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.
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 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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Thanks for posting that particular story. It brought back a lot of memories for me as well. I still have a soft spot for Abbostford because it was there that I first experienced small town Americana, right off the plane from Germany. I could write stories and remembrances of my own, but I will limit that to just one. I had had 10 years of English in school in Germany and I could certainly carry on a conversation. What eluded me were commonly used expressions and phrases which even today probably haven't made it onto the pages of Websters or any dictionary for that matter.
ReplyDeleteIn Abbotsford, being the small town that it was, it didn't take any time at all for people to know that the visitor from Germany had arrived, and many were eager to meet me. That always meant a lot of questions, all of which I answered to the best of my ability. But a puzzling thing happened, many of my answers were met with "doggone." This is something I had never experienced and for quite some time I could not understand why, in the middle of a conversation, people would suddenly, out of the blue, talk about a dog that was gone.
To this day I wonder if my English teachers in Germany would have understood that.
Thank you much Heinz!
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