My Indecision

Well, today I was reading a new book my niece Claire picked up at school. It was rather cute and all, and it had a sweet little picture of Main Street, U.S. of A. I looked at that picture for quite a while, I tell you. And I thought, "Oh, wouldn't that be nice. Little hometown stores and shops all lined up." Much like you see above. And you know they'd have quite the celebration on the fourth of July. I love celebrations on the fourth of July. Everyone all decked out in red, white and blue and sparklers with the kids while twilight falls. And parades. Well, I don't love parades, but I'd go if I was in that small town. Everyone would be there and we would all chat and socialize over a Coke (but I don't drink that anymore, so maybe a Sprite or a nice home made lemonade would do). And it would be so friendly and fun.

And when I have thoughts such as these, I wonder to myself, I do. What happened to New York just a few weeks ago, when I couldn't stand the thought anymore of being away from the city? Missing Max Brennar and the Shake Shack with Kamilah. Missing a walk around the city, a quick trip to get away from Newark for a moment. Just talking about it makes me crave a good walk in Central Park, a stroll down to Union Square for some shopping or a trip to Brooklyn, Brooklyn...take me in!

And yet there is always this part of me that loves a good Main Street and a small town and friendly, familiar faces. I'm envisioning the small towns I've seen in Virginia or upstate New York. They have old video stores that actually still rent out video cassettes and antique shops with pretty old end tables and lamps and chaise lounges. It isn't crowded and you can always find a good little bite to eat. No chain restaurants. No Target or Walmart (which I have to admit, I'd have to take a few road trips every once in a while for those, anyway).

And there is always a hardware store, small, with dusty shelves and no air conditioning. And a nice balding man runs the store. Oh, and of course there is a malt shop somewhere. There just must be because that is the rule of small towns in America. They have malt shops that still make vanilla and cherry sodas the old fashioned way.

Perhaps it is my small town roots. I can see it the way it was then, when I was a girl. And we'd go to Grandpa and Grandma Andrus's house. We'd get some folding chairs and a few blankets and maybe Mom or Aunt Mary Anne would pack a nice little lunch or something to snack on. And we'd walk a few blocks to the old Thurber Elementary School and sit on the front lawn and watch the parade go by, waiting for Grandpa A on his horse with Dad or one of my cousins or brothers. We'd cheer and clap and wait for the cheerleaders to come by with candy for the crowd. And then we'd cross the street and play in the park and wander through the car show. Then back to Grandma's house for some KFC and some homemade root beer with all the cousins and aunts and uncles. Grandma and Grandpa would put out the trampoline and Dad would do flips and Uncle Richard would push us on the swings.

It was quite the production.

And so, I must admit, who wouldn't want to live in a small town with a Main Street in the good ole U.S. of A.? And I also admit that maybe I have this thing for nostalgia and maybe I don't want to move to New York City or some small town in the middle of nowhere. Maybe I'm just still trying to find out how I fit in here. Because I knew how I fit in to those places. I had time to figure it all out.

So for now, I think I've found a place to stay for a while, to try to settle down. Besides, Rockwall has a quaint little malt shop and a nice little town square! And maybe, for now at least, that will do.