true untold stories from metro Atlanta
Where has the year gone? It's been a great one. Really, the whole of 2010 has been fantastic but especially since the last week of September, it's been exceptional:
Great weather, great friends, great new adventures and great old connections.
Best. October. Ever. and November is quickly following suit. It's been non-stop action and I hope to tell it, but for now I'm just going to show it!
Weekend of Sept. 25 — Former President Jimmy Carter's Sunday School class in Plains, GA
SAVANNAH – About 15 years ago I visited Savannah for the first time and I fell in love with a giant house on Orleans Square. With enormous columns on the front, a sloping mansard roof, and taking up almost an entire city block, it was a regal place.
It was obviously vacant, and well-gated, with a small plaque that indicated it was owned by the Society of the Cincinnati. I looked that up and found out that society was for descendants of George Washington's staff, which seemed pretty elite and almost secret, and there wasn't too much information other than that. I asked around Savannah for some information but didn't get too far.
I really wanted to get inside that house. But that seemed very unlikely. So I just stopped by every time I went to Savannah, and took pictures of the ornamental iron, the arc of the front stairs and the garden gate. I honestly have taken the same pictures for the last 15 years.
The weekend before I moved to Northern Ireland in 2008, I went to Savannah. And I went to Orleans Square to see "my house." I was stunned to see a sign for tours.
Tours! And I was leaving the country in 4 days.
SAVANNAH – Paula Deen’s restaurant, Lady & Sons, is located on Congress Street, but that wasn’t our destination for tonight’s dinner. We debated a couple options (there’s an app for that) and decided to cast our lot with Garibaldi’s, a bit further down Congress Street.
Garibaldi’s has a Charleston location too, and the pair are sister restaurants with Anson there, which scores high in my book. We had a small table toward the back of the restaurant and were getting settled in when three older gentlemen (and I use the term loosely) were seated at a 4-top next to us. We guessed they had spent most of the afternoon on the golf course and probably were feeling no pain.
My poached pear salad, a red snapper filet, and risotto were lovely. EMH also gave her meal good marks, but she was distracted by the shenanigans going on at the next table.
All the shims, spit and positive mental energy in the world were not going to help the entertainment center. It didn't fare well in the move(s) and, upon arrival in Georgia, listed to one side. It looked sad and out-of-place.
Let's face it. I have never had good luck with entertainment centers.
Who needs an entertainment center anyway? I need more bookshelves. So in preparation for a new "media shelving and storage unit," to be delivered next week, the current specimen had to go. It's 5 feet long and a beast to move. The carpool was consulted and they had one work: Craigslist.
I really like the guy who cuts my hair. I keep trying to persuade him to come by my home each day to style my hair, because it looks so amazing when he does it, but apparently that is outside the scope of his service.
[My FB friends will know that about six weeks ago I had an unfortunate mullet incident after visiting him, which was a complete aberration, and he corrected it as soon as I could get another appointment. Tonight there was a brief period where I was afraid that I might walk out looking like Kicking Bird from "Dancing With Wolves," but apparently that was just a phase on the way to the awesome final style.]
The thing I like best about Carlo, however, is that we have the most wonderful conversations. I am always surprised at what I learn during our discussions. So far topics have included, but have not been limited to, the training of a Weimaraner; the requirements of entrance into, and benefits of vacationing in, Costa Rica; and the mechanics of a spin class.
Tonight he was asking me about my recent activities, and I reported that I recently attended Jimmy Carter's Sunday School class. "Jimmy Carter," he said, "is the reason I came to America."
Really?
Yes, said Carlo. He came from Cuba as part of the Mariel Boat Lift.
I begrudge no one their passions, be they “Star Trek,” knitting, or SEC football.
My particular passion on Saturday was Marshall Crenshaw. As you may recall this was a rare early concert. In fact, it was so early that its start time overlapped with the Alabama-Arkansas game. Here’s an important detail for this story: the bar where Marshall was playing is a flag-waving, full-to-capacity Alabama bar. The worst two words anyone could have said in that place about 6:10 p.m. Saturday would have been “Go Hogs.”
The Marshall Crenshaw contingent was identifiable by our lack of Crimson Tide clothing and, to be honest, our complete disinterest in SEC football. We wanted the staff to open the room where Marshall would be playing, so we could stop huddling under the giant television and escape the anarchy in the room. Who would have thought we needed earplugs before we went into the show?
I enjoy being a party of one, but there are three times during the year when I think, "You know, it would be helpful to have a boyfriend right about now."
(1) New Year's Eve.
(2) Loading my car at Ikea.
(3) Sorting out a problem with service / repair people.
Mapgirl Dark Secret #89: I hate conflict. Hate it. I'd argue with you more about this point, but I really don't want to get into it.
There does come a point, though, where enough is enough. Or, more accurately, not enough is not enough. I just fired off a disgruntled customer letter and my stomach hurts. Why can't it get done right the first time so I don't have to spend more time and effort getting all agitated? It saps all the goodwill and satisfaction out of the experience. I have to rest now.
Against my lone wolf inclinations, I joined a carpool. I was a bit shamed into it, since a carpool runs right by my house each and every workday. There are actually two carpools from my suburb to the office. No matter how green you think a hybrid car is, not driving it is greener. So I joined a carpool. For the greater good and all that.
You know what? I kind of dig my carpool. It's become my little sewing circle. I talk about the people in it a lot. All the time, really. I never noticed it until family came to visit me, and it seemed every sentence started with, "Well, I asked the guys in my carpool …" or "Something interesting happened in carpool …"
There are some things about the carpool I truly do NOT dig. Like the pick-up hour: 6:30 a.m. Brutal. And the departure hour: always about 30 minutes past the time I'm ready to leave. Killer.
I have not been quiet about my displeasure on this last count.
So recently, the other carpool underwent some restructuring. They're short on members. They've come to recruit me. They have tempted me with their alternate carpool model: go in later, leave earlier.
Continue reading “the first rule of carpool: no talking about carpool”
My house feels a bit like a hotel, except that no one is coming in and cleaning it up while I am away. I figured out that in all of August I will sleep in my own bed 11 nights out of the month. Now you know I love me some travel, but I'm pretty ready for familiar territory. Four states in 22 days — I am having a "North American Tour" T-shirt made.
I'm also ready to stop talking for a while. Between family reunion, class reunion, and a presentation I will give 8 times before Sept. 1, I'm tired of the sound of my own voice!
Next trip: Nashville for Labor Day. I cannot resist the siren song.
PEORIA — The nephews, along with their parents, came by on Sunday morning to tell me goodbye. They were dressed in their Sunday best matching White Sox shirts. There was some discussion about the team's play the night before (whose fault was the loss? The third base coach was blamed) and upcoming schedule. And we talked about the start of school — middle school for one of them, how did that happen?
Finally there was a group hug, which is a miracle when you consider it involved three young men standing still for more than 12 seconds. We barely got this pic snapped before they were a blur of action again. Off to church they went.
I had a gondola for breakfast and one last conversation with my parents. My dad drove me to the airport after sharing a few choice remarks about the heaviness of my luggage. I made a few choice remarks about Peoria being one of the few cities that does not have a direct Delta flight.
So in the Bloomington airport who should I see but my neighbor PJC, who was coming into town for a meeting just as I was leaving. We're like that pair in the Waitresses' song "Christmas Wrapping," who run into each other in passing, even though we live one mile apart.
It's always good to come home. All roads lead there (with a stop through Bloomington) and the most important people remain there.
Georgia Confidential 