Walking

There's a lot to be said for modern life. I love the internet. Air conditioning is a wonderful thing. But we no longer seem to have neighbourhoods. Each house has become a self-contained, hermetically sealed unit; enclosing, protecting, imprisoning its occupants.

The only people out of an evening, in our neighbourhood, are determined power walkers with their meters and their weights and their expensive shoes. Sometimes they have a dog with them. Frequently the dog is dragging along behind, having been totally outwalked by its owner. Very few of these houses have porches, and people don't use them anyway. We are allergic to everything. Many of us never open our windows. The first we are aware of approaching weather is the crawler on the bottom of our TV screen, if we happen to be watching network TV.

The only places that have the flavour of the neighbourhoods I remember from childhood are those with a predominantly Mexican population. When Latinos first come here, they are desperate to save money, so they don't run their air conditioners, or use their dryers. Their windows are open, their doors are too, and they congregate outside in the evenings. Sitting on the porch with a beer or soda, or a glass of Agua Fresca. Kids and dogs playing in the twilight and the lilt of Tejano music in the air.