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It has long been the stuff of dreams to chuck the choking traffic and high prices of a big city for the kinder, gentler life of a small town. If you don’t believe me, just turn your television to classic movies. Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House – filmed in 1948 in black and white, is an old timey favorite, showcasing Cary Grant as a former city-dweller as hijinks ensue at his new home in the Connecticut countryside. Then Diane Keaton and Chevy Chase captured the same slice of relocation romance as Cary Grant did, in the 1980s films “Baby Boom “and “Funny Farm,” respectively. Now, in 2017, a charismatic couple that restores houses in small Southern towns is becoming an HGTV hit, thanks to wishful-thinking urban viewers tuning in for “Home Town.”
I don’t know why someone from Hollywood isn’t getting in touch with me. Because moving from Los Angeles to an Oregon town – a town that doesn’t yet top 10,000 is nothing like it is in the movies … apart from the fact that it’s exactly like the movies … in some ways, that is
Crotchety and nosy residents? Got ‘em. Heart-of-gold neighbor? Yep. Charming downtown filled with colorful characters? Yes, by the dozen. High school sports that are the center of the world as we know it? Make that the universe.
But the transition from a big city to a small town is far from idyllic. When my husband landed a job here, friends were universal in their congratulations. Freeway rush hour would be a thing of the past. We’d finally be able to afford a house larger than a potter’s shed. It would be an adventure! People would greet me as an incoming gust of welcome breeze, glad to have someone of my skills and personality to add to the fabric of the village that awaited.
For anyone contemplating a move amid such upbeat forecasts, I have got a few hints, tips and remedies – or so I like to call them. No, not all people are happy to see you, you-you-you outsider who has not been here a hundred years. No, nobody is impressed by your previous accomplishments, primarily because no one asks about you or where you came from or what kind of work you do or used to do. Instead, you are invited to listen as they tell you all about what’s what and who’s who and things you need to know as you settle in to the greatest town ever known to humankind and you better believe it, sista.
No one ever tells you that a bigger house might not be the ticket to happiness, or if they did, I didn’t get the message. No one ever tells you that homesickness doesn’t happen only on those childhood sleep-overs of yesteryear -- and that it can be deep and real in adulthood. And no one ever told me that I’d pine for the smells and sounds of the city I left behind: the wafting of coffee roasting or pizza baking from corner stores on my street that were way too close or that I’d miss screaming children riding bikes and longboards on cracked sidewalks outside my window. Of course, everyone does tell you that you’ll miss friends; They just don’t know how hard it can be to make new ones.
And so I know a thing or two how about how to create that proverbial silk purse from a sow’s ear – in fact, I personally now know two sows. Very nice pigs that belong to a local farmer. There are some lessons I’ve learned from a small town, and one of them is to keep a record of my accumulated knowledge. That is how this blog, or as I call it “journal” began, and after several years here, I’m happy to share those accumulated hints, tips and remedies. In fact, I have collected so many that I can just about guarantee I’ll have a happy ending – it isn’t going to be easy to come by, necessarily. But I can see it, sure as I see the sun hit the Willamette Valley horizon every morning. I’m Anne Scheck, and this is one of many lessons I’ve learned from a small town.
It has long been the stuff of dreams to chuck the choking traffic and high prices of a big city for the kinder, gentler life of a small town. If you don’t believe me, just turn your television to classic movies. Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House – filmed in 1948 in black and white, is an old timey favorite, showcasing Cary Grant as a former city-dweller as hijinks ensue at his new home in the Connecticut countryside. Then Diane Keaton and Chevy Chase captured the same slice of relocation romance as Cary Grant did, in the 1980s films “Baby Boom “and “Funny Farm,” respectively. Now, in 2017, a charismatic couple that restores houses in small Southern towns is becoming an HGTV hit, thanks to wishful-thinking urban viewers tuning in for “Home Town.”
I don’t know why someone from Hollywood isn’t getting in touch with me. Because moving from Los Angeles to an Oregon town – a town that doesn’t yet top 10,000 is nothing like it is in the movies … apart from the fact that it’s exactly like the movies … in some ways, that is
Crotchety and nosy residents? Got ‘em. Heart-of-gold neighbor? Yep. Charming downtown filled with colorful characters? Yes, by the dozen. High school sports that are the center of the world as we know it? Make that the universe.
But the transition from a big city to a small town is far from idyllic. When my husband landed a job here, friends were universal in their congratulations. Freeway rush hour would be a thing of the past. We’d finally be able to afford a house larger than a potter’s shed. It would be an adventure! People would greet me as an incoming gust of welcome breeze, glad to have someone of my skills and personality to add to the fabric of the village that awaited.
For anyone contemplating a move amid such upbeat forecasts, I have got a few hints, tips and remedies – or so I like to call them. No, not all people are happy to see you, you-you-you outsider who has not been here a hundred years. No, nobody is impressed by your previous accomplishments, primarily because no one asks about you or where you came from or what kind of work you do or used to do. Instead, you are invited to listen as they tell you all about what’s what and who’s who and things you need to know as you settle in to the greatest town ever known to humankind and you better believe it, sista.
No one ever tells you that a bigger house might not be the ticket to happiness, or if they did, I didn’t get the message. No one ever tells you that homesickness doesn’t happen only on those childhood sleep-overs of yesteryear -- and that it can be deep and real in adulthood. And no one ever told me that I’d pine for the smells and sounds of the city I left behind: the wafting of coffee roasting or pizza baking from corner stores on my street that were way too close or that I’d miss screaming children riding bikes and longboards on cracked sidewalks outside my window. Of course, everyone does tell you that you’ll miss friends; They just don’t know how hard it can be to make new ones.
And so I know a thing or two how about how to create that proverbial silk purse from a sow’s ear – in fact, I personally now know two sows. Very nice pigs that belong to a local farmer. There are some lessons I’ve learned from a small town, and one of them is to keep a record of my accumulated knowledge. That is how this blog, or as I call it “journal” began, and after several years here, I’m happy to share those accumulated hints, tips and remedies. In fact, I have collected so many that I can just about guarantee I’ll have a happy ending – it isn’t going to be easy to come by, necessarily. But I can see it, sure as I see the sun hit the Willamette Valley horizon every morning. I’m Anne Scheck, and this is one of many lessons I’ve learned from a small town.