Several experiences/observations occurred this morning while I was walking with M, so I just had to continue my original blog, “Only in Mayberry!”
My first observation occurred as we left our yard and hit the street. I glanced down the street and noticed trucks/vehicles at the high school football field, no doubt pruning and preparing it for the ever important football season (remember, this is a small farming community—football is IMPORTANT!).
As I cross the street, I noticed a woman a few blocks down also crossing, but going the other direction. I believe she was pushing a baby buggy. About that time, a man passed her on his morning jog.
As we approach the downtown area, we hear saws operating in the woodworking business across the street, the smell of freshly cut wood crisp in the air. Further down the street, in front of “Woody’s” barber shop (which, by the way, looks like the barbershop on the Andy Griffith Show), an older, dressed-up man sits on the nice wood bench outside (again, it looks like a replica from Downtown Mayberry—the one all the old men sat on), waiting for it to open. He smiles at M and says good morning.
We continue on for a few blocks, then cross and work our way up shady Oak Street (of course, every town should have a shady street named “Oak”). I notice that J.C. the attorney/professor is out painting his house (with a small paint brush, of course; no haphazard rolling is to be done in this town!) in the morning sunlight. Around the corner, G.S. (who is, of course, related to all of the other Ses in town) is on her hands and knees pulling weeds out of her well-maintained garden.
We then stray from our normal path and go down Walnut Street (you know, the sister street to Oak Street). We first pass another friendly man out for a morning jog; he smiles and inquires how the baby is doing. About that time, a man up in a screened in porch yells out to us; “Good morning! How are you? Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Just a few paces up, I am greeted chipperly by a utility worker--wearing khakis! Clean khakis! With a crisp pleat!
At this point I ask myself, am I in a storybook? On a 40s television series? IN Mayberry???
But alas, I am not—for one occurrence broke the storybook feel. On the second time around our “path,” J.C. the attorney/professor was out on his patio, having finished the painting. He called us over to chat—but he was NOT sipping lemonade. If we were in a storybook, he would have been sipping lemonade.
And what, you may ask, was M doing all of this time? Well, when I looked down at one point, he was sitting straight in the stroller, surveying his world, arms leaning on the tray, with his hands clasped together in front of him.
AH—perfect baby, perfect town, perfect life!
Only in Mayberry!
My first observation occurred as we left our yard and hit the street. I glanced down the street and noticed trucks/vehicles at the high school football field, no doubt pruning and preparing it for the ever important football season (remember, this is a small farming community—football is IMPORTANT!).
As I cross the street, I noticed a woman a few blocks down also crossing, but going the other direction. I believe she was pushing a baby buggy. About that time, a man passed her on his morning jog.
As we approach the downtown area, we hear saws operating in the woodworking business across the street, the smell of freshly cut wood crisp in the air. Further down the street, in front of “Woody’s” barber shop (which, by the way, looks like the barbershop on the Andy Griffith Show), an older, dressed-up man sits on the nice wood bench outside (again, it looks like a replica from Downtown Mayberry—the one all the old men sat on), waiting for it to open. He smiles at M and says good morning.
We continue on for a few blocks, then cross and work our way up shady Oak Street (of course, every town should have a shady street named “Oak”). I notice that J.C. the attorney/professor is out painting his house (with a small paint brush, of course; no haphazard rolling is to be done in this town!) in the morning sunlight. Around the corner, G.S. (who is, of course, related to all of the other Ses in town) is on her hands and knees pulling weeds out of her well-maintained garden.
We then stray from our normal path and go down Walnut Street (you know, the sister street to Oak Street). We first pass another friendly man out for a morning jog; he smiles and inquires how the baby is doing. About that time, a man up in a screened in porch yells out to us; “Good morning! How are you? Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Just a few paces up, I am greeted chipperly by a utility worker--wearing khakis! Clean khakis! With a crisp pleat!
At this point I ask myself, am I in a storybook? On a 40s television series? IN Mayberry???
But alas, I am not—for one occurrence broke the storybook feel. On the second time around our “path,” J.C. the attorney/professor was out on his patio, having finished the painting. He called us over to chat—but he was NOT sipping lemonade. If we were in a storybook, he would have been sipping lemonade.
And what, you may ask, was M doing all of this time? Well, when I looked down at one point, he was sitting straight in the stroller, surveying his world, arms leaning on the tray, with his hands clasped together in front of him.
AH—perfect baby, perfect town, perfect life!
Only in Mayberry!
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