While we don't get back "home" more than once or twice a year, I try to stay connected to my "roots" by talking with family (the rest of my immediate family all live in the town I was raised in) and by reading the local paper. My wonderful mother and father-in-law, who were also born, raised, and raised their family in the same town, still have a subscription to the Tribune and share past editions with me when they are done.
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| So many heart-warming stories, like the one story titled, "Veterans receive Quilts of Valor". My grandpa's featured in that story. |
Just tonight I sat down to read through the bi-weekly newspaper for the last couple months and as I read story after story, it hit me. While I've grown up, moved on and continue living life in the busy city, I think of my wonderful childhood community as a place frozen in time. It's true. When I think of the way things must be happening back in good old NH, no one grows older, the same stores provide the same services, everyone greets everyone with a smile and a friendly conversation about the weather and nothing changes. That's the way my heart convinced my head things must still be.
The fact that we just were back home less than a week ago, I realize very clearly, my hometown is not frozen in time, but almost the exact opposite. Standing in the grocery store talking with a familiar face, who I last saw more than 15 years ago is enough to make your mind race. While we were back home we visited our hometown fitness center (a place that didn't even exist when I was a kid) and just as kids do, my kids immediately became "friends" with some other kids who were playing ball. As I ran around the track and watched the boys make friends with two other boys, I tried to figure out whose kids they were. See in my hometown of less than 2000 people, everyone knows everyone and if they don't know you, then you must be a visitor from out of town. While I ran, I saw a few teachers/coaches from high school and at one point I thought, "maybe those boys are one of my old high school track coaches kids" After I finished running, my old high school history teacher came up to me and we briefly caught up. I asked him whose kids my kids were playing with and he told me they were the kids of one of our old classmates who graduated a year before Jarrett and I. As I put the pieces together and realized my high school track coaches kids are now in college, I couldn't help but realize just how many years have passed.
And that leads me back to our hometown paper. I love to read about what is happening back home and to stay updated on the latest news. In a way, I imagine it would be like reading the newspaper from Mayberry in the Andy Griffith Show. Unlike the news we see here in the city, small town papers are wonderful in that, they highlight happy news more often than negative. The paper is littered with stories of couples celebrating big anniversary's, pictures of newborn babies often outnumber the obituary section, and the opinion pieces often reflect on the important things in life... helping out other people, giving thanks for blessings and the real reason for Christmas. Nope, not stuff you see on the pages of the Arizona Republic.
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| Take for example, this story. Bill is my grandmother Virginia's brother and its hard to believe they've been married for 60 years. In my mind it should be more like 40. |
And yet, as happy as those stories are, I can't help but feel nostalgic about what I read. Part of it is my heart yearns for a life where my kids experience the childhood, the true feeling of community, the love and support and encouragement a teenager feels as they grow up in a place like my hometown. Where you are not just a number in a larger whole, but you are an individual whose worth and value are recognized in contribution to making a greater whole.
Tonight, I find myself reading the obituary section and understand what my grandparents and parents must feel as they read the news. And that I why I can't help but feel nostalgic too. Seeing obituaries of folks, of family members, of community leaders, old teachers, even parents of my friends, is emotional. I read the brief 7 or 8 paragraph summary of the loved ones life and can't help but grieve. If life doesn't have enough reminders that we are only here for a short amount of time, reading your childhood newspaper 15 years after you've left home, will give you a reminder you won't forget.
Life doesn't stop moving, stop changing and as must as I'd like it stop and stay the same; life doesn't work like that. Its just another reminder to cherish the here and now.
While I love my life here in the desert and know we are in the right place to raise our family and provide a life for our children, I think I'll always be a small town Iowa girl at heart. Knowing the community I was raised in was pretty much a modern day Mayberry, was truly a gift (although I didn't realize it at the time). And that's why I think I've kept that image of NH frozen in time. Seeing the community I grew up in and love, change, morph and become different isn't bad, its just different. And some say different is good. Different is what just reminded me time's a moving and I better make the most of the time I've got.
Until next time,
Angie
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