|
2 june 2003
currently reading
A People's History of the United States, by Howard Zinn. I'm only about a third of the way through this book, but I can already tell you that it's one of the best I've read in awhile. Engaging and detailed, this is everyone else's history: Native Americans, women, child laborers, and the poor. Zinn does an outstanding job of balancing what we learned in high school textbooks with a less glorified discussion of our country's oft-violent, imperialist past. I will be incorporating selections from this book into my next batch of 8th-graders' lessons.
current listening
Mose Allison. mmmmmmm....
|
no stairs. no elevator.
For about the past three years, I have lived at the Y.
Let me clarify that. I didn't live in a room at the YMCA like Barney Fife did when he moved to Raleigh. Rather, Winston-Salem's old downtown Y was converted into condos a few years ago. I had a lovely corner place facing west. The sun set in my bedroom and my den. I watched the Baptist Hospital medical helicopter take off and come home at least twice a week. I enjoyed the Latin festival in our parking lot. I walked around the corner to eat at the Bistro 420 and drink while kvetching with Beth. I ran in Old Salem and in Hanes Park. I loved living in downtown Winston-Salem. It is a good place to live, and I highly recommend it for people who are new to the area. Downtown is becoming lively with new restaurants, clubs, and events. You can walk to the library. You'll feel safe. People live there with purpose and humor. There is a lively spirit to the place. It is grassroots. I like that a lot.
There is one thing that I will not miss, and that is the elevator. I hate elevators. Especially the one at the Y.
Usually, I took the stairs to my place. When you've got six grocery bags, though, the elevator is much more practical. That is, if you can free one hand to open the two secured number pad entrances.
Don't even think of forgetting your keys or your wallet when living at the Y. It will take you five minutes just to get back in the door and find the cursed things. Living at the Y made me hate shopping even more than I did before. Shopping meant carrying stuff, and I made it my mission to carry as little as possible to the top of the Y. Taking out my trash was a major ordeal. Thus, I minimized my consumption. Less stuff=less trash=less navigating too many floors/stairs/elevator at the Y. Grr...
Don't even ask what it was like moving out. It took four of us. Two of us finished, six hours later. One of me loaded two traumatized cats and my sorry one-hour-of-sleep-in-two-days carcass into the U-Haul for the drive eastward. On the other end, two blessed people helped me move everything into a HOUSE with no STAIRS with one entrance SIX FEET from the truck ramp. It took forty-five minutes. My last legs were on their last legs. We returned the truck at 10:00 p.m. I was asleep by 10:45. I slept until 2:00p.m. the next day.
I now have a home in a town in the woods. It is so quiet as to be eerie. The sun rises in my bedroom and sets in my living room. Grant, who owns the coffee shop on my way to school, is already a favored acquaintance for keeping teacher hours. (He opens at 6:30 a.m., and quickly learned how I like my brew.) The local chapter of a national non-profit has contacted me (thanks, Starr!), and yes, I am interested and will contact you in detail as soon as I'm unpacked! I met the friendly owners of the Pittsboro General Store at Foster's Market yesterday, and am sending my NC Plenty membership, pronto.
I'm still looking for a good gym to join. This seems to be a challenge. Fit female seeks one moderately yuppie- and soap-opera-television-free zone in which to do weight training. Nothing fancy, don't need a smoothie on my way out the door, dig? Need dumbbells and a few machines. Refuse to sign away two years of my life.
So, I'm moved. I'm comfortable. I'm very, very happy. My friends are so good to me. Wilma and Harry have adjusted nicely. I have a summer to enjoy.
And no...stinkin'...elevator.
|
