. Where was she going at 6:20am? Was she just going for a walk? Was she going to pick something up? To meet someone? Does she do this every morning?
I passed only two other people. I caught myself studying them, inspecting their clothes, their faces, the directions they were walking. What were they doing?
A slight shift in my routine had suddenly revealed to me an entirely new set of questions.
What else am I missing?