Everyone Knows it's Windyyyyyyyy

One thing I'm not sure I'll ever get used to living here in Small Town, Kansas is the wind. The nearly constant, annoying wind. It's a weather element I've never been fond of, to tell you the truth.

At my parents' house back in Big Suburbia, the wind whistles through the trees and makes an eerie, creepy sound that makes you wonder if a chain-saw wielding serial killer is going to come jumping out at you at any moment. It's that kind of a sound. Just... creepy sounding. I hated staying home alone in that house because I'd lay awake at night convinced Jason or Michael or whoever was the horror movie bad guy at the time would accompany that wind. Don't ask me why, I just was.

My feelings towards wind haven't changed much since moving to Small Town. Except that it is windy here much more often. Wayyyyy too often. Like more often than not. At least today it's not bringing with it the threat of tornadoes like it does on a regular basis. Tornadoes make me crabby, and that's not good.

Wind just seems so unnecessary. And messy. And it's hard to dress for, too. Seriously... just think about it for a moment: For every other kind of weather you can just dress or accessorize accordingly. Hot out? Wear shorts and sandals. Rainy? Carry an umbrella. Snow? Layers, baby... layers! But wind??? WIND? Nothing helps. Not even the infamous 'windbreaker'. What a joke! I bet somewhere the marketing genius who coined the phrase 'windbreaker' is pointing and laughing at all of us while he counts his money. A windbreaker... *snort*... not!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go untangle my hair.

March Madness

One aspect of living in Small Town that I'm still trying to get used to is the collegiate spirit that oozes out of pretty much everyone in town. It isn't hard to figure out what college a person has attended because nearly everyone wears collegiate-inspired clothing, uses checks with their college team emblazoned on them, or they have these odd tombstone-looking plaques in their front yards with their college logo carved onto them. It's commonplace to walk into someones office or home and be assaulted by an explosion of either purple or red and blue. Even driving down main street, you see license plate frames, front vanity plates or even those little antennae balls and you just know. You know. You'd have to be blind not to. It's fanatical, really.

But, it's foreign to me. In Big Suburbia we had every professional sports team you could think of, and that's what was televised and talked about. Even then, people were rarely so fanatical that you knew what teams they rooted for or even what sports they watched. And it was pretty much unheard of to know what college someone attended. It just wasn't talked about. It was almost... taboo.

But here in Small Town, we are deep in the midst of March Madness. I'd never even heard of March Madness before we moved here. Not really. But I'm learning. I've learned what a 'bracket' is and how to fill one out. Maybe I'm evolving. Integrating into Small Town a little bit more.

Maybe.

Small Town Cop

My little family made the move from Big Suburbia to Small Town just under three years ago now. And a lot of people think we are nuts. We are constantly being asked why we'd do something so... so... so crazy. I mean, don't we know people in small towns all across the country are trying to get out and move to a Big Suburbia themselves? Don't we watch those teenage-angst TV shows where the kids are always lamenting about being stuck in one-horse towns? Well, yes. But we lived the other side of the coin, so we can see the beauty of living in Small Town.

What brought us here was an opportunity for DH to become Small Town Cop. And, for the most part, being Small Town Cop consists of long, uneventful hours of patrolling for the occasional speeder... or DH's favorite: DUIs. He is able to come home for a dinner break pretty much every night. He can go to DD's school functions even when he is on duty. There are a lot of small perks that make us very fortunate that he is Small Town Cop.

And then a night like last night comes along and makes me wonder if being the wife of a Small Town Cop really is all that and a bag of chips after all. What started out looking like a routine traffic stop for DH quickly escalated into a high-speed chase. And then the guy jumped out the vehicle and ran. It was surreal... like something you'd see on an episode of 'COPS'. And, if at first my thoughts were 'WOOOOHOOOO, this is so cool!' they quickly turned into something more along the lines of fear... and a deep paranoia that maybe something might happen to DH. Something bad. Maybe whatever the guy was trying to hide by running would be enough for him to do something rash. Not that running from the police isn't rash, but I mean something really dangerous... like whipping out a gun. So, I laid awake last night listening for more sirens. Or for the phone to ring. Or, worse... the doorbell.

I must have finally fallen asleep, though, because I didn't hear DH come home at some point during the night. And as I laid awake in bed this morning listening to DH softly snore, I finally relaxed. My Small Town Cop made it home again, safe and sound.

Maiden Voyage

When I mentioned that I've been thinking about starting a blog the idea was met with great enthusiasm by my family. Errrr... maybe it wasn't so much enthusiasm as it was odd stares from DH and DD followed by the inevitable question: "About what?"

Hmmmm. Logical question. Not exactly the heartwarming support I had been hoping for, mind you, but understandable.

About what?

For starters, I could finally get all those incredibly intellectual thoughts that come to me in the shower each day out of my poor, aching brain. We are talking really heavy stuff here. Like... why is it that I have no willpower whatsoever when face-to-face with a white cupcake with fluff frosting and rainbow confetti sprinkles, yet am completely unfazed by all other flavors and varieties? Why? WHY?! No, seriously... any thoughts? Personally, I am convinced they slip some kind of drug into the frosting. It's the same drug in Krispy Kreme donuts. And McDonald's french fries. There is no other explanation.

So, welcome to my inner thoughts. My daydreams. My small-town life.

In short, welcome to my blog.