Read Dancing In a Jar for Free Online Page A

bookcase and I’m a little afraid to embarrass them or me by asking. To be honest, I was expecting perhaps some literary provincialism but I wasn’t expecting a literary wasteland. Oh dear. Luckily I have the cold to take my mind off the isolation.
    There is a library in the town of Grand Bank, where we stopped on our way to St. Lawrence. But I’m not yet desperate enough to venture onto another boat, so I am taking my time reading the books I brought with me. Anything you can send me, dear Sis, would be well appreciated.
    I am slowly coming to know some of the women in the town. There are two sisters, Ena and Gertie Farrell, who have come calling a few times. I am seesawing between young women my age who are unmarried but barrels of fun, and married women who have so much to teach me that I would like to sit at their feet all day. But they are already carrying the weight of children and housework so the last thing they need is a puppy like me around. They never seem to complain, certainly not in my presence, and carry about their days completing enormously under-appreciated tasks. And there is little respite from the housework. I think of Mother painting dishes in the afternoon or sitting quietly to read or needlepoint. That seems a world away.
    But the other day I thought of something: maybe it is incredibly important that these women use their intelligence simply to manage the household, and to make life as normal as possible for everyone around them. It is a very noble role. I have never really seen it that way.
    Then there are times when I think of how awful my days would be to not have options or to imagine what else I might do in my life. Don has mentioned that mining is opening up in Mexico, and on days when I feel impossibly cold and damp I imagine me under the bougainvillea trying to cool off.
    I wonder if the women here have dreams like mine? I don’t know anyone well enough yet to ask, but from what I see, their options are so very limited. Yet no one looks miserable, and at the risk of oversimplifying, I am now starting to see this perhaps as a bit of a gift in that they know what the future holds for them. I’m trying not to panic at the fact that I don’t have a clue about what it holds for me.
    Let me get this finished so I can make the mail boat. I hope there will be some more news from you when the Glencoe arrives.
    Love to you both,
Urla
    . . . . . . . . . . . .
    Since the letter is still open I will tell you about a recent cultural highlight! Everyone was excited that a new movie was coming to town. You can imagine our reaction when we heard it was Charlie Chaplin in City Lights so that tells you something about how far behind we are. They also had the Passion Play showing. As it was strictly a Catholic affair, Don and I decided to go on Saturday as the Passion Play was on Friday only. But the priest here is very wise and knew that the Friday night audience didn’t need the Passion Play, so he saved it for the wicked devils on Saturday night. We were seated right up front and couldn’t leave without being noticed! Bet you haven’t had a Saturday night like that!
    St. Lawrence, Newfoundland
    November 22, 1933
    Dear Pop,
    Thanks for your last letter and I accept your criticism that I’m writing more about the place than the work. I know it must strike you as funny that we could find so much to talk about in a little town of 900 people. It surprises us too!
    So onto the work.
    I finally managed to get the men paid for some back work and now have a great team working on the Black Duck site. While I was waiting for the financing to come through I ran a few survey lines into the mine, through some of the toughest country I’ve ever walked through. I certainly won’t need to worry about gaining weight! This site is further advanced than I was expecting from Siebert’s account. By that I mean the size of the exposed vein and the quality of the fluorspar. The mine site itself, on the other hand, is just