Reflecting on the smaller things of life...
I suppose I'm in a reflective mood. Considering my post of yesterday, my walks around the neighborhood today gave me more time to think and ponder. One thing I realized as I walked, that at 50 years of age, this is really the first time I've lived in the suburbs. And although I'd not really considered how that might be different than living anywhere else, I realize that it is.
I grew up in a very small farming community of about 800 people. One stoplight. One gas station. One restaurant. A furniture store. A funeral home. And a bar. That's about it folks. Unless you count miles and miles of corn. Our house was the next to the last one on the street, right outside the town corporation limit sign. It was a good growing up. We kids ran the town -- literally. Be home by dark. Make sure you bike is parked by the garage. And be in front of the TV to watch Bonanza on time. Small town living and it was grand. What a great way to grow up.
But I did grow up and for years I lived in apartments, duplexes, a mobile home, and houses, and none of them would be what you would typically call a subdivision. They were downtown, in the country, or somewhere in between.
But now, for the past 1 1/2 years, I've truly lived in a subdivision -- and honestly, it wasn't my first choice of a place to live. In fact, when I met with the Realtor, I described exactly what I didn't want. A house in the suburbs with the garage facing the road, vaulted ceilings, single story, treeless yard, and new. I wanted something established, with nooks and crannies, and built-ins, and big trees in the yard, and character. When we closed on the house, my Realtor subtly leaned over and said to me, "You realize you just boought the exact opposite house you said you wanted." And I realized, quite surprised actually, that I had.
I've not regretted it. And being home the past few weeks, really living in this subdivision, I've seen it come alive. Kids playing, dogs barking, people working in their yards, washing their cars, radios going, neighbors chatting over the fence. I believe I may have even heard one mom yell out, "Be home by dark, park you bike in the garage, and remember your show is on at 9."
It's a little like coming home. But different. As I walked this evening I glanced up and saw something that every time I see it, I think...wow. How fortunate am I to live in a place like this? Two hot air balloons drifted by overhead. They do that often. I suppose we're in their "flight path." Last Sunday morning a big Coca-Cola balloon slowly slid to the ground and landed in the field just to my left. Magnificent. How fortunate to live in a place where there are big ol' balloons in the sky! I suppose it could hark back to my fascination with the Wizard of Oz.
A simple thing. Small thing. But it makes me feel good. And I'm glad I'm here.