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My Neighbor

 Should one write about one's neighbors?


Anne Lamott says that everything that happens to you is something you own. If people object to the way you depict them, in writing, then "they ought to have considered the option of treating you better."

My neighbor sips his martini, on my patio, and speaks about his trip to Pig Island.

"People forget," he says, "that the ocean is a wild place. It is not a theme park. My family and I were trapped, alone, on a boat, and it's fortunate that my spouse had listened to instructions. Because you have to move perpendicular to the stormy waves, away from shore. It's counterintuitive. But you'd better not *confront* the big waves, if you want to survive."

I'm recording all of this, in my head, and silently vowing never, never to attempt this particular kind of "vacation."

"Pig Island is great," says my neighbor. "But then there is Iguana Cove--and I have some reservations about that. It's a cove that has been infested with iguanas. They know when you have food, and they just charge toward your body. Sometimes, two iguanas battle for one bit of snack, and you feel you're maybe witnessing a fight-to-the-death."

I'm curious about the kind of snack you offer to the iguanas. Do you pick up a raw chunk of water buffalo--from the Pig Island concierge? This doesn't seem improbable....

"We worried about the hotel cost," adds my neighbor. "This wasn't cheap." But his eyes narrate the silent moral of the story: I'd surely do this again.

O, brave new world....






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