You Are the Author of Your Own Life Story--- I think, anyway.

While my mom was visiting this week, we went to Loafer's Glory-- a general store/bakery/antique-and-knick-knack/luncheon place located in the charming village of Blanchard, about 12-16 miles west of Mt Pleasant. I like to take visitors from the metro Detroit area there, because they don't have anything like it in Corporate Land.

First metro-Detroiter reaction is usually, "Ohmigod, this is sooo quaint!" Then, the Detroiter combs the shelves of "handmade" crafty wooden and natural fiber items in search of the perfect rural souvenir. For my mom, these items were: a painted-to-look-like-granite pottery birdhouse (early birthday gift from me); a few packets of homey dried soup mix; a large jar of locally canned jam; chocolate and candy covered sunflower seeds; and a few other bits and pieces I don't remember.

Point is: rural folk are marketing geniuses. They know people go on road trips to places like Loafer's Glory; and they know that metro-Detroiters can't leave without finding something they absolutely "need"-- whether it's a wooden plaque that says something like GOD BLESS THIS HOUSE AND ALL ITS CONTENTS or a too-pretty straw hat with faux-sunflowers glued to it-- rural folk know, inside their corn/soy farmer souls, that city peeps romanticize country life enough to visit but that they would never, in 100,000 years, rent the one-bedroom apartment in the white farm house attached to Norm's Year Round Garage Sale. So, they play to that romantic fantasy, and let metro-Detroiters buy sets of enamelware dishes with roosters on them instead-- because, don't Amish people eat off dishes like that?

Apologies for the digression.

For lunch my mom and I ate the Summer Special: a red grape salad with a sweet creamy dressing, orange bread, and chicken salad in a pastry puff. My mom had a piece of cheesecake for dessert-- I took a bite of hers, and that was enough. We chatted pleasantly about the decor and history of the place, and remarked how many people we knew that would like a visit there. All these people were from metro-Detroit.

While it was my third time visiting Loafer's Glory, I didn't enjoy it any less. The food is always good, the shopping is always twee, and, as a former metro-Detroiter myself, I always drive into Blanchard and like to remark, "Ohmigod! Can you imagine growing up in a town THIS SMALL!? What do these people do for fun?!"

Since I've been a semi-rural dweller off-and-on for ten years, I don't fall for country folks marketing ploys; and I've been able to resist buying any rural souvenirs from Loafer's Glory. That is, until yesterday.

Guess who bought a wooden plaque that says: You Are the Author of Your Own Life Story.? Guess who perched it on the ledge behind the kitchen sink? Guess who intends to use this plaque as a teaching tool in her Study Skills class?

Yeah, that's right. I'm still from metro-Detroit. You can take the girl out of the suburbs, but you can never, ever, ever exorcise the suburbs from the very white girl.