A Different Choice

“It’s all about choice.” She wasn’t exactly hemming and hawing, but she definitely began using care in choosing her words.

It was my first visit to our new dentist’s office and as my hygienist and I were becoming acquainted, I’d asked her if she lived nearby and she’d replied, “Yes, but like you, I’m originally from the city.” “So, how do you like it here?” It’s a question I’m constantly asked in regard to our move to the country, so I tried it on her. Though she’d been chatting away, I noticed her pause, both physically and verbally. “Well, it’s definitely different.” She was quiet for a second then, with a sigh, “My husband was born and raised out here.” She offered no other explanation.

We went on to talk about the things from the city we’d both enjoyed and now missed. She became more animated again. “Oh, how I miss the little ethnic neighborhoods. I miss being able to go into a little European bakery, or stopping for a spicy bite of vegetarian aloo at a Nepalese restaurant. And the nearest Starbucks out here? 40 miles, at least. I mean, I hate to complain, because you end up sounding like a whiner. And certainly people who are from around here don’t understand.” She’d waved her hand in the direction of her co-workers with that last sentence.

She slowed her movement again, took a slow breath, and said. “It’s all about choice. And we certainly don’t have much choice out here.”

As I was making my next appointment with the reception clerk, my hygienist leaned near me and said, “You know, you don’t have to wait six months, if you feel like talking to someone who also misses the city, stop by anytime. We can be each other's ear.”

Both of the photos below were taken from the same distance on the new, much maligned, Apple maps. So they should, I hope anyway, show the proper perspective.

Below, the red pin shows the location of our beloved "city house"