We have a golf cart. No one in this house plays golf. I bought it as a surprise for Ken when they started saying we could use them around town. It really gives me a kick to do these things. I've bought him a truck, a camper and this golf cart, all unbeknownst to him until he pulls up to find it in the yard. The cart is old, sold to me by a sketchy guy on a back street of Peachtree City. I got it home and the charger didn't work. With much persuasion and the threat of a bad review, the guy got me a new one. He didn't speak English, but somehow we communicated. It still had issues, but we got that mostly fixed by the fella in town who does that.
Ken named her "Maggie." That's for Magnolia Street. He names everything with "Mag" in it. If we had another baby, I'm sure I know her name already. When our grandchildren come to visit, that's the first thing out of their mouths: "Can we take Maggie to town?!" I gladly back her out of the garage and we take off, wheeling our way on the back streets and always making it somehow to Kenny's Kreams for ice cream (not me, just them. I've had my quota). I've heard their lease is not going to be renewed. That makes my heart (and my grandchildren's hearts) sad.
There's nothing quite like a small town. I've never lived in one until these last nine years. It is nice to have neighbors who are reliable and watching out for you. I enjoy the many small shops and businesses that we have here. I try to buy my gifts from those places, rather than so much Amazon or Walmart. There's a lot of craziness around these days, and we all need to pitch in and help these folks keep their businesses afloat. I never understood the need for that, when I was younger. Now I know the value of loyalty and hard work. There's pride in crafting and building your own place and finding a niche in your community that will thrive. It's the old way. Maybe that's how we will end up...the ancient paths leading us back to sanity and the things that matter. I certainly hope so.
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