Yesterday, we had just another example of what small town living really means. Not too long after Chris and the kids got home yesterday, the phone rang. It was a friend of ours, Tom, just letting us know that he had seen the Fed Ex driver drop off a package on our front porch and wanted to make sure we didn't miss it. (Most people come in and out our side door, not the front door, so we don't access the house via the front door very often.)
About an hour later, I went down to my friend Barb's house to meet her to go to our Thursday night water aerobics class. After I came in the door, her husband said to me, "hey - there's a package on your front porch that got delivered today." Evidently, the driver had trouble finding our house (apparently using those pesky numbers on the front of the house proved deceptive) and since Greg was outside working, she stopped to ask for clarification. She asked if he could help her, but instead of asking what the house number was, he asked for the name on the package - - - much easier to figure out who a package belongs to by name, rather than house number, when you live in a town of 1,200 people.
He was quickly able to point her in the right direction -- mainly of course, because we happen to be good friends with them. It also happened to be easy because of the fact that he and Barb used to live there.