Staying in the ‘Big City’ this past weekend caused me to realize, once and for all, that my transition to country living is complete. It’s taken more than thirty-five years so it’s probably about time.
Not only did I notice all the sirens day and night, but I realized that every time I heard one I automatically worried and wondered if someone I knew was in trouble. That’s definitely a country thing. When an ambulance or fire engine is heard in Oysterville, you can bet that someone you know is involved – either as victim or a first-responder. Thankfully, months (and even years) go by that we don’t hear them. I think I heard a lifetime’s worth during our forty-eight hours in Seattle.
Another thing was the ‘Assault of the Signs.” We don’t have many signs in Oysterville or even on the Peninsula. Thank Goodness. They clot up the landscape and, after a while, cease having much positive effect, at least as far as the locals are concerned. But in the Big City it’s an entirely different matter. Signs are everywhere – on the sidewalks, in the shop windows, on the sides of buildings, hanging overhead, zipping by on buses and other vehicles. It’s overwhelming to a country girl.
Even more overwhelming is that some of them don’t make a lick of sense. What, for instance, does “The More You Shop, The More You Save” mean? Babblespeak for sure. And how about the attention grabbers that are just on the edge of naughtiness. Like “Panties Now!” And then, of course, are the slogans and mottos and logos that are on everything – pillows, hats, tee shirts, jewelry. You can even buy cleverly designed words of wood or metal to sit on your mantle or out in your garden. Sometimes a country lass just wants something unadorned. Something plain and simple.
Of course, in the shopping realm, I’ve not gotten over the fact that Nordstrom’s downtown store has a housewares’ section now. That’s a toughie for someone who remembers when the store sold only shoes. No matter what your size or taste, you could find shoes at Nordstrom’s. I remember that Noreen Robinson, who had had polio as a youngster and had different sized feet, could get a pair of shoes there, one of one size and one of another. No extra charge.
As some of these thoughts rattled around in my head, there came to mind a poem that my mother used to recite sometimes. I can’t remember much of it except that it ended “…durned old rube from a high grass town.” Yep. That’s definitely me… and I couldn’t be happier about it!
My mantra too1 If I am too aged to move, to live in The Village, let me “live my moments” in the burg…We did hear sirens yesterday afternoon, and observed an ambulance, lights flashing in front of our of our local eating establishments. A local or a tourist in trouble. Small time girl in a smallish pond.