It's a mixed victory when you talk someone into moving to your hometown.
Charlie and I met on neutral ground and continued to set our own path for the first eight years were were together. The stronger I felt about going back to Buffalo, the more I could see her frayed edges through his eyes.
The draw of being close to my family is offset by his family being in St. Louis. The gorgeous summers are challenged by the winters. We've got a great minor league club and stadium just up the street, but it's no substitute for his Cardinals.
Buying our cottage at the time we could least afford it literally put him cash strapped in a house my grandfather built for my parents surrounded by cousins who grew up there. That's a lot to ask of anyone.
I was amazed when he loved the cottage and grateful that he never complained about the crunch it put us in.
The fiscal and political picture here is one that takes a native, some would venture naive, optimism in which to believe. Charlie has never been a Pollyanna, he's an analyzer. He's retired and studies the local news carefully. Most days I cringe as I read what I know he'll see in the paper.
What did I get us into?
No doubt he enjoys family, our friends and our active calendar, but wondering how much he is simply placating me has nagged and gnawed.
My annual bronchitis bout grabbed hold yesterday with me dragging and hacking through the day. Once the fever kicked in,I knew going to work would be out of the question today. The majority of my day has been on the couch with NyQuil green dreams.
But through the cloud, I watched Charlie go to the gym, then to the grocery store and a half-dozen errands dispatched with a native ease. I don't know why it surprised me so. Did I think he sat by the door waiting for me to come home while I was at work?
We had great tickets to the Sabres game tonight, but I knew that any chance of making it to work tomorrow meant staying close to my couch tonight. I suggested he call some cousins to use the other ticket and I felt even worse when no one was available.
I was startled, and in turn delighted, when he suggested he would go to the game by himself. We'd had a great time going to a couple of games together. Now, he wanted to see his team.
I don't know why I was caught off guard. Last week, when Rachel and Connor stayed overnight, he brought them to my office for lunch and then took them to the zoo for the afternoon. He even talked about buying a zoo membership.
As I sit here and think about it, I realize he has staked his claim in our city. He prefers Ted's to Louie's, Picasso's to LaNova, Charlie the Butcher to Andersons's, Antoinette's to Parkside, and Anchor Bar to Duff's (that's the best of hot dog stands, pizza, beef on weck, sponge candy and wings to the uninitiated). He never invested in a map, but can navigate local highways as if he drew the plan. He's counting the months until the Farmer's Market up the street is groaning under the weight of fresh corn and tomatoes.
I think I can stop feeling guilty.
Buffalo is like that odd, eccentric relative who you simply adore, but don't expect strangers to understand.
I didn't give the old gal credit for being able to grow on him... or him the perception to see her beauty.
But I'm glad they worked past me.



Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs