When I was a kid, I hated living in my small hometown in Rhode Island. It’s boring, I would say. There’s nothing to do, I’d complain. I wish we lived somewhere more exciting.
Boy, was I wrong.
I long for those days. Nothing to do? So wrong. Not only are there wonderful things to do, but ‘nothing to do‘ isn’t something to be upset about. It’s something to enjoy. To celebrate, even. Life was great when I was a kid… but once I hit those teenage years, I didn’t appreciate it. I wish I had. I wish I was currently enjoying and appreciating it.
Two days (only two fucking days!) in Rhode Island and I feel relaxed. Oh, my back still hurts. I still have to watch every penny I spend. I’m still worrying about a billion things. But it feels more relaxed… more calm… more peaceful. Everything is slowed down.
I truly believe that where I live makes my anxiety worse.
Just move… right?
I fucking wish. I wish it more every time I go there. It’s a lower cost of living. We could have a better house… maybe a pool… and just live more peacefully. I could see Mom more often… I could just stop by for dinner or she could stop by my place. I would love it… all of it.
But it’s impossible. Our house needs work we can’t really afford that would need to happen before we could sell the place. My daughter might not mind moving (I think she loves it in RI as much as I do), but my son doesn’t want to leave his school, his friends, his life. But more than that… we can’t afford to start over. My husband has a good job where he’s been for over twenty years—he’s not willing to start over (I don’t blame him). And my husband is an only child… his parents live less than a mile from us. They need him… and his dad helps us, too.
Speaking of my husband… I’m not saying this is related, but my escapes to RI have been sans husband. Has that contributed to the ‘relaxing‘ factor? I know what I think. What do you think?
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Mom’s house feels like a different kind of home. Part of me feels like I’ve gone back in time. And I feel loved and appreciated and cared for… because my kids have fun and Mom is there (and maybe because someone isn’t). It’s warm and inviting and mellow. And there are clams and quahogs and coffee milk and Del’s and that burger joint I frequented in high school (and it seems like the prices have barely changed). It’s just beautiful to me.
Look at those flowers… Mom loves flowers… and apparently very large swans.
My dad (lost him in 2012) built that cabana back there. It’s got changing rooms inside… a ridiculous number of pool toys… and a bar, sort of…
… although that bar is now really a place for more flowers. Isn’t it lovely?
And of course, don’t forget to ‘stop at the sign of the lemon‘. No other frozen lemon treat comes close to the deliciousness of Del’s. There’s even a proper way to consume this: do not, under any circumstances, get any flavor other than lemon (no others existed when I was a kid—as it should be)… and do not use a straw or a spoon. Wrong… so wrong.
If you’re ever in RI and need assistance consuming your Del’s properly, please feel free to ask. I’m totally here for you.
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[By the way, I feel that I need to make a grammar comment… ‘wish I was there’ kind of sounds better to me but every resource I’ve checked says ‘wish I were there’ is really the correct option. So be it.]
©2018 what sandra thinks