Punxsutawny Phil was punk'd

It's in the mid 70's here. Phil says six more weeks of winter. What winter? We haven't had one yet, and the forecast doesn't call for one soon. Case in point, Julia and her bud Sofia just served me dandelion pie with mulch topping (I hope they'll provide a beverage to wash this delicacy down). The sun is shining brightly, and I have to say it feels a lot like spring.

I also have to say that I don't mind 70s in February. Sunshine is the major benefit to living here (though I will complain loudly about the sun come summer). When we were back in the midwest last November we had a couple of gray days, and I quickly remembered how much that kind of weather stinks. Before you midwesterners start to moan, remember that the mercury regularly creeps above 100 in July and August. The perfect solution would be to winter in the south, and summer in the midwest. Oh yeah, that's called being a snowbird and requires retirement.

I may be surprised; there's always the possibility of snow in February and March (it's happened before). Hopefully we'll get just enough to build a snowman and then go back to spring as planned.

We live in the corridor

Below is the latest marketing piece by the College Hill Alliance (one of the partners revitalizing our neighborhood). Our house (the one with the bike parked on the porch) is shown twice.

It's a long video, but worth it if you want to see a stylized view of the place we call home.

Harsh.

Perhaps my attempt at humor was a little harsh. I had a day filled with Macon moments (no, you don't want to know what those are), so I wasn't in the best place mentally. No worries. We have a good life, I'm aware, but there are days when I wish for something different (don't we all).

So back to humor. Here's another blast from the past. I do believe this picture shows the last time I wore a halter top (thank goodness). Also notice, my fly is down. Believe it or not, I still have that panda (and no, it does not rest on my bed, it's stuffed in a closet). Talli also noted in a previous comment that Grace and I look A LOT alike. Grace should thank me that I don't cut her hair like a boy's (I haven't forgiven my mother yet). A Dorothy Hammil wasn't a good look for any girl in my generation.

Breaking up is hard to do.

And it takes a long time. I told you Macon and I were breaking up some time last week, and here I am, still stuck with the jerk. Just yesterday, I think I may have yelled, "I don't want to live with you anymore!" So much for being friends. It's like we're married and in a protracted bad phase (the kind people warn you about). I keep channeling Scarlett O'Hara: Tomorrow is another day, and then tomorrow comes and it's no better than the day before. Macon and I are married, with no hope of a separation, much less a divorce, and we're not even talking. Friends is going to be a stretch.

A resolution about my boyfriend

I've come to a realization. I treat Macon like a bad boyfriend, the kind that doesn't bathe regularly, never pays for a date, and talks too much but says very little. I started dating him because I didn't have other choices, and I didn't want to be single anymore. I suffered the delusion that many young women fall prey to--I can change him, make him better.

And here's where my metaphor breaks down because, obviously, I've needed to break up with this loser for a long time. And when your boyfriend is the place you live, you can't break up. Now some might argue that I shouldn't have dated him in the first place. Going out with someone because you feel sorry for them is never a good recipe, and all I can say is that I got something great out of the relationship: Julia (albeit I was with another man at the time).

Where do Macon and I go from here? Well, we have to break up, but we're still going to live together (weird, yes). I'm going to try to accomplish what I never could before: I want to be friends with my ex. I want to appreciate his good qualities and laugh off the bad (which is a lot easier when you're not dating). There's probably a lot I don't know about him, because I never wanted to listen as he droned on and on. So here's to us, Macon, you and me. Let's be friends.

Ice Day

School was cancelled today due to ice. The streets are nearly empty, except for a few brave souls who have fishtailed down the street in front of our house, and Grace and Julia got us out of bed this morning with, "Mom, Dad, there's a car that just slid down the hill and hit the curb!" Their enthusiasm is due, in part, to a video we watched on weather.com last night where cars in CO crashed into each other and the curb.

As we searched through other videos, I was surprised to find one from my hometown entitled "Waves Produce Icy Wonderland". Memories, people. This brings back many. Our snow/ice days were epic.

