Yesterday I got a flu shot. I’m not much for flu shots, but after the Quarantine of 2009, we decided that the possibility of five cases of flu again this winter would be detrimental to our mental health. (Really, I would make a miserable shut-in.) As luck would have it, I’m that small percentage who experiences 24 hours of flu symptoms following the vaccine. Wheeee!
Anyway, I’ve been spending the afternoon in bed. (Thank you Barb for taking Ellery.) After a long nap, I stumbled outside to breathe some fresh air. I wandered over and sat in the middle of the butterfly garden. And breathed. And looked around me. And then I laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
When I was growing up, I grumbled about this town. Sure, maybe my parents decided to live here, but their move was more about a new job than it was about picking a dreamy place off the map. At the time, I thought to myself that, fine, I can grow up here, but when I’m an adult I will live somewhere glamorous. It will be urban and metropolitan. I will have culture and diversity. An important job and children who visit museums and ride subways.
Fast forward a few decades, and here I sit, in the middle of a field on the outskirts of the town where I grew up. My job is not terribly important, and although we make every effort to get to museums, my children don’t ride the subway. In fact, an old high school friend once confessed, after a few drinks, that they were surprised I was here. “I thought you’d be doing something more impressive, and certainly not here.”
At the time I remember feeling a bit sheepish. Like I had failed. That I hadn’t lived up to my potential.
But I know I could have had that life. In my early 20’s I was offered a position in the San Francisco office of our company. For several reasons, I turned it down. But mostly, the thought of being thousands of miles from my family made my heart a ache a bit too much. But I could have been in the thick of it if I’d chosen to.
Much to the surprise of many, we choose to live here.
I like my work. The many pieces that I tuck under my umbrella make me smile. And my co-workers are top-notch.
Although there’s way more laundry and cleaning involved than I imagined, I love being a mom. Although my kids might not play in the shadow of the Golden Gate bridge, they get to run naked through the fields. They gather toads and caterpillars, and have room to roam without me three steps behind them. They have the breathing space to become who they were meant to be.
I have this amazing husband who has room to build. Whether it’s sewing a cape or pouring concrete for the new high tunnel, there are few things I love more than when he’s using his hands. I can’t wait to see him build that Ready-Made house he’s had on list for years.
While this town isn’t rocking with diversity, there are so many good people. And it’s taught me that diversity goes in both directions—I need to be tolerant of those who are not like me, because we’re all in this together.
And I get to wake up every day to this field of black-eyed Susans and Queen Anne’s lace. Chickens cluck at my feet as I pick apples off the tree or gather tomatoes from the garden. Exhausted from a morning of chasing every little noise, the dogs nap lazily in the perfect sun spot.
It’s good stuff, what we’ve got going on here.
And next summer? Maybe we’ll visit a big city and ride the subway.
