Small Towns

There’s a lot to be said for the people living in small towns.  It has taken until midlife for me to fully appreciate how fortunate I’ve been to grow up and remain in a small town where so many people know each other, know a friend of a friend, know my history and lots of my fun stories from the past, and know my face.

Having begun dating my husband in middle school and now married 26 years, I am not unusual in my small town.  Most of our friends have dated nearly as long and have been married even longer.  It’s commonplace.

There’s a sense of acceptance, community, and a deep stability to people who stay in their small towns.  So many of these people I know in my town are “family folks” talking highly of their family’s traditions and their upbringing – the good and the bad with equal acceptance of what is. 

When I sit around friends’ dinner tables, sharing a home cooked meal, a green salad, a baked dessert and listen to the conversation, I can’t help but feel grateful and in admiration of these hard working, good souls.  They’re no nonsense.  They work, raise children with an honest depth of character, they plan family meals, they budget and scrimp pennies.  We talk about where to get good deals, the changing color of leaves and the turning to fall once again, about our kids, our parents, our successes, and our failures. 

I raise a toast to all my neighbors and friends in my small town.  You make my life rich with your presence, your conversation, your friendship.  You make me proud of where I’m from and so proud to be associated with you.

Photo:  Prouts Neck, Maine

Pretty

My estranged real father made me feel that I was pretty.  He teared up when looking at me in a  party dress, in a wedding dress, in jeans sitting on his couch.  My husband has always made me feel that I am pretty (short hair, long hair, weight up, weight down).  Perhaps that’s why I married him.  My Aunt Georgia, who embodies femininity, fun and prettiness has a way of making me feel, and actually wanting to be, pretty.  She makes me feel that pretty is fun.   

I could stop right there.  I’ve been blessed in my life with these three making me feel so wonderful – who could ask for more than that?

This is all rather odd to me though as I don’t think much about pretty.  I’m definitely a girly-girl, but I’ve never been a princess or a diva or had my looks be my most defining characteristic.  (I can only hope my smile has been my defining feature.)  

I do always wear make-up which I can apply in five minutes flat at the age of fifty.  I can get ready for an evening out in 10 minutes - high maintenance I'm not.  I’ve told friends that I wear lipstick not just as a beauty statement, but because my lips become too dry and chapped if I don’t.

But I write about pretty with really such a different meaning.  Pretty is in the eye of the beholder ….with a deeper connection than physical appearance.  Others looking at us are much less critical and far more appreciative than when we look at ourselves.  

Sometimes, it’s the special moments in our lives – the dinner at a beautiful restaurant, the evening out at a show or concert, the candlelight and conversation when it’s not forced or rushed – that exemplify life itself.  It’s these special highlights that we sometimes call upon in hard times or angry times to keep things in perspective and try to see the positive.  

When I, for just a moment now and then, feel pretty and looked at fondly by someone I love, I can feel a little taste of the elixir of life itself and all seems good.  And it has nothing to do really with how I look; it's how it makes me feel.  

It’s our sparkle and our attitude that will impact others.