Happy New Year, from us

Last night we went downtown to watch the Cherry Blossom drop (it's Macon, of course, it's a Cherry Blossom). Last night was the first time we've been out for New Year's Eve since our trip to Paris five years ago. I know, I know, we need to get out more. Minutes before midnight I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward the stars. I have so many hopes for 2011, and more that a few sorries that I'd like to leave behind. Out with the old and in with the good, I say. Let's start this year right.

I don't want to chuck 2010 though. The truth is that it was an amazing year for us, and the highlights are many. Grace completed her first year of elementary school (how did she get to be so big!). I had a four month freelance job (the longest and most rewarding in recent memory) that funded our summer adventure. Julia embraced being three with gusto ("No, I not a dictator!"), and Craig managed to push his research even further, publishing with and engaging undergraduates in ways he never imagined. Our year ended on a rough note (two bronchial infections for my parents with a long, long recovery), but I can't help but be incredibly hopeful for 2011.

However you celebrated, wherever you were, I hope you rang in the New Year with high hopes and love. Happy New Year everyone, from us.

Cold Enough

That we have ice in our bird bath (that didn't melt all day).

Sometimes it's the little stuff, and sometimes it's the really, really big stuff

Today was a big kind of day.

As part of Global Youth Service Day, a local private high school selected our neighborhood for a clean up. As the neighborhood representative, I had to handle all the logistics (the teachers, thankfully, handled the kids). We had over 100 sophomores sweep through our streets cleaning up garbage along the roadways, in empty lots, dilapidated buildings, and at four separate dump sites (where people outside the neighborhood deposit all kinds of ugliness in our alleyways and dead ends). In three hours, these kids collected at least two tons of garbage.

Like I said, it was a big kind of day.

For those of you (probably most of you) who don't live with this level of littering (I almost hate to use that word because "litter" doesn't quite encapsulate the scope of our garbage problem), I'm not sure you can imagine the impact this has on my life and the lives of my neighbors. It's huge, really huge, huge in a way that brings tears to my eyes.

I have so much hope, and sweat, and love and anger wrapped up in this place we call home. Today, we won one for the neighborhood. We won one for the earth. It's probably the biggest Earth Day present I've had the good fortune to deliver.



Big or small, I hope your Earth Day was good.

Sunday

At the races...



Craig was tasked with checking the entries for safety (brakes, steering, helmut).



Most were in working order.



But at least one was still in the construction phase.



Eventually we went to find seats.



The drivers walked their cars to the start.



And waited for the flag.



There was a great crowd. Families, couples, singles, and a number of dogs.



With the great weather, there was also a lot of skin on display.



Finally, the cars started to move.



One didn't make it more than 10 feet and had to be carried to the finish line.



We made it through most of the competition until we were finally informed: "I'm soooo bored."



So we went home. But for us--for Macon--this was a lot of fun, and a great way to spend our Sunday afternoon.

For all images, go here.

3 seconds of fame at Beall's Hill Community Garden

Did you spot Julia? She spent most of the planting attached to my leg--that is until her partner in crime and neighbor, Sofia, showed up. Sofia tried to entice Julia to walk through the newly planted beds, but Julia didn't take the bait. Read the full story here.

Friday in pictures

Unfortunately Saturday photos, which would include images of Julia kissing her "snow brother", didn't happen because my camera and snow don't like each other. This also means no pictures of the lost tooth (that is until Craig brings the old camera home from work).

The tooth fairy did her job last night, and Grace woke me to shrieks of joy: "THE TOOTH FAIRY CAME AND LEFT ME MONEY!" Being Grace, she decided she didn't really need the dollar and put it in her sister's piggy bank. I think it's her mission to make me cry.

Dump this

How do I know this house was dumped? Well, for one, dumped is the word on the street in this part of the neighborhood. Two, the house is sitting on rails, and three, it's not exactly in the best part of Beall's Hill. In the adjacent lot sets this house:



Tell me, would you want to live next door to this? Yes? Well then don't worry, there's a rental on the next lot. You're in luck.



Do you need the number?



And if you're ever in need of some fire wood, just hop over to your neighbors. There's plenty of kindling (and optional single pink shoe).



One more look to seal the deal. Here's another view of the dumped house (taken just off the porch of the fixer-upper):



This, my friends, is my neighborhood.

rattle, rattle, creak

That's my brain. I'm in need of mental lubrication in the form of caffeine. Lots going on. Lots to think about and not think about. Here's a snapshot:

1. Day five without diapers. One accident today and the belated discovery of the reason our living room smells like poo.

2. Do I still have a job or not? On Wednesday it was yes! On Thursday it was no or maybe not. On Friday it was I don't know. Today it is yes, but. I'm moving forward on the assumption that the "but" part won't mean a pay cut.

3. My parents have returned to Michigan. I've been moping since they left. I feel this overwhelming sense of sadness when I think about them returning to a place they no longer wish to be. Being the middle child (and responsible for the happiness of THE ENTIRE WORLD), their situation pains me. Of course add to that a major malfunction in my middle-child-spidey-sense-for-the-sensitivities-of-others, and I made my mom cry before she left. I continue to feel like a heel about that particular fail in my otherwise spectacular middle child super hero capabilities.

4. Someone dumped a house in my neighborhood. You laugh. You think I'm joking. After all, how does one dump a house? With a rig I suppose, but dump one they did. Don't worry, pictures to come. This take littering to a whole new level.

5. Last Thursday Grace got to read the morning announcements to the entire school over closed circuit TV. I got to be in the sound booth with her. Cue my tears.

6. Drumroll....Craig and I are going on a date tonight. Six months ago we promised each other one date per month. This is date number two. You do the math.

In which I make even fewer friends than before

"Can you believe that these people are here?"

"They should not be doing this in front of an elementary school!"

What, one might ask, is the cause for such comments? PETA decided to show up at Grace's elementary school at pick up today. Following rules about such activities, PETA notified the school district of their plan to distribute coloring books to families about the evils of circuses (Ringling Bros is coming next week).

I had no idea that this event would require two news crews and half a dozen cops. On the sidewalk stood two attractive young women with coloring books in hand alongside "Ele" the elephant. The women never stepped forward, they only offered coloring books to those who approached them--at least that's what I saw. A news photographer approached me to ask a few questions.

"What do you think about all the police?"

"It seems like overkill to me."

"Can I quote you on that?"

Internal dialogue: Great, let me alienate myself from a few more people!

"Yeah, sure, okay."

After he left, three other people approached me to express their outrage, and I continued my line that I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I wasn't making any friends today, so I decided to put some icing on the cake: "My husband does animal research, and I don't have a problem with these women handing out information." This was met with blank expressions, then confusion, and a little revulsion (eww, your husband does what?).

The people that took the time to express their outrage were genuinely concerned about what message PETA's presence was sending their kids, and all I could think was what a great opportunity to talk to Grace about activism, politics and animal ethics--at her level. I wasn't bothered by PETA because I like open dialogue, and I want my kid to grow up to be a critical thinker.

I'm sure some parents were concerned because PETA doesn't necessarily have the best reputation, but I didn't think for a minute that representatives might scream at the kids or do other disruptive stuff. As Grace and I departed from the school, I stopped to get a coloring book. The young woman did nothing but say thank you.

I chided myself on the way home why did you open your mouth, people will read the paper and you'll have even fewer friends at pick up. And then thankfully I remembered that I'm Grace's parent. I want her to know that I believe in free speech and the right to assemble. I believe that we should take a stand for causes in which we believe, and moreover that we should respect other people's rights to stand for causes with which we disagree. That counts for something, right? It counts for a whole lot.

