The boy may have been born in New Jersey, but his Mama got him South as soon as she could. After 40 plus years in Dixie, Andy's voice is more sweet tea and molasses than transmission fluid.
It was a pleasant surprise to hear those long, lazy vowels when I picked up my cellphone yesterday. Andy had been following my blog since I left Georgia and was frankly concerned.
The experiences I've been chronicling in this space are quite true, but hardly typical. My wounds are entirely self-inflicted.
Each adventure is some combination of finance, circumstance or poor judgement on my part. Housing in this city is abundant and affordable. There are literally hundreds of charming Victorian homes to be had. There are exciting, vital neighborhorboods and nearby emerging areas without stepping into the suburban sprawl.
But I needed a place that would rent month-to-month and be near my office. So the guy next door has been playing his guitar since 8 a.m., the walls are paper thin, the furniture cheesy, the plumbing rotting and the majority of my neighbors talk to themselves. My choice. Probably not a good one, but it will do for now.
Icy roads and white outs are harrowing, but less so after the first, second and 40th encounter. If I had been paying attention to the forecast, I could have avoided that particular adventure.
Yes, the laundry detergent in my car is frozen solid and I don't have the room to store it in my apartment, but for a few more quarters I'll buy my detergent at the laundromat today. With the advent of Charlie and large appliances, I won't have to worry about it again.
The blues music the other night was good, and had Charlie been there with me, the room would have been much warmer. The mild frostbite the result of forgetting that even the best down jacket doesn't cover your legs. Three degrees means, "be careful, stupid," I get that now.
Once our house is sold, Charlie, the cats and I will be moving into a gorgeous, downtown loft apartment in a building that was once an elegant women's store. I remember going there with my grandmother, entranced with the shiny wood floors and the click, click of the ladies' heels. They saved that flooring in the restoration. It's gorgeous.
We'll be in walking distance (with tights under my jeans if the temperature is below 10 degrees) of all variety of restaurants, theater, music and entertainment.
We'll entertain family and new friends in what looks to be the best chapter yet.
This summer we'll enjoy family and friends at our cottage at Lake Erie. There are no more perfect summers anywhere.
But the space between here and there is tightly controlled by financial limitations and being separated from the rest of my household.
So it's not Buffalo's fault. It's those damn Georgians who haven't bought our house yet. When they take care of their end of the bargain, we'll be right at home.


Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs