Small town girl in progress...

I live in a small town. It is a world famous town but small nonetheless. Actually, technically I live in the unincorporated part of this small town. This means if we have an emergency the sheriff comes instead of the local police force, we get reverse 911 call tests every six months and we get the small town's mailing address without the taxes. The whole community shares one school district and a common interest in maintaining the charm of the area. Sounds good so far right?

Our community has great beauty courtesy of Mother Nature. There are six seasons here: 1) Gorgeous fall, about 2 weeks long; 2) Mud season; 3) Winter aka ski season; 4) Mud season; 5) Spring, about 3 weeks long; and, 6) Summer aka golf season. Being a Pollyanna of sorts I always remind myself that mud season is what sustains the rest of the year. Even if The Black Dog loves to roll in the mud and bring it into the house. Especially then... But I digress.

In our town people actually go to the post office, run into each other and visit. The concept of "having a visit" was new to me having lived an urban and suburban life prior to moving here. The S.O. was used to this because he grew up in the Midwest where apparently visiting is done all the time with anyone who has the time. I have bumped into people at the store and gotten updates on my husband's workday which is funny because he works in the biggish city down the canyon. And all over the country for that matter.

It is the kind of community where the world famous restaurant owner/chef greets the locals by name and seats them right away. Those with reservations are seated next and the non-reservation self important types wait. And wait. (Hint, if you come here - make reservations or have a local do it.) And no one really cares who you are, what you did or who you know. The S.O. and I were out to dinner one night at one of the nicest restaurants in town. It is well regarded in the foodie world thanks to Bon Appetit among other things. As we waited for our table a Non Reservation Self Important Type pushed his way in. For a large party. The young hostess smiled and took down their name. He tried flashing a little cash. She smiled and let him know they would call him when the table was ready. Then he told her who he was, what he did for a living (worked for a major TV network) and her response? "What a great job, I am sure your family must be so proud of you..." And again said she'd call his name. We were seated and the hostess apologized for the guys behavior - which we told her was unnecessary. We had a visit with her and enjoyed a nice night.

People who live in our small town don't often go down the canyon to the biggish city unless it is for a specific reason or work. I think the beauty of our area, the drive (which isn't a big deal to us former LA folks) and all of the things going on up here make it hard to leave. But every now and then I get a yearning for the city. Work travel doesn't count because you really don't get the time to appreciate whichever city you are in. I had a little island fever. The S.O. was also feeling that way so down the canyon we went to the biggish city. He kept referring to it as a daytrip.

We went to a larger outdoor mall and decided to catch a movie which we did. We asked the ticket taker about the movie we picked, expecting a small visit. He told us he hadn't seen the movie, then yelled "Next" even though we were the only ones in line. We walked around and then went to dinner in a different part of town at a Brazilian grill. The S.O. has recently been waxing nostalgic about his time spent in Brazil and Argentina so this seemed like a good idea. (P.S. I think he doesn't go into details about those years due to an agreement with certain large "agencies" even though he swears he was just opening banks for a US Corp.) We were seated and our server asked where we were from. When we told her her eyes widened and she said "...wow...you came down from there???" We said yes and commented that it was only a 20 minute drive. Then she asked what brought us there and the S.O. explained that he had been craving grilled meat Brazilian style. Then they started to have a visit, half in English and half in Spanish (he doesn't speak Portuguese that well). Except that her manager noticed. And interrupted us to check on the service. And moved her along.

We had a great dinner although we noticed very little visiting going on. Even among the patrons themselves. Naturally we visited about this. That's when I realized I might actually be turning into a small town person. I like knowing the people at the grocery store and knowing what is going on with the county budget. I like running into my friend's daughter and realizing she is supposed to be in school and seeing the panicked look on her face when she realizes I am having lunch with her mom that day. I see how addictive the small town feeling is and being a private person - I am still working on "visiting".