Some ex-Camdenites follow Facebook websites to reminisce, others to offer history and many to mourn that Camden is “not what it used to be.” It’s not what it used to be. But, it’s weird to think that everyone who lives here is constant peril.
I live in Cramer Hill–this is what happened here this morning. Assess my level of danger if you will. I got up late and I had breakfast while my husband tried to get me to taste kefir. His exact words, “I invite you to enjoy kefir because it’s supposed to be good for you.” The bottle proclaimed, “1% LOWFAT CULTURED MILK.” I do not like milk.
Because I’m so slick, I said, “I invite you to enjoy broccoli, mushrooms and cucumbers.” He laughed because he doesn’t like any of them.
We did a few chores and then my husband left to do an errand.
I was alone in the house here in Camden. Things did happen. A young man knocked at the door and my dog barked ferociously at him. What did this stranger want? “I’m selling cakes for my church.”
Uh, no thanks. I pulled the dog away. After all, the young guy was only selling cakes and not chocolate-covered raisins. (Inside joke–my dog had gotten very sick with them recently.)
That harrowing adventure over, I poured myself a Coca-cola (the soft drink, not the bad coke) and had opened the New York Times Book Review that arrives at my house on Saturday mornings. I thought it frightening because I found two dark memoirs (at least) that I will order–another blow to my pocketbook. In case you’re interested: Bastards by Mary Anna King–the story of a young girl in South Jersey who watches her parents give away her siblings for adoption and then she is sent away at seven… and then Whipping Boy, The Forty-Year Search for My Twelve-Year-Old Bully–the story of a man who tracks down his childhood bully and reunites with him via social media.
The danger continued as I found one more book to order: Death in Brittany by Jean-Luc Bannalec, a whodunit set in France. I love books set in France. I studied French in college and I feel justified that I studied it when I recognize French words thrown in books–Merci beaucoup! Ou sont les toilettes? Ooh la la!
I was saved from penury by our big sweetie Camden cat, Bello, who jumped on the table and spread out on the book review and, valiantly, he would not budge. Bello to the rescue! My bank account thanks him.
Now my Camden morning is over. Who knows what might happen next? Whoa…. Here’s what is happening–up to the minute news! My dog runs to pick up his favorite toy from Halloween, an orange and black braid. I guess he wants to be ready to smack any intruder with it?
Okay, okay. I know there are bad things happening in Camden, but, NOT EVERY DAY… Sometimes it’s just plain peaceful.
Love to all my readers,
Marguerite Ferra, Cramer Hill resident