What's Normal?: Trifecta

Being home (Chicago home) for a few days for the first time since the middle of June inspired this Trifecta response for:

NORMAL (noun)  

1: a : a normal line  

    b : the portion of a normal line to a plane curve between the curve and the x- axis 

2: one that is normal 

          3: a form or state regarded as the norm : standard

Please remember:

•                Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

•                You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

•                The word itself needs to be included in your response.

You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

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Everything about this place is normal.

Some would consider it better than normal or even absolutely fantastic; the town in which I live.

It is full of perfectly normal families who drive in brand new SUVs with a sparkling sedan parked in the garage.

Young, pretty mothers walk children to school, toddlers in tow hanging onto the dog’s leash. They greet each other fondly and wave at every passerby on their way to Starbucks or tennis.

Handsome husbands briskly walk to the train, briefcase and newspaper in hand, for their daily commute to the city oftentimes running down my street to insure being on the “right” side of the tracks as the 6:53 is heard passing. Their families, on the benches by the tracks, anxiously await their return train home.

The schools are brand new; the district highly regarded. Taxes are high, of course. 


And the lawns are double cut on the diagonal. Flowers bloom spring, summer and fall.

Everything about this place is bright and cheery and utterly normal.

I’ve heard our village called “Mayberry” and even “Stepford” a time or two. I think “Mayford” works better than “Stepberry”. I believe it’s more than a little bit true, too.

But The Doings comes out weekly including the Police Blotter and that's when you begin seeing chinks in the armor. The really normal side of normal emerges. The stuff you cannot hide.

And as for me.

I look and act perfectly normal.

I speak about normal things. Have normal friends who do normal things.

I raised normal children.

Yet….

It’s as if, at times, you can see my paint peeling and it’s possible to chip some of me away to see deeper inside. That’s where you’ll find me.

I’m more quirky and outlandish. Slightly wacky and weird. Not as I appear.

Sometimes, I just feel like flying my freak flag. But I’d probably make the paper and people would talk in my small and normal village.

Do I really care?