"Of course!" I responded.
Then we chatted about ice cream flavors (pumpkin and bubblegum), laughed a bit, swapped pleasantries.
She's a local girl, born and bred, and although I've lived here only about eleven years, I'm beginning to get the lay of the land. This is a place where a walk means saying hi or waving to folks I know and chatting with those I don't.
I grew up in a similar place, where everybody knew my name, a suburban village with all the necessary amenities to sustain a family -- elementary school, dry cleaner, five and dime, deli, drug stores (both locally owned), and grocery.
That village still has a down-home feel. If a child falls off her bike or off his skateboard, everyone will come running to see if they can help. But that down-home feel sustained by essential services is taking a blow with the closing of the only grocery -- also locally owned. For thirty years, the store has been "like the bar in Cheers," as my niece said. It will close soon because the landlord and store owner couldn't agree on a new lease.
For months, folks have protested, sponsored a Facebook page, and done whatever they could to Save the Crestline Pig and the folks who work there, people who -- though they may live elsewhere -- know everyone's name and care about their customers. Employees and customers are all part of one big family.
Caring about customers: that's something I've missed in the big box stores and malls and in the big cities where I've lived. The last time I went to the Crestline Pig with my great-nieces, Miss Arelia (shown below crying over a painting) fawned over the girls the same way Miss Irene at Utopia Cleaners did me. There's something special about being raised where community adults love you and look after you, where even though they aren't your parents, they are your extended family.
Just look at this picture, and you can feel the love.
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