The grey, baby mouse was curled into a tight fetal position, and looked so cold/scared that I (in spite of my gender) instinctively pitied it.
But then, I flinched. The tiny creature was perfectly flattened against the pavement, the obvious victim of a heavy, rural truck tire.
This all happened at the edge of the shadow cast by Paul's Grocery, the town's family-run market. I was picking my way across the icy, cracked asphalt in an effort to obtain my "10% off" military discount, offered on the one day when our commissary is closed (clever businessmen, these smalltown folks).
I shuddered, veered around the mouse, and darted through the automatic door - which has a tendency to close randomly, so you better be quick.
Inside, I found a tub of raw, wild, local honey for a fraction of what the neatly labeled, machine-manufactured, bear-shaped options cost. And lamb (which isn't sold in the Commissary). On clearance! And people waved at me as if I was an old friend. No one assessed my clothes, or my hair, or seemed to judge me at all.
Thus, I gradually recovered from my trauma with the mouse and began realizing that, as much as military spouses complain about living "in the middle of nowhere!" (which is true) and wishing for "civiliation" so on... there are a ton of (easily-overlooked) perks to living here.
I'll list only three today, because, well, it's the daily number... but, you can add your own. Or I may add more, next Wednesday. ;-)
(1) I can do several consecutive hours of grocery bargain hunting/couponing, and my frozen groceries stay conveniently rock solid, even in our car. Score!
(2) Old folks are extra-well-preserved here, because it appears they simply have to keep living (and living) at the normal pace. 92 year old men are trim, and still fit into their 3-decade old Wranglers. Possibly because they don't so much as have benches here. Not even at the pharmacy. Moreover, there's no mall where they can nap. Only thing close to a mall here is the hardware store, where loiterers congregate as if it's the Mayberry Barbershop. And there are no benches there, either.
(3) We never wash our car anymore. Ever. (We don't even own a sponge.) We'd just be considered snobs. After all, who's gonna judge you for being a little muddy/dusty?
Oh wait - only city people would.
