I live in Cheshire, CT USA. Every attraction is in walking distance from my house;
The park – Where they have basketball, tennis, and an indoor swimming pool.
Church- I went every Sunday when I was a kid. Now, not so much.
Post office- If you have to mail letters.
Cheshire Academy- The guy that played Dawson on Dawson’s creek went there.
The MapleCroft Plaza- Its home to Stop & Shop, Rite Aid, Family hair salon, Mr. B’s pizza, The Dress Barn, Marshalls, and a few other shops.
The Library- My brother’s ex-girlfriend works there.
All of the schools I attended- Highland elementary, Dodd jr. high, Cheshire High.
And a bunch of other places I don’t have time to get into.
Places where people grow up will always be embedded in them. Cheshire, being the place where I grew up is far past the point of being embedded. What’s a stronger word than embedded? Hammered in? Jackhammered in? No. Those will not do. If Cheshire can be smoldered down into a liquid, I would inject it. If that liquid turned to gas, I would inhale it. There are zero degree’s of seperation between me and everyone else in this town.
I am the complete opposite of uprooted. I am rooted. So rooted in fact that my vital organs can be planted in my backyard garden and grow into mini Melanie doppelgängers running around Cheshire to annoy the town folk much like the original Melanie does.
Walking out my front door in any direction would take me to a place instilled in my history. My town is dripping in my essence, my juice, my sauce. It’s like living in an orb of my past. It’s not real. My real life has not started yet.
To understand me, you have to understand where I come from. Cheshire is a suburb that wants to break away from the word suburb. A town trying to keep its farmland history and old architecture while keeping up with the rest of the world. It’s a nice, conflicted little town. I like it.
We are nestled among astoundingly different towns. Most of Waterbury is a slum. It has scary narrow one way roads where dilapitated houses sit with their occupants chillin’ on their stoops drinking 40’s and smoking reefer. I been there, done that, seen it in high school. Meriden is okay, not as bad as waterbury. Hamden, Wallingford and Southington are bigger, commercialized versions of Cheshire that lack our sweet hometown feel. We have Hartford and New haven on both sides of us. They are the capitals and have all the amenities of a big city. Homeless people, expensive restaurants, tall buildings, fun nightlife, and traffic.
If you head two hours in any direction from where I live, you can either be in Boston or NY, Providence RI or the slopes of Vermont. Everything is an arm’s reach away. Interesting places are dangling in front of me like a tantalizing carrot on a stick. It can be quite frustrating.
Us New Englanders don’t talk with an accent. Our seafood restaurants are top-notch. We get to experience all the wonders of all the seasons. Our landscape is full of lush tree’s and vast mountains to hike up.
So that is where I come from.
I have to go to brunch with my friends. I been away for a week and need to catch up on some posts. Hopefully I’ll write more later. I’ll write about what I did these past 7 days.