Don't worry. It will all make sense at the end.
It's no secret that I have been saddened by the departure of my friend and neighbor, Emily. (And her family - a big shout out to Erik, Eli, and Smokey!) But, I mean, I was really bumming about it. This struck me as a little odd since friends moving on is just a hazard of living in a college town. I'd been through this before - why was I so bothered? Then it hit me.
I had a vision of Emily and Erik in the not so distant future sitting around with friends and family and talking with horror about that time that they lived in Ohio. They'll recall with incredulous laughter how backwards and narrow-minded it all was, playing that endless game of "remember when?..." followed by a rush of relief to finally be back home. I have the honor of probably being forever associated with one of the worst eras of their life. Ouch number one.
Ouch number two: Even if I were considered a high point of their time here, that would be rather faint praise. You can take the girl out of New England, but you can't make her like the Midwest. Even though it IS a relief to see that our regional cultures haven't been homogenized completely, culture shock is not a happy thing. I like to think Emily's opinion of Ohio was colored by her hatred of her job, but I wasn't always sure. She did not like it here.
The biggest adjustment, I think, was to the Midwestern notion of neighborhood. Our boundaries are somewhat looser. What the Easterner would consider nosey the Midwesterner would consider simply being interested. Yeah, we do pay attention to our neighbors and what they're doing. This has saved Tom and me on multiple occasions when someone from across the street called to say the dome light was on in our car.
My favorite story was one winter morning, after a sizable snowfall, Emily called me concerned because someone was snow-blowing their driveway. Why was he doing that? Was he expecting to get paid? I thought that was hilarious. When Tom and I first moved into our home as newlyweds the old-timers of the neighborhood took us under their wing. If someone had a snow blower they would often take it down the whole block. The guy with the riding mower would do our yard while mowing his. I could have taken that as a negative comment on my (admittedly lacking) lawn care habits, but I was too grateful not to have to mow the lawn to take offense.
Aggravating the situation was the fact that Erik and Emily had the neighborhood matriarch as their other neighbor. She has lived here the longest having probably raised her children during the 60's and 70's. Society and the neighborhood have changed since then, which is something she has very strong opinions about and IS NOT AFRAID TO SHARE. When I welcome new neighbors I always tell them to just say "yes, ma'am" to whatever she has to say. And she will have something, usually critical, to say.
Emily recently facebooked that she was thrilled that her new office was in The Robert Frost Building. He, a good New Englander, wrote that good fences make good neighbors. In the Midwest I think fences are for talking over.
My obsessive brain has been working on this post for the last few weeks, and I was prepared to write a paean to the common Midwesterner who can celebrate the ordinary. We are good people more focused on living our lives than setting out to impress others. We have heart.
Then something happened.
I was out shopping at my favorite bulk foods store in the countryside. Around here it's more kountry kitsch and Amish than hippy-dippy. I was strolling around the shelves when my ear caught a reference to "those people" in a nearby conversation. It seemed to be in reference to a car accident that "those people" tried to flee, because "that's what they do." They proceeded to talk about certain housing in and amongst the farms, and "they aren't Americans living there, if you know what I mean." What followed was some major anti-immigrant ranting, including the "fact" that immigrants are receiving better health care than us. And for free, to boot. The woman, purporting to be a nurse, claimed that they can just show up at the hospital and "if they need a heart transplant, they'll get it." This, of course, was why the retired gentleman's health care premiums kept rising.
I never stopped perusing the shelves, and I feel quite certain that my face did not betray me, but my spirits crashed to my toes. I glanced at the people as they left: a neatly-coiffed, faux ash blonde and two almost identical silver-haired gentlemen wearing striped polos, frameless glasses, and beer bellies over their belts. Practically the uniform for men of a certain age around here. In fact, they looked pretty typical.
Ouch number three: maybe Emily was right and we really are a bunch of chuckleheads around here. Maybe she really was lucky to escape to where the people are worldly and smart. For Erik I'm sure that the beer is better and his libertarian soul is probably more at ease in the "Live Free or Die" state. Now he won't be vexed by our stupid local government and terrible city services. Montessori schools are apparently easier to find in Manchester so Eli won't need to deal with our inefficient, needlessly rule-bound public school system with its behaviorally challenged and intellectually dull students.
Looking at those people leaving the bulk foods store, I silently started eating my words celebrating my region. I crunched on the consonants and found the diphthongs rather chewy.
Now I don't just feel bad for myself, but also about where I come from.
Could be worse. I could be from Arkansas. :-)
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