Culture shock
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
"So how long did it take you to get used to being here?" Randy asked me the other day at the Lumber Yard. "To adjust, you know." "Not too long," I assured him. I knew he had family moving from the east coast to the Midwest and he wanted them to be happy here. "How long before you felt like you fit in?" he continued ."Ah, that!" I said and laughed, "I dunno — I may not ever; but we're happy. Funny thing is, now I go back to California and experience culture shock. Can't wait to get back to the country."
Fitting in? What does this mean? Perhaps if I fit in completely — as in not noticing anything different or unusual — there'd be nothing to write about
Does fitting in mean that I belong here? Aunt Gertie always classified us as move-ins with an added advantage because our family roots were here which theoretically made us move-backs.
And what do I fit into? Not fancy clothes, that's for sure. I own one pair of nylons for dress-up to go with high heels pushed back under the dresser and I haven't had either one on since my daughter got married. That's almost a year ago! Is that the way it is for all of you? Am I fitting in? I doubt it!
Last night my sister came back from town council and caught a glimpse of herself in the living room mirror. "Oh my word, I went to town council without make-up. I looked like a hick!" she was horrified. She'd been sick and bravely crawled out of bed to write her column and attend the meeting Perhaps fitting in has more to do with a mind-set. I'm a Democrat in a largely Republican area, don't belong to the country club, the bowling league, Future Farmers of America, the Co-Op, or a church. So where does that leave me?
Several months ago we discovered a health food store in Salina. Today we tracked down a Calico Corners in Wichita so that we can find fabric to recover our couch. We're beginning to know our way around.
Every once in awhile I have to call a halt, remind myself why I'm in the country. It helps when our city friends visit and I walk the streets of Ramona with them and marvel once again at our local charm. That's when I know I'm really home — when I can smile at the charm and not balk at the inconvenience.
A month or so ago we brought a whole bunch of our stuff from California and discovered that some of it didn't fit in — the white leather couch strangely out of place, the wicker plant stands stored until next summer. If fitting in means everything from there fits here, it doesn't. If fitting in means being content with how things have always been — I don't.
If fitting in is loving the land, exclaiming at the fall color, loving my leaky little house, appreciating the townfolk and the slower pace, rejoicing that there is not traffic on the road, listening for the coyotes to howl at night, planting bulbs with dreams of spring grandeur, giving something back to the community — then, I'd say we're over the culture shock and ready to spend another day, another week, another year in the country!
