This year, I am recalling all the construction heart valentines I brought home as a child; and the woven May baskets that we filled each year from home gardens. I am literally recalling them, playfully distributing my own child-like creations to a flock of individuals whose smiles and services have touched my life here in Frog Haven territory.
I am basking in the memories of great teachers, loving neighbors, caring mentors, dedicated medical staffers, and fellow Rotarians who have welcomed me here and proved to me the old adage that everyone does indeed have a twin; I have recognized enough smiles to believe with my whole mind and heart: I have been placed here for a purpose. God has once again transported me into a land five decades removed.
The names have changed, but I am, nonetheless, in an amusement wonderland of Fifties Americana, where customs and culture are unabashedly civil and painted with heavy layers of sentimentality and pride. Libraries and museums thrive here, greatly cherished; their atmospheric oxygen is infectious! Even the shops along the historic downtown corridors evoke a time when destination was as much a part of the shopping experience as the items looked for; before “to shop” became an addictive “to have”.
In this time zone, there breathes community: and the wave of a hand from one driver to the next continually works the ground for the next generations; with enough left over that even an occasional transplant might digest a bit of local soil and comfortably take root.