There are times when I contemplate what it would be like to live in a small town again. The Wisconsin town I grew up in had a population of only 1,013. It didn't seem small at the time, maybe because much larger cities like Milwaukee and Chicago were far away, and we rarely got there. They seemed drastically different and scared me in some ways--the houses were often close together, the traffic impossible, and scores of people everywhere. At least when we drove to Milwaukee to watch the Braves play baseball, we had a purpose.
The street I lived on was called Butternut Street. I've always had a fascination with how streets were named, but I've never figured that one out. Across the street was an empty field where I played ball for hours at a time. A block away was a neat and well-maintained ball field with an old grandstand that was classy looking, at least in my mind.
Driving back to my hometown this past summer, I could still visualize that wonderful old grandstand, which was torn down long ago. The town has since doubled in size and includes many beautiful new homes, but most of my old landmarks are gone. Across from my father's furniture store, where I sometimes helped out, was a charming old drugstore where I'd often sit at the counter drinking my favorite cherry phosphates. No way to describe them! I don't know if you can still buy a cherry phosphate, but they were truly unique!
In many ways I had an idyllic childhood in that little town. One year my dad paid the astoundingly low price of $40 for a family membership at a small country golf course just 13 miles away. It was good for an entire year! I played there often with my family and friends. Of course my friends and I rarely missed a stop at the local root beer stand afterwards.
And there was ice skating at the local Boy Scout cabin rink, just a block away from my home. I remember sprint races there, as well as warming up by the fireplace in the cabin. The hot chocolate provided was a delicious added treat. But I also remember sitting by the floor register when I came home, hoping that my feet would thaw out soon, and wondering why it was so incredibly painful. I vowed not to wait so long the next time, but it was rarely different. A passage of childhood, I guess.
And of course I remember my mother feeling obliged, because of her Norwegian heritage, to make Lutefisk and Lefse, our once a year Norwegian treat. My oldest brother and I thought it was delicious, but for days afterwards, our house had a "distinct smell." The little Norwegian plates made by a neighbor adorned our kitchen and made that special Norwegian food seem even more authentic.
In 1966, when I graduated from high school, there were only 44 students in my class. Fast forward 25 years when my oldest son graduated from a suburban high school in Minneapolis, which had over 2,000 students--twice the size of my whole town. How different our experiences of growing up have been. He's lived most of his life in large metropolitan areas, but thankfully he does have an appreciation of small towns and the unique and different lifestyle they offer.
As for myself, I feel like I've truly been blessed to have experienced two different life paths. Minneapolis has been my home for over 45 years, and it's still fun and exciting for me, with wonderful lakes and parks, sporting venues, theaters, shopping, and the opportunity to meet new people every day. But I find myself sometimes yearning for a quieter pace, fewer cars and people, and more time to "take it all in." My wandering spirit has returned. At times the grass is looking a little greener on the other side, but perhaps it's only temporary. Cher, the famous American singer and actress once said, "If grass can grow through cement, love can find you at any time in your life." Taking in that enticing piece of wisdom, I'm eager to embrace a new and special person in my life, as well as fresh faces and new challenges.
I know that upcoming birthdays at my age (65) cause one to reflect more than usual, and I might be the poster child for that. But as President Lincoln once said, "In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." I cherish the thought!
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