A view from the front door

A real, live dream walked down Constitution Avenue yesterday. And today, a few of my friends can only talk about how our new President is inspiring them to be better, go harder in their own lives. Losing weight. Pledging greater civic and community action. Recycling. Turning the lights off. Building a marriage like the one we all imagine the Obamas share. Folks around me are fired up for change, and I have to admit it’s having an effect on me.

Today, I pledge to turn off the TV and open the front door. I pledge to change my mind. Make it sharper, more focused, more open. I’m on a hunt now for all the things I read about in books but never quite get around to experiencing for myself. We’re in a recession, so I doubt I’ll be heading off to Dubai or Bora Bora on a whim…but there must be some amazing vistas and funny stories and brand new memories just outside the door.

So, that’s it. I’m off. To find what's out there and “become the change I want to see.” I hope I’ll see you somewhere along the way.

There are no words...

Places to go...

Every now and again in this crazy city, I find some small thing to delight me. Recently, my friend D.G. invited me to a Wine Down Wednesday event at Urban Flats in Buckhead.

For 20 bucks and a bit of patience for refills, you can enjoy half glasses of select white and red wines, along with delicious flat bread pizzas and a chocolate fondue dessert from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. I’d done Urban Flats before, but somehow the energy was much nicer inside the city limits.

Fortunately, D.G. went early and secured us a bit of premium real estate on a cozy couch near the bar, providing us easy access to the sommelier for refills. I stuck with the sparkling Brut most of the night, holding on, I guess, to some last vestiges of New Year’s cheer. D’s fave was a mellow Chardonnay…and her friend J.E. was good with red. [I just realized how closely our wine choices matched our personalities…]

It’s a nice vibe. Just enough of a crowd to make things interesting. And, at 20 bucks, a real entertainment value. You can find me there on the cozy couch closest to the bar most Wednesdays from now on.

Beloved Samsung, May It Text In Peace

Switch-on: September 2005
Switch-off : December 19, 2008

My cell phone died this morning. I’m comforted in knowing there was no struggle or pain. I'm sure it went peacefully.

I keep remembering our last moments together...the last time I dialed out, the last text I sent, the last time I checked movie showtimes... It really gets me in the gut, but I’m glad we had such a good life together.

That old Samsung was good to me. I flipped it up and I flipped it sideways. I dropped it on the floor. I dropped it in the sink. It got nicked and scraped countless of times, but that old phone was faithful.

I get choked up when I look back. When I think about how I could have spent more time on it, just taken better care of it.

Everybody says that I will move on, that I will find another. They may be right, but for now, the loss is just too fresh. Really, it’s almost more than I can bear.

When it’s meant to be, the right phone will come along. I know it will. But for now, if you need to reach me… try smoke signals, messenger pigeons or the Pony Express…if those don’t work, just call me at home.

Ahh…books

I’ve been scrounging around for some great new reading, without much luck. Since devouring the absolutely fantastic Twilight series just in time to see the not-so absolutely fantastic movie, the pickings have been mighty slim. In this book drought, I think I’ll just dust off a couple of my girlhood favorites—revisit the places where the love affair first began.

Anne of Green Gables
by L.M. Montgomery. I first caught this as a movie on PBS. I drove my family to such madness by hogging our only TV whenever it was on, that finally my daddy went out and found the books for me. I can't say what it is about a little redheaded orphan from PEI that touched me so. But we’re kindred spirits, she and I, and I have the collected works to prove it.

Constance: A Story of Early Plymouth
by Patricia Clapp. When I was a fifth grader at J.E. Harper Elementary School, my teacher used to choose books for the class (talk about book censorship). We’d dutifully line up and pick a teacher-approved reading off this rickety library cart. Once, ALL of the Judy Blume books were gone by the time it was my turn; somebody else got to read about Margaret’s search for God inside her training bra. I got stuck with a tale about a girl living in early Plymouth…and it’s one of the best stories I ever read.

Jane-Emily
by Patricia Clapp. This book scared the holy sh*t out of me. A girl moves into a house where another little girl dies and foolishness goes on—straight haunting style. I don’t know if I’d recommend this one for young readers, but man, oh man, was it good.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret
and just about anything else by Judy Blume. There wasn’t much in the way of African-American literature for a little black girl bookworm in 1980s elementary school. But Margaret and Deenie and all the others helped me make it through. If I ever have a daughter, Ms. Judy will certainly take a place of high honor on her bookshelves.

Honorable mentions go to:
Sassy, brave Ramona
Nosy Nancy Drew
The Sweet Valley High twins
Jo and Beth and Meg and Amy…and dear, dear Laurie

The Return

Gloria is back. Her return was heralded at 7 a.m. this morning with a vat of perm and some rollers.

It felt like slipping into an old familiar pair of shoes. The scents, the sounds and the sass of the shop felt like homecoming. In the chair, in the bowl, under the dryer...and away we go.

It had been a year since Gloria last was seen. When the stylist turned the chair around, there she was...a little shinier, a little more mature...but it was her.

We're back in business, and that's a good place to be.

I'm a Georgia Voter

I'm not known for my sunny morning disposition; quite the opposite, in fact. But give me a great cause...some powerful motivation, and I can rise and shine with the best of them. This Election Day, that’s exactly what I did.

I was up and dressed well before 6 a.m. so that I could get to my polling place early and beat the predicted crowds. Apparently, 100 or so of my neighbors had the same idea, and I arrived at the precinct to find a pre-dawn election party in full swing. There were stadium chairs and blankets, voters were sharing coffee and doughnuts with those of us who lacked the foresight to bring our own, and when that ran out, quite a few people made cappuccino runs to the convenience station nearby.

There was an energy and celebration in the crowd that made me finally get it…THIS is what 40 years ago was all about. I saw the elderly standing patiently with their walkers and canes, and then graciously accepting jackets or chairs from young black men in full hip hop regalia. Those same men, who asked awkwardly but without shame, how to operate the voting machines inside. They were there, baby, and there was no turning back. Now, watch them yugh!

And when it was time, when the 7 o’clock hour approached, every person there gathered their things orderly and expeditiously -- in a way that most think black people can’t -- straightened their shoulders and stepped through the polling doors, right into a place in history.

This is the day.