Gotta Live Like We're Trying: The Call

Our local Braum's carries the particular brand and type of almond milk my sensitive body needs; and, the check-out lady giggles and calls my husband "the tech-y guy" because we use a phone app to make our purchases. David at the local health food store recently shared he lost a close friend in a way I'd rather not say, and he knows the items I come into the store to regularly purchase.

Wendy's on Independence has rehearsed our order many times: Low-salt fries and no-cheese on the burgers; and, they can predict we'll respond "Dave" when they ask our name. At a nearby Vietnamese restaurant, we don't even have to verbalize our order (we are annoyingly predictable, and that waitress is amazing)!

Our church purchased at least a thousand snack bags of my favorite (Boomer Generation) Lay's original potato chips, even though they know Doritos are preferred by the Millennials they are geared toward. Jason in Branson's Banana Republic Outlet store can probably predict that each visit's purchases will total less than $10 after our coupons and discounts.

Two local hummers have discovered their feeder-of-choice for summer 2019 and dive bomb it regularly. A Dollar Store hummingbird feeder hangs from the red bud tree in our backyard. When chipmunk-chomper Lois the Cat visits from next door, they do retreat temporarily. Years ago when our favorite son asked if we wanted a red bud tree, offered free at his workplace, we never imagined it would begin as a skinny little stick that would need to be protected, nursed, carefully nourished, and eventually ideal for hummer-sightings.

Three of our favorite grandchildren (albeit long-distance grandchildren and the only ones we have) dream about a magical closet in our home, with shelving that holds a zillion toys and treasures.

We have community and friends. And heroic neighbors like Irish Joe. Our dearly-departed cock-a-poo once snuck a sip from his drinking cup sitting in the front yard and was a little loopy afterward. Joe has had knee replacements, mind you, and he has and knows everything and can do anything! He does things like provide and replace a sprinkler head to keep our front yard bushes from slowly withering away, and helps hubby and me cut down a hard-to-reach branch, because Joe spots from his front yard that I can't seem to jerk the telescoping branch-cutter cord fast and hard enough while hubby steadies the pole.

So, why on earth would the notion of moving far away come to mind? Especially after 25 years in the same city? and at this stage of life? Are we crazy? We would prefer to believe we've accepted the call. And, gotta live like we're trying.