Our Town…

 


I was eating outside in our town square recently and I felt uneasy.

It reminded me of growing up in a small town environment.

I could not wait to move out of Connecticut. College could not come fast enough.

That is not to say I had a regrettable childhood.

I was happy.

I made some great friends, it was a bucolic atmosphere, the schools were excellent, it was close to New York City, I loved spending weekends at Tod’s Point and living close to my stellar grandparents.

I started young appreciating all types of food at The Clam Box, Emily Shaw’s, Manero’s, The Open Door, The Ice Cream Parlour in Westport, Al’s Dog House, Leon’s, Pepe’s and Sally’s Apizza in New Haven and Nielsen’s for treats before leaving for sleep-away camp.

I can understand the desire to return to one’s home port. The familiarity of life, childhood friends and family are a strong draw.

I detest gossip, people up in my face, familiarity can breed contempt and close at hand extended family to me is more of a hindrance than a blessing.

My old friend Bobby Valentine is running for mayor of Stamford, Connecticut.

He has deep roots in the community between his sports prowess, philanthropy and his long established restaurant.

I would vote for Bobby for mayor, Mr. Congenially, or the Baseball Hall of Fame.

I’m sure he would make a great mayor, but shoot me now if I had to live in that frankly boring, conformist, busy body environment.

I pushed back hard on living in our town in California because it reminded me of where I grew up, but not having children in the school system makes a difference and living by the beach sealed the deal.

Conveniently, wearing a mask and visor hide my contempt for the women who grocery shop with their nannies because it is so challenging to bring a child into a toney grocery store to fetch deli takeout for dinner and purchase baby kale for the no carb lifestyle while juggling a $10,000 Birkin bag in one hand and an arm laden with Cartier Love bracelets encumbering the other wrist and then watching the nanny load the groceries into the Range Rover while side stepping debris to ensure their Gucci sneakers don’t get scuffed.

But, who am I to judge!

I enjoy being unknown and disconnected, not dressing the same as the rest of the Village conformists or ordering what’s popular at all the mediocre restaurants.

I need an island or to quickly renew my love for anonymously roaming the big city, undetected.

For me there is not a chance in hell of going back to my roots.

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