Norman Rockwell Syndrome

Sitting in the Community Assistance office today, waiting for our appointment to apply for the State health insurance program, I couldn't help but notice a painting on the back wall of a red barn, dirt road, loads of trees, and children playing in their denim overalls. I am sure they have this particular painting hung in plain sight because of the emotional response one gets by viewing it. The "good ol' days", times when children still played outside and you could count up your pennies for the soda fountain. Of course, I am too young to remember soda fountains, but I can nostalgically relate nonetheless. So, I did what all good unemployed Americans that have paid into the system all their lives and now find themselves in need of thus mentioned Community Assistance do, I reflected.

Remembering times spent at my grandparents house with my sister. The smell of wonderful grandma food cooking, the sounds of quiet and wind chimes, the way the floor creaked in memorized places and the warm embrace always awaiting. Pulling into the gravel driveway my beloved grandparents would drop what they were doing to greet us with a hug and a smile. And a visit was never complete without the obligatory tour of grandpa's garden in which we always left with a bag of freshly harvested produce. It made being in that particular office a bit easier to endure. After the moment of reflection, our name was called and with a grin and a sigh, we went into our appointment.

Being unemployed as an adult takes a tole on one's psyche and emotions. I find myself worrying about the bills being paid, our daughter getting the money she needs for the school functions she attends as well as the extra-curricular events she is involved in. I worry about my husband needing to go into the hospital before the State health insurance program kicks in or I find another job, and where we will find the extra for the many prescriptions he has to take in order to stay alive. Of course, I know these worries are extreme, and I know that all of this will sort itself out - my faith in God demands it so, but my overachieving, hyperactive (my husband calls me "squirly") perfectionism kicks in and at times I still fret.

This is why I believe they hung that painting on the wall of the Community Assistance office. Because for one brief moment I was transported back to the days when life was simpler, worries were lighter and money matters didn't matter. It put me in a sunny mood that lasted through our appointment and the remainder of the day which was filled with errands and lunch with my husband who thankfully was feeling well enough for a morning out.

Hats off to the person that chose and hung that painting, on that wall, at the Community Assistance office, you made my day surprisingly delightful.