My Town

Never in a million years did I ever think I would say that I love living where I live.

But, I do.

I live in the town where I was raised-- the town where I lived from the time I was four until I was twenty-three (minus those 20 months that I was on a Mormon Mission).

When I got married, I left for bigger and better things. Never EVER to return. Or so I thought.

I can remember when there was only one stop light in town, and only one place to eat--a greasy hamburger joint called Hobo Joe's. Only we all called it Homo Joe's.  (we were not politically correct teenagers. don't judge.)

 I remember when The Pizza Company came to town and that you could find all the Junior High kids in the back party room every single Friday night gorging themselves on pizza and sarsaparilla.

The house that I live in now used to be where the stinky dairy farm was.

I remember when there was only one grocery store in town-- the one where I met Jefe. In the produce section.

It was a small town then, and it still has that small town feel.

My Town has an amazing tradition every Fourth of July:



We have your typical cheesy parade, full of advertisements and off key little kid singers. But, once those pass by, the real fun starts.










I can't imagine spending the Fourth of July any where else.  I was really bummed when I lived in Illinois and realized that not all parades were like My Town's Parade.

Small towns. They are a curse when you are young.  But when you get older, they are a comfort.

As a child, I was the one who said I was going to move as far away from My Town as I could get. I never wanted to live here as an adult. And yet, when the time came for us to start putting down roots, we compared every town we looked at to this town-- to My Town.