Living in a Small Town

Living in Small Town America

I love living in a small town! There. I said it. And, I meant it. Let me give you a few different examples and maybe you’ll be able to figure out why . . .

1. Earlier this week I called my favorite “deli” in a neighboring town – okay, it’s al Ducci’s in Manchester! – and the owner answered the telephone by saying, “Hi, Claudia, what can I get for you today.” They obviously have caller ID and some people might be horrified by the invasion of privacy . . . but, not me. I wiped a sh**-eating grin off my face in time to sputter, “The usual, please!” Well, this being a small town, they know who’s calling and they know what my usual is. Attention to detail and friendly service – what more can you ask for? Editorial aside: Their tomato, basil, mozzarella panini is heavenly, especially with local produce in season!

2. I’m a volunteer EMT-Intermediate on the local rescue squad and ambulance service (the Londonderry Volunteer Rescue Squad) and the other day I responded to a call that was toned out to respond to my parent’s home address. Slightly panicked, I told a customer who had arrived at my office minutes earlier that I had an emergency and was leaving the office open (Gasp!) and they could look at my listings on their own and they could call me with questions.

Well, I sped up the road and arrived to discover that a neighbor (second-home owner, friend and long-time part-time resident!) had crashed her bike on the road near my family home. I had plans for the evening and was already running late, so I intended only to provide initial treatment and then turn her over to a crew who would take her to the local hospital. But, the look of sheer relief when she saw me changed my mind. Being able to provide comfort and care to a neighbor and a friend is worth ruining the evening’s plans. In the end, we are able to salvage our plans and the ambulance dropped me off in Chester so I could meet my husband and friends at a restaurant in Chester.

3. I’m in a book group with 13 other women. Four of the women I’ve known since before kindergarten; I’ve known 12 for more than 10 years; one is my sister-in-law; three are literally my closest neighbors; seven have been in the group since we started in January 1999; two have left and come back again; and, all 13 would quite practically give their left arm (provided they’re right-handed!) to help any one of us in the group. We’ve seen each other through life’s best and worst times and we’ve always been there for each other. Sometimes books and reading take a backseat . . . and that’s okay. These are my friends and I am eternally thankful for each and every one!

4. It takes me twice as long as it should to go grocery shopping at our local grocery store (Clark’s IGA in Londonderry). Usually, this is a good thing and I’m not complaining. It means I’ve encountered friends in the wine section, “patients” shivering in the frozen food aisle, real estate clients and customers among the produce and too infrequently seen neighbors scouting the organics section. Taking the time to say hello and visit serves many purposes: it makes us feel loved, it connects us to our world and it can, on occasion, provide an idea for dinner!

Starting the Day with a Smile

I had a “moment” this morning on my way to work. Keep in mind, this is a rural commute of less than five miles along one of the area’s prettiest roads. Just as I was coming down Lawrence Hill Road into the heart of Weston village and approaching the intersection with Main Street, I saw a middle-aged, shirtless man in the middle of the street. He looked like he was wrapping up a morning jog; he had a bottle of water in one hand and looked rather damp. Just as I was about to pass him, he kicked a previously unseen soccer ball across the road towards Weston’s Village Green. He missed! The ball flew in front of me and hit one of the railings and ricocheted out into Main Street. Surprisingly, the road was empty at this moment. I scowled at the jogging soccer-dad, mentally admonishing him that our roads were not his playground and it was irresponsible for him to play with his ball in the middle of the street. What kind of example was he setting for children? My MOMENT occurred as I passed him. I glanced in my rearview mirror to see him jog out into the middle of Main Street and kick the ball once again towards the Green. My frown turned upside down into a huge grin when I saw the ball again hit a rail and catapult itself across the road into Main Street. I laughed all the way down the street to my office as I watched the ball aimlessly drift down the center of the street with this poor guy jogging after it!