I got my hair cut today! For those of you who haven't seen me in awhile, I was wearing it long, but because of a bad highlighting job my hair was breaking all over the place so I fell in love with the new Katie Holmes bob and suddenly it's on my head. (to my friend Dixie: I really hope it's not a helmet style! You've got me paranoid about my own hair now!) Anyway, it took me a couple of years here before I trusted anybody to cut my hair. I was afraid I was going to get a beehive and, well, that's just not my style (but it works for our choral director). Last year I finally found just the person and when I walked in, she asked me a couple of questions and it turns out she had been one of my daughter's daycare workers when we had first moved here. Small town. I was talking to my secretary this morning who was raised in this little place and when I told her who cuts my hair she asks, isn't that the girl who married my friend so-and-so's brother? Turns out, she was right. Small town. I finish getting my haircut and treat myself to Arby's and while there I see our substitute musician (also a dentist's wife) and a member of my congregation and we strike up a really nice conversation. Small town. From there I went to the chiropractor's office (you know, my social hangout) and on the table next to mine (it's open adjusting) was the woman who works at my bank. We too struck up a nice conversation amidst the popping and cracking of our adjustments. Small town. I went over to the gym to pick up the girls and ran into an "occasional" church go-er who fell in love with my hair and then the coach stopped mid-sentence with 100 kids to compliment my hairstlyle. It felt good to be recognized.
In a small town, there's really nowhere you can go to "get away" from people except your own home. And really, unless you're mad at the world, that's not a bad thing. It's nice to be seen and to be known. We all crave that. Sure, there are some days we'd like anonymity, but that's what the internet is for. In the real world, it's nice to be identified. When I lived in the city I still yearned to be known and I was -- in specific places. But here it's nice to be known, to be "found" in the crevices -- in the potholes and in the corners, in the bank drive through and in the Dollar General and walking down the street in my own neighborhood. And this is the news from Arbuckle Creek, where all the women drive golfcarts, the men are blatant carnivores (EAT MORE BEEF!) and the children watch for alligators in their backyards.
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1 comment:
My church wasn't exactly in a small town, being situated as it was within a few blocks of Philadelphia on three sides. (It was set in sort of like the knobby end of a puzzle piece.) But although the church is on a fairly busy street, and the community is changing, there was also a fairly small town feel to it. (There remain a fair number of folks whose families have been there more than one generation.)
Having grown up in a growing suburb and lived in the city for several years, that was an odd dynamic for me. The most striking small-town occurrence took place on our first weekend in the place. My beloved and I walked the half-block to the rec center, where we'd apply for our library cards at the local branch. As I remember it (perhaps faultily), this was before my first Sunday. One of the library employees--a member of the local Catholic church--was standing outside taking a smoke break. As we approached the door, she said, "Oh, hi. You're the new Rev.!" Disconcerting, to say the least, but kind of cool.
I got to know the regular mailman, too, who was very incompetent--one day he went down two blocks before figuring out that he was two houses off in his deliveries--but very nice. He always greeted me with a smile, a wave, and a "Hello, Reverend!"
Which made it all the more embarrassing on the one or two annual occasions when I would receive unsolicited solicitations to subscribe to Playboy.
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