Middle-class rebellion
We live in the North Seattle neighbourhood. Ok, its not a neighbourhood – its a few sprawling hills of overpriced real-estate with organic vegetarian bakeries, mini-strips of chinese take-out, designer pizza, yoga-studios and dry-cleaners wafting that lovely soapy smell that will probably kill you. Its not all renovated – there are still lots of houses with collapsing fences and peeling paint, old junipers planted in the ’50′s; rows of identical ranch-style homes, retirement homes that always have the fire department carrying away bodies. We like it.
Anyway, as I walked home pushing the tractor-tricycle tonight it was particularly picaresque. The streets were gloomy and golden and I could see families in relief against the living room lights and flickering televisions. Umi was eating Japanese-style with her family sitting down at a low table, our neighbors carrying boxes into a car stuffed with – well – stuff, some teenagers hanging Halloween decorations in the front window. An older woman down the road gave us some seashells we admired (and I nearly stood on a dog poop as I walked closer to receive the gift).
And I didn’t even mind being almost run down by motorists going the wrong way around the roundabouts. I mean, what is it about roundabouts Seattle drivers don’t understand? Is it a form of middle-class rebellion, like “dammit, I will pay taxes and smile at the mailman but I will go whichever way I like around this circular impediment?”…


