Directions to my new house

I am learning a lot about the new place I live. Southern Alberta is quite a Mormon area. And it's pretty much guaranteed that there will be a daily conversation on lineage. (who are you related to? Where are you from? What's your maiden name? Do you know Joe?) Southern Albertans don't realize how odd it is to label people in such a way, and, to someone like me, (an outsider coming IN), it's intimidating and scary and strange. Really, WHO CARES what my Gramma's first brother's cousin's step-mother's name is?! And no, I'm not related to the same John Smith family as the ones who live on the corner in the blue house.

Sadder yet? I went to church in our new ward again this Sunday.
Introduced myself as Debbi "McSpanky", because I knew that introducing myself as Debbi Barber would prove useless as I'll be changing that last name in a few weeks. The next question, "what's your maiden name"...
And then later- "Who are you related to? Are you from Southern Alberta?"
And then, the inevitable, "Whose house did you move into?"


Where's the sad part, you ask? Well, I answered all of those questions (for the bagillionth time) as a Southern Albertan. Yes. I fell into the trap. ...I moved into "Jack Dawson's old home". The yellow one on the corner with the playground in the back.

Yes.

I gave that answer.

And everyone knew what house I was talking about.

If you're not from around Southern Alberta, and you wanna come visit me and Will, we'd love visitors. You may sleep on a foamie in the basement until the old house sells and we bring out beds over, but we'd still love to see ya. I may even bake cookies. Just don't ask me which house number it is. I couldn't tell ya. But we live right beside Norma Jean and right behind Gertrude and Thomas. You'll find us. Ask at the post office. They'll likely give you our mail to take to us too. But don't ask about Mrs. Johnson's health, or you'll hear all about her latest boil issue.

True story.