Small Community Interest

This week I revisited my love/hate relationship with small community interest in others, which some may call nosiness.

It all began when I called my bank and told her the account numbers where I wanted to transfer money from and to (no I haven’t mastered that online yet). I finished and the gal said, “Who am I speaking to?” I told her my name and she said, “I knew it, I knew that was your voice.” I don’t know this person very well and can’t remember ever talking to her on the telephone, but she felt and then was convinced that my voice belonged to me.

(Love living where everybody knows my name.)

A few months ago, I ran into someone at the grocery store who asked me how I was because she had heard I had been ill. She had heard this from a place where I had purchase some of my medication. What about HIPPA?

(Hate everyone knowing my business.)

For years at the end of each summer, I would go into the local post office where various postal workers would ask me if I needed a change of address form.  I would say no and ask why. I would be told that he or she had heard I was moving to the large city nearby. Every summer. It became quite amusing to me.

(Hate fabricated information being told as truth, but love the humor of it.)

A few others:

I wonder often, what’s going on at my neighbors’ homes when multiple cars are parked in the yard or along the road. Is it a death? Is it a birthday? Is it a murder? Of course it’s none of my business, and yet, that’s not our way. It is our business. It’s our reality and you can’t change our minds.

(Love that I notice my neighbors and they--me, and that I’m not ignored.)

I wonder why my meticulous neighbor’s grass is nearly a foot tall. Is he sick? Is he travelling? Is he dead in his house and no one knows? None of my business? I think I’ll check.

(Love how we think we are taking care of each other.)

I wonder whose untagged cow lays dead in the ditch apparently a victim of a car crash. Who didn’t fix his/her fence? Who does not own up to the cow being out because he/she might be sued?

(Hate having to dodge farm machinery on the highways, and cows, and horses. Love having to dodge farm machinery on the highways, and cows and horses.)

Love and Hate. As my mom has told me, there is a fine line between love and hate, a relationship of similarity. We can love and hate something in the same breath.

Significance of Community

I must admit, I have been aggravated by the lack of privacy in my rural community, and yet, there is something satisfying about walking into local restaurants and stores and being identified that makes you feel like a rock star. During my own personal “hard times” my community has rallied around me. There are always friends who don’t make an appearance, but there is always the extended family--of friends called community.  It's my reality and I love it.





Photo source: Ruralhood