I love living in a village. Have I said that before? It’s an addiction, actually. We’ve tried to move away, but it never happens, Cook Street Village has its hooks into us. Take today, for example. When I came home this evening, my son was waiting for me. He wanted to know if we could go into the village so he could get some food that he could cook for dinner. What mother in her right mind would say no to that? So we walked to the butcher and bought some meat, then down to the specialty food store for tomato sauce, then across the street to the baker for some bread. Sure, we could have gone to the grocery store and got it all there, but at the grocery store no one would have greeted us by name or given us samples to try, or asked how we liked the stuff we bought the other day.
My son and I agreed we’d watch a DVD tonight, so we crossed back across the street and ran into the video store. That took a long time, because we chatted with friends also looking for DVDs, then went to the till for a recommendation, then compared a couple of titles to see which we’d prefer.
It was later than we planned by the time we got home, but so what? It’s Friday night, we’ve got a good meal planned and a movie to watch. It’s all so commonplace and simple, I know, but it brings me joy.