Flip Flop

Podunk is a word I once regarded as an insult.

My sister used to refer to my husband and me as Lisa and Oliver, as in the show Green Acres. Like Lisa, I loved all things ultra modern: clean, streamline interiors, condos and city lights. So of course, I married a man like Oliver who dreamed of living in the country.

"Green acres is the place for me.
Farm livin' is the life for me.
Land spreadin' out so far and wide
Keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside.
New York is where I'd rather stay.
I get allergic smelling hay.
I just adore a penthouse view.
Dah-ling I love you but give me Park Avenue..."

David and I settled on a plot of acreage almost in the middle of nowhere. I admit it had a secluded charm tucked away in the middle of the woods. Although we had central heat, we used a wood burning stove that heated the whole house in winter. Our homestead grew with a large vegetable garden, small lake, geese, chickens, and one episode with pigs. Thankfully, we didn't have a pig like Arnold living in the house. Nor did we have to climb the telephone pole to answer the phone.

Ah, those were the days.

After several years, we moved to town, which was more to my liking and David was ready for the convenience it provided. We've contentedly lived 'in town' 17 years on a one-acre lot in a subdivision with plenty of room for a vegetable garden. The main thing that changed since we moved, apart from hair turning gray and the wrinkles and sags of aging, is traffic. The number of traffic lights and traffic have at least tripled.

Rumor has it that our little southern town is predicted to grow by 30,000 within the next ten years--now that I no longer have interest in living in the hustle and bustle of city life. Yes, it seems I morphed into someone with completely different preferences than when I was first married.

The change began when I noticed that I was more comfortable in my sister's home, which is casually arranged with antiques and multiple sentimental collections. It is lived in; you are welcome to relax, prop your feet, and eat and drink in any room of the house--better than the ultra modern vision I once preferred.

After years of acclimating to a new vision, Podunk is beginning to sound most appealing--insignificant, out-of-the-way. The older I get, the more appealing it becomes.

"Where to Madame?"

"Home, James."

James cracks the whip and the carriage rounds the corner to Happily-Ever-After in Podunk, USA.