Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Why I Love My Little Hometown...

I heard a little bit on NPR about the Storms that hit Kansas recently, and the reporter mentioned how the aid organizations (Red Cross and other folks who work along those lines) aren't having to do as much in the small towns as the do in the big cities because Small Town Folks tend to take care of each other.

Five years ago today, when David died, I think that was when I started to realize just how nice that "Sense of Community" was around here. I didn't work for about three weeks, but as soon as I was back in town on a daily basis, there was always somebody around to give me a little hug and ask how I was doin'. People I'd talked to before, or people I'd just seen around now and then, it didn't matter -- everybody seemed to care; these folks are a warm, friendly bunch.

Sperry is a tiny little town, we don't even have a stoplight here -- but the people are friendly as they can be, it's usually pretty quiet, we've got a real nice Library (with a Librarian who's a real sweetheart), and our Shell Station makes a damn good corndog.

When somebody mentions "flood water," we get a little nervous around here. Even though it doesn't get clear up into the houses all that often, it'll get deep enough that it's hard to find a road that's high enough get into or out of town. There's been a lot of rain around here lately, and it's been up over the road in a place or two.

Since Monday Morning, we've had several phone calls come in askin' about me, if I'm okay, and what I'm gonna do about my car... Well, I'm fine, I drove my car to work today, and uhm, what's goin' on?

I know my "regular readers" have probably already heard me talk about how I love my ol' car, probably more than I should -- kinda like how I love the cat even though she puked on my bed... I love that car, even though it's gettin' old, even though I worry a bit about second gear, I still love it. This here's My Thirteen-Year-Old Ford:



The rest of these shots are not My Thirteen-Year-Old Ford -- they're of someone else's Twelve-to-Fifteen-Year-Old Ford, washed off of US11 up between here and Skiatook:






Whoever it belongs to, I hope they got out alright and I hope they're okay. The water was starting to recede, that's why there's mud visible on the hood and the bumper -- but it's raining again right now.

I also kinda hope they call us when it's time to get it out of there... We can always use a parts-car.

I'll go to the park when I leave work today, even if it's raining too hard to get out of my car. I may write, or I may not; and the more I think about it, the more I think that if I do write, it probably won't be something I publish. I'll go and spend a little time in that same spot I usually go to, even though nobody ever told me exactly where David was when he died...

It doesn't matter where though; because he's everywhere, especially in the hearts of people like him, people who are friendly as though they never meet a stranger.

More later. _\,,/

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