26 August 2011

I got the shakes!

This is the town that made me. Kind of.

Come visit right now. You're the only one(s) I have to share this with. I have friends here–well one with some budding possibilities–but for various reasons they don't fulfill this role of share-dom at the moment. Mostly because I'm not sure if they're constantly suffering from the wonderment I feel as I walk around town. I have picked out some houses we should walk past so you can help me decide what it would be like to live there, who lives there now, who built a house like that, who chose that color. Most houses here are neutrals, but here and there are sherbert-like neon homes. Who can blame them, winters are long, people are reserved. I remember now how I've always wanted to shake this town up. Come visit and you can be part of my guerilla (or gorilla) poetry movement. Or whatever else I come up with. Do you have an idea? Hurry, get here, let's be star people.

I went to the thrift store again today. And again the girl at the cash register looked familiar, I must have gone to high school with her. I hesitate saying hello to people I [think I] know because a couple of Christmases ago I recognized a girl in the grocery store. She saw me but showed no sign of recognition. "Hello!" I said, "I'm Marge, remember me?"

"Yeah, I do."


And more frequently people don't recognize me. My piano teacher of 11 years looked confused and a bit upset when I saw her and rushed to say hello, same with several other people at that wedding. It's always a toss up, do they really not know who I am or do they hope never to see me again? What would be the case for the girl at the thrift store? I said hello and re-introduced myself (six+ years and all).........and I couldn't tell.

Well, what have I got to lose? This town could use some shaking. Ask me some time and I'll remove the gloss and reveal the seedy underbelly of small towns in remote areas before I restore their glory again.

P.P.S We'll go to high school football games, they're just across the street. Or the water treatment plant? Just a short walk. The shortest walk ever....I might still know the music therapist at the senior citizens' center, we could sing about the yellow ribbon round the old oak tree.... 

1 comment:

  1. I have been thinking about this a lot lately. I want to go back to my home ward so people there can meet the babies and Travis, but part of me thinks that people there will be like "Oh hey Becky." and then move on and not care about me.
    Which is weird. I find myself thinking "Don't you care that I'm here? Aren't you interested in my life? Do you even remember me?"