Neighbors

On the first hot day this summer, I looked out the kitchen window and saw people walking on my lawn. Then I saw them walk down the driveway and through the back yard, and climb down the bank to the creek in back of our house. I went out to meet them, and  it turns they just bought the house down the block, on the other side of the street from the creek. They should have asked before walking on OUR property!
Last time we saw someone walking on our property, we were robbed the next week. You never know these days.
In Nepal, all the foot trails go through people's door yards, or their rice paddies, or the temple court. That's just the way to get from one place to another. Someone is always home, so you just call out that you're walking through. Someone on the porch, or in the kitchen will probably ask, "Where are you going?" just to be polite. They might know somebody there where you could stay, or maybe they need a letter carried over there. They might know a shortcut you didn't know about, or at the very least will tell you how long it takes to get there. They might even have some hot tea on the fire you could share with a snack.
Last night I watched Ever After. The king's guards rode their horses right through Danielle' orchard when they were looking for the runaway prince. It was expected. It was the way people kept in touch with their neighbors; maybe one of them had seen a prince.
When was the last time you talked to one of your neighbors? Or greeted on of them at the mail box? Or stopped to talk with someone when they were mowing the lawn, or walking the dog? When was the last time you had a block party? What if we're missing out on something really important?

Personal Space

I got on the Rte 22 bus on Friday evening. It was standing room only.
I clean shaven young Indian man waves me on ahead of him. A homeless white man helps an insecure older woman get off through the crowd at her stop. The young Indian lady whose foot I step on when the bus lurches smiles and quietly says, "You're alright." A couple of school girls next to where I stand are having a hushed conversation in Spanish, and two young men speaking Korean or Chinese on my other side are discussing a book from one of their backpacks. A swarthy Hindi-speaking techie is loudly advising someone on the phone in English and Hindi, his voice the only distinguishable noise on the whole bus except for a couple minutes when a weary-looking traveler tries to overcome a bad telephone connection with Uncle Somebody to arrange a money transfer. A neatly-coiffed African American lady with a baby on her lap gets upset when an African immigrant reaches over her to pull the cord. It's not proper to enter another's personal space, physical or sensory.
On a bus in India we would have been standing much closer, using each other's bodies to stay standing in the bus. The crammed bus would be one of many running the same thoroughfare every five or ten minutes each one as crammed as the next, even until late at night. There's no guarantee all the passengers would be human... The noise level, both inside and outside the bus would be much higher, with honking horns, smoke-belching lorries, crying babies, conversations between co-workers heading to the same neighborhood, the bus driver hollering instructions.
I wonder where each of these passengers will end up tonight.