So, I have to say that yesterday evening was jeeeust a delight. It was delightful to the point of ridiculous if I may say so myself. It all started when Kortland, a neighbor boy, and I hopped on our bicycles to accompany the neighbor boy home.
As we rode, I couldn't help but notice the huge trees that lined the street and the pleasant sounds of children playing in front yards along the way.
Upon arriving at my neighbor's house, I took a moment to admire the newly sewn, hot pink curtains in her daughter's newly built play house, and my neighbor's new (and very fabulous) vintage-style rooster plates. We then got to talking about fall canning, (which, despite my mother's extensive canning practices throughout my youth, I know very little about) and she proceeded to give me a DELICIOUS jar of her home made habanero salsa (made with veggies straight from her garden) and a jar of hot, hot, H.O.T. habanero sauce (for the hubs - who personally prefers to cry and wipe his nose at dinner rather than actually TASTE anything. I'm still trying to decide whether or not to be offended about that one...) We then made plans to can apple pie filling next week. It all just felt so warm, so hospitable, so...country! I was havin' "southern bell" moments left and right and lovin' every minute of it. I was tempted to ask her to make a batch of freshly squeezed lemonade so we could sit out on her porch and talk about the good ole days (like back in '82 when we could throw footballs over mountains and such) but Kort and I really needed to get home, so I didn't ask.
As Kort and I rode home with two jars-o-delight clanking away in my Reams grocery bag as it dangled from my handle bars, we cut through our church parking lot where Kort proceeded to hit a pothole and wreck. His poor little elbow got the worst of it and he screamed bloody murder. It was a pretty nasty fall and I didn't think he would feel up to riding the rest of the way home any time soon, so I called the hubs and asked him to bring the truck to come pick us up.
Just as I hung up, our Bishop came up to us and suggested that some Bishop's Office Treats would be the perfect 6 year old "pick me up" after a bicycle crash. Kortland felt that this council was particularly wise. While we talked with the Bishop, a scout leader that I don't even know ran up behind him and carried our bikes out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk.
It was at this point that I thought to myself: Are you kidding me? Is this really my life? A sleepy, quiet little community where our neighbors have chickens, and give out fresh salsa, and exchange fantastic recipes, and the hubs is always a 30 second phone call away, and heroes appear left and right to aid us in his absence?
As if all of that wasn't ridiculous (meaning: wonderful) enough, we drove ONE block to my in-law's house (they live one street over from us) where Kort climbed up on Grandpa Jim's lap with his signature bag of Cheetos (that Nama buys special just for her boys) and watched Backyardigans. That's right, his Grandpa Jim has recorded every single episode of Backyardigans on his tivo and he keeps them all on there so Kort can watch them at any time. Cheetos + Grandpa Jim's lap + Backyardigans. It's their "thing" and it's something that occurs almost DAILY around these parts. It's really great. Grandpa Jim will stop whatever he's doing, and switch the channel from whatever he's watching to accommodate his boy. Life just doesn't get much better than this. I know that I'm sounding like, SERIOUSLY SO BLESSED right now, but c'mon, sometimes I just seriously feel like I seriously so AM! Seriously! You should move to Springville. You could be one of my neighbors. I will bring you carrot cake cupcakes almost weekly so that I don't get chunky all by myself, and we could start a book club! Let's do this.