There’s a Walmart in my hometown.
Yesterday was a good day, even though it was for Anita's funeral. Reconnected with some people. Drove by the various places we lived and went to school.
There were some changes, of course. My elementary school is not boarded up - it has been entirely replaced by houses. The Kmart is a Giant Tiger, and the Miracle Mart is a Food Basics. Wimpy’s Burgers is a Swiss Chalet. And some streets that didn’t even exist when I lived there, are now showing signs of age.
But the fairgrounds look the same, as does the slide in the park on the corner, and the high school. “Downtown” (and I use that term loosely) has the same feel of friendly history, with a few new specialty shops thrown in for good measure. The “old mall” looks the same, but the “new mall” looks older.
All these things, whether the same or different, seem normal. Part of the rhythm of life of a small town.
But it was a bit of a shock to my system, on the way in, to see a big, shiny Walmart in what used to be a field. I didn’t think it was a Walmart kind of town. I used to know who owned the hardware store, the drugstore, the sports store (which I never went into) and even the Canadian Tire. But who owns the Walmart? Some big, corporate entity, that’s who. Doesn’t seem right.
But things change, and when I mentioned these things to an old friend, he laughed and said, “Let it go, Patti. Move on.”
So I am. But as I munched on a locally-grown apple on the way home, I thought it should be noted.
There’s a Walmart in my hometown.
