Odes

This is the view from our current apartment patio. I wanted to take an opportunity (always taking opportunities) to express my gratitude to this view and its colorful suburbia apartment character. When we first moved to Atlanta, I was very nervous about moving to the suburbs. In St. Louis, I lived in the city limits in a high rise. In Detroit...well, Detroit is a whole other animal because I experienced everything from college town mania (I hardly would identify Ann Arbor as a "suburb," although by textbook standards I presume it qualifies) to the edge of college town in more of a lock your car and tightly grip your can of pepper spray atmosphere, followed then by what residents lovingly call the "downriver" area (definitely I would not classify that neighborhood as suburbia, although again, I gather the dictionary would identify it as such). Basically, before the Vinings area (see how conveniently I switch between Smyrna and Vinings?) and not counting going to high school in Greenwood, Indiana, I had yet to live in a community where three Starbucks can easily be located, spans of newly-built strip malls, all including but certainly not limited to a more upscale and likely mostly Anglo "pub" or "grill," a chain burrito establishment, a chain noodles establishment, perhaps a Yoga studio, and maybe even a clean storefront advertising in lesser tacky varieties of neon letters, packaged liquor. Throw into that mix a Bed, Bath and Beyond, a new AMC Theater, a handful of chic salons with young professionals dressed in the latest trends, a Panera Bread Company and a string of Lexus or Volvo or Volkswagen sport and sport utility vehicles entering or leaving any of these establishments, and that is my idea of a suburb. So here Craig and I live, in the heart of it all. I don't mean to imply any cynicism in this. Since moving here, I have valued these nearby amenities and have offered up much of my salary to any or all of them.*And our sprawling lush apartment community has provided me with scattered amounts of inspiration. For instance, the dog population here is unbelievable. I rarely see the blended breeds, moreso it is the pure breds (I write this knowing very little, if anything, about dogs and breeds). We used to have this handsome bull mastiff nextdoor who would stand his post on his owner's patio, and as Craig found out from his attractive tall black female owner (aren't dogs and owners supposed to resemble one another after time? Coat color, or eye color, or overall presence?) this puppy didn't know how to bark. He didn't even open his mouth as if to try. Walking past him he would stand taller, cock his head to a side and follow the length of the patio in step with the passer-by on the sidewalk--interested, but unable to say so. Another dog down the corridor from us is a pit bull puppy owned by a striking young couple, both who are sights for sore eyes and who drive expensive cars, both on the shorter side height-wise. I don't know if the puppy or the girl made Craig nervous, or a combination thereof, but anytime we would pass her on the side walk he would make a tactless comment about pit bull dogs, ranging from "He might be cute now but wait until he's older" to "Has he tried to eat any of the neighbors yet?" We have a bull dog in town now, also. Craig loves bull dogs. Appropriately enough the mascot for University of Georgia is a bull dog. Finally, we have a woman on the premises who I've learned other residents have nicknamed "mean dog lady". She walks a tall terrier dog, longer-haired coat but by no means messy, I think "Airedale" in variety (she was the initial inspiration for my National Novel Month project and I looked up her dog's breed, though mean dog lady has since disappeared from the story). This woman definitely resembles her dog (but in a most attractive complimentary kind of way) but the thing is, she walks her dog incessantly. I'm not the only one to notice this. Craig comments on it, other residents do also. In the morning I have seen her anywhere from in the five o'clock hour to the seven o'clock hour, and afternoons and evenings there are several walking sessions. She is called "mean" because she outright refuses to return a "hello" to anyone who greets her. I try to think of her as having a social disorder, or just shy. I will miss her and her dog walking neurosis (as well as the other members of the dog walking community here).*That being said, Craig and I are abruptly moving to Richmond, Virginia. His job transfer unwound itself and was presented to us quickly. We returned late last night from an eventful visit to the city of Richmond. We managed to see practically every rental property of even remote interest to us in the greater Richmond area. Craig flew in Thursday afternoon and I took an "emergency vacation day" to leave Friday morning to join him. I must say, we accomplished our goal most expertly. One would think Craig and I have done this a time or two. The first apartment we found we fell head over heels for, but after dousing our brains and eyes with two whole days' worth more, it was determined that the first place, while best, wouldn't be the smartest financial decision. But we picked the second place! It was hardly a question in my mind when we wandered in. Exposed brick and wood beams, hardwood floors, W/D in the unit, views of the city of Richmond, his and hers full baths, stainless steel kitchen (all new) and a fair amount of space for what we own. Clothing may be an issue (where to store) but we'll manage. Richmond is going to be so exciting. There is a lively night life right around where we'll live, and down the street from us is a cute thing called Poe's Pub (evidently Edgar Allan lived in Richmond some of his writing life, or maybe childhood, I need to go to the museum there to verify) which is perfect for either a couple beers and a sandwich on our way home from work, a whole night of live music and meeting Richmond's local color, or a last beer after being out on the town (because it is right near our place). There is the Shockoe Slip (Craig decided to pronounce it Show-key or Show-koe but it really sounds like Shah-koe), which is cute, old, and crumbling. (Craig's all-star quote of the weekend: "'Historic' to me means old. Falling down.") Our apartment is just on the fringe of Shockoe Bottom, where it is evidently at. All this, and we're a quick 2 hour train ride from Washington D.C., a couple hours from Philly, Baltimore, and even better still, a handful of hours from NYC. I'm really looking forward to adding a new state to my ever-growing list of States Where I've Lived. Now we just need to spend the next couple weeks packing, saying goodbyes to dear best friends (I'm sorry, AB!!), putting in notices of resignation from other jobs (um, my duty which launches into action tomorrow, though quitting is not an all time favorite thing to do for me) and getting ourselves moved up there.*More to come on this topic as developments unfold.*I've worn out this entry for the time being, but I will return at some point to unravel my swelling emotions for James Frey's memoir A Million Little Pieces. I picked it up at Hartsfield-Jackson Friday morning and can't put it down. Last night there was a skit on SNL about meth addiction and I almost couldn't tolerate to watch it, that's how affected I feel by this book.*Oh yeah, and lest I forget to mention the lesbian couple who walks the Doberman dog and the little squeaky one whose breed I cannot confirm. The females are a classic butch-femme partnering, and perhaps their dogs reflect that.*PS--Craig recently climbed from bed ready for a Sunday of KB-breakfast and NFL. I commented to him that I wrote about our neighbors' dogs and he wondered which ones. I rattled them off, inadvertently forgetting the bull dog mention, and he said (as evidence to his concern thereof), What about the bull dog? That gave me a nice Sunday morning belly laugh.