Smash

Our neighbor’s house was broken into this morning after they left for work. The front window was smashed, allowing entrance. The burglars entered through the window and exited through the front door with two 42-inch plasma screen TVs among other things. Despite the fact that the house sits on a very busy street and is highly visible, I was the first person to notice something was amiss. I was walking home with Julia when I saw their front door wide open. I knew it was a break in. I called my neighbor and then the cops. I waited on the sidewalk with Julia until all parties responded, and once I was cleared I walked home with my girl in my arms.

Within Macon, crime in our neighborhood isn’t all that high, which surprises most people. When we first moved in, we couldn’t even get a pizza delivered after 6 pm. Beall’s Hill had a very bad reputation. One block behind our home was the worst housing project in the city. When we bought our place, the buildings had been razed and a new mixed income development constructed. Now the apartments house Mercer students alongside low and middle-income residents. It’s an experiment in redevelopment. Beall’s Hill is now home to university professors, writers, insurance agents, students, retirees, minimum wage earners, prostitutes, drug dealers, and the homeless. We are certainly a diverse lot.

I won’t lie. There have been many, many times when I have wondered about our choice of living space. The reasons for buying into Beall’s Hill, for us, are long and complicated. Despite altruistic tendencies and being liberal as hell, we bought this house for convenience. It takes Craig seven minutes to walk from our house to his office on campus (which, though he had been warned against, he does quite often at night without difficulty). Until Grace went to Kindergarten last fall, we had lunch together as a family nearly every day. Who does that these days? And speaking of Kindergarten, living in Beall’s Hill allowed Grace automatic acceptance into the best school in Macon. We also derive pride from the fact that we live in a mixed neighborhood. All of our immediate neighbors are African American. There are people of very little means around us as well as those who can only be described as middle class. Our kids get frequent lessons on generosity and humility in the face of poverty.

And yet, my neighbor’s house was just broken into. I feel unsettled and nervous, and I wonder for the hundredth, maybe thousandth time, is this where we should be?

We live in the corridor...

Here is a commercial that is currently airing in Macon. Recognize anyone?

Craig

Historic Macon is a Lifestyle from Historic Macon Foundation on Vimeo.

This is Macon

and good things do happen here.

Only here

I have a like-hate relationship with our current location. My feelings ebb and flow, but lately I've been on a hating streak. Not so good for the psyche, so after some gentle insistence by my partner I called the doctor to get a renewal for my happy meds. The nurse who took my call volunteered that I could get great counseling at one of two mega baptist churches on the northside of town and that she would pray for my soul.

After that conversation I may need to up my dosage.

What can I make with goat milk yogurt?

You all know of my love for my local Kroger. I swore I wouldn't step foot into that store again. You knew I wouldn't be able to keep that promise, right?

Slowly, I started to go back a few months ago. I had very low expectations. Expect to be scowled at, check. Expect the cashier to ring up the wrong item, check. Expect the bag person to not bag your groceries, check. Expect random homeless person to accost you in parking lot, check.

There are some positives though. They actually have a really good natural foods/organic section, which is a huge surprise given their clientele. They also have amazing sales on all the items I love--again, probably because their clientele doesn't buy items like Amy's organic mac-n-cheese all that often. The truth is that I can't pass up on those savings and the store is really close to my house. It's my primary grocery. I just have to suck it up and admit that.

In any case, I was really excited when signs went up that my Kroger was going to be remodeled (as if the above negatives weren't bad enough, I felt like I was entering a dungeon when I shopped there). Section by section they have rebuilt the store, and let me tell you, it's pretty nice. Now, the horrible customer service is still thriving, but at least the environment isn't depressing. I'm thankful for this change, really I am, but I have to wonder whether or not Kroger has a accurate handle on shopper demographics. You see, as I wandered through the organic section this morning, I noticed that they were selling goat milk yogurt. Very chic-chic, my friends. Then I looked at the price tag: $9.98 for a large container.

I can hardly come up with words to describe my awe.

Are they freaking serious? Nine dollars and ninety-eight cents for a container of yogurt at a Kroger that serves as a homeless depot? I wouldn't even pay that amount and I shop the organic section all the time. I see a 90% markdown on goat milk yogurt in my future.