"Well, I was born in a small town," as John Mellencamp would say. As as matter of fact, I didn't grow up IN the small town; I grew up in the country outside the small town. It was a blissful childhood full of bike rides down the gravel road to meet up with Gina so we could "ride into town." Lazily with seemingly no destination, my Flower Power one-speed would pedal beside Gina's bike. We didn't need a trail of breadcrumbs because it was impossible to get lost. A familiar landmark dotted every corner: Marian and Irene's house with my favorite porch swing, the softball diamond stirring up a cyclone of dust behind my beloved elementary school, Casey's on the highway, the dilapidated library where precious librarian Grace would stamp check-out cards in stacks of books each week. I was a small town girl. College and married life brought me to more small towns. The population grew some, but I could still be on a first-name basis with the postal clerk and the bank teller. I still had to be a tiny bit embarrassed to buy wine at the local grocery store because surely a student of mine would be bagging my order. I lived in towns where I knew street names and business owners along with rumors of neighbor's marital distress and alcohol abuse problems. I was still a small town girl. Still. There's always been something in me that loved the pulse of the city. Chris and I spent countless weekends in St. Louis and Kansas City, Nashville and New York City. We discovered favorite sushi restaurants and listened to live music in dive bars. We used public transportation and looked at online reviews to find out-of-the-way donut and ice cream shops. We were also city people. Now after two weeks of living in St. Paul, I guard my words because I don't want to gush too much. It feels like a new relationship. I'm afraid to talk too much of this sweet new guy because I might jinx it. Maybe if I focus too much on the positive traits, some totally nasty flaw might surface that will make me run in the other direction. I also don't want to hurt the feelings of my previous loves, you know? I mean, those other boyfriends were great, too. Seriously. And they made me who I am today and taught me what is really important about life. I wouldn't be who I am today without them. Still. This new love is pretty sweet. Yesterday we checked out a global market in Minneapolis where we picked up some baklava and local beers. Then we ordered authentic Chinese takeout because we could. This morning we checked out a new church where the pastor addressed racial injustice and our broken judicial system right after we sang a traditional hymn I knew from my days as a child. Father's Day lunch was sushi in an adorable neighborhood followed by a walk around one of the many lakes in the metro area. I feel a bit swoony and honeymooned, you know? And this feeling of pure bliss probably won't last forever, but it's here for now. Does this mean I reject small town living? Of course not! It also doesn't mean that I think those who choose to live in a small town are making some gargantuan mistake. Because they aren't. And it doesn't mean I don't painfully miss my sister and her crew and my good, good friends who let me be myself. Because I really, really do. It just means that the four of us (and Rooney!) are here and happy. And that feels really nice.
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September 2020
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