It was yet another lovely day of men of a handy nature traipsing in and out of our house. I worked from home, and got to listen to the dogs complain about the carpenter and the plumber and the general contractor, all of whom had the nerve to come into our home and work on beautifying our master bath. The nerve!
I hadn’t met the carpenter before, but basically ran outside when he was unloading to ask if he’d move his truck when he was done. No problem. He was nice as can be. We got to talking … about his work, and dogs, and living in the city. I felt a kindred spirit. Then I found out why.
Super Nice Carpenter Guy? Is from my grandma’s hometown – a tiny, tiny hamlet in western Kansas. He knew my great aunt and uncle.
I couldn’t get over it. He couldn’t get over it. I wanted to make him a cake!
Now, not to be too sappy about it, but … we both agreed that the folks in the city are generally very nice. But there’s something about being from a small town. It’s just different. I asked him if he found himself being drawn to people who are from small towns, and his response made me laugh. “No, well … umm … well … shoot! I never really thought about it, but, well, yeah!”
The whole thing just made my day. And I just know that somewhere, my grandparents were looking down, laughing. Delighted.
Speaking of small towns, I generally don’t give a rat’s ass about the NFL. However … a boy from my hometown is a rookie playing for the Giants. A local boy is playing in the Super Bowl! Facebook is on fire with pictures of signs and helmets and jerseys all over town. People are out-of-their-minds excited and proud. It’s a big, big deal. He’s a nice kid (hi, I sound soooo old – he outweighs me by, like, a gajillion pounds of pure muscle). Everybody knows his family. And it’s just nice to see a local boy do good.
Small towns? Yeah. They’re just different.