Small Towns

My friend Norma was here today, along with her sister Linda and her husband Dan.  Norma lives in Chicago, Linda and Dan in Oshkosh.   During our time together, I mentioned that I never expected to wind up back in my home town.  I'd lived at so many places after I left Seymour at 18, places like Los Angeles and Chicago. It wasn't until I was 35 that I returned here to raise my son.  

Gary sometimes suggests there are better places.  He would like to live next to a lake in the northern woods.  But could I go swimming year round?  I can in Seymour at our aquatic center.  Would there be a fitness center nearby?  There's one here, at the high school, only three blocks away.  

What if we got sick in our lakeside paradise?  Who would get us out during winter storms?  Seymour is fifteen miles from the nearby hospital and there's an efficient EMT squad here.  

We have a good library system, wi fi, a grocery store, and a discount store, all within walking distance.  

One thing you don't have in small towns is privacy, and that is not always a bad thing. 

Decades ago, my brother, then about twelve, sent a picture postcard to my parents from his Lutheran summer camp, saying something about having a wonderful time and "Love, Carl"  What he forgot was to finish the address.  All he had written was "Seymour, Wisconsin".  My parents got it anyhow, because everyone down at the post office knew that Carl was at camp.   

Things haven't changed all that much.  I had a phone call this afternoon from the service station.  "Isn't Gary Harms your boy friend?" 

"Yes? What did he do now?" 

"He left his credit card here." 

Gary left town on Friday to visit his aunt in Dixon, so why did it take so long to report they had the card?  Because the weekend crew is made up of kids.  The card had to wait until the adult workers came, the ones that like to gossip and keep track of everyone.  

I went over, answered one question to prove I knew Gary, identified his card, and brought it home. 

Seymour has its faults.  It is far too conservative for people like Gary and me, but some day, when our minds are addled with dementia, there will be townspeople to steer us home.  

And maybe call the EMT squad.