Suzy Says

My new downtown

Well, it’s official.

Vogue and Vanity Fair have received my change of address. Oh, and I put a note in with the rent check notifying my landlords that November 1 is the day I am movin’ on up to the coast.

Above, you can see my new town. When I tell people it’s a small town, they ask me how many bars and churches it has. Answer: zero. Here’s what it does have: hardware store and post office (building on the left) and grocery store (with gas pump and a place to buy propane behind the store) with deli and baitshop (building on the right). ‘Cause you’ll want a picnic when you go fishing.

Across the street (well, highway) is a fancy restaurant* which is too good for me. Across the bridge is a fancy inn which has a reputedly fabulous restaurant, which I’m assuming is also too good for me. But it’s nice to know they’re there, providing a little touch of luxury to their rural surroundings.

It’s pretty much the anti-Oakland. And since I am, too, we could be made for each other.

*Is it just me, or is it odd and ironic that they’re equally proud of being vegetarian friendly and having a famous cassoulet? I mean, you can’t get much less vegetarian than cassoulet, mes amis.

My neighbor B came by to bring me some cherry tomatoes from her garden. Apparently, the big tomatoes haven’t done well this year, but she has more of the little ones than she can use. I love how she’s always bringing me little treats. It makes me feel special.

I asked her if she knew what the story was behind the mystery move, and she didn’t. There’s one of those combination locks realtors use on the front door, but there’s no For Sale sign on the lawn.

She said that the family had lived there for fifty years! W, the elderly gentleman across the street, has lived in his house for fifty-four years, probably a neighborhood record, and according to B, the Mexicans never talked to him, either. So their total ignoring of me, other than when June clawed the son, is apparently not personal. I thought they were annoyed with me because of June invading their “yard”.

They didn’t even talk to each other. I’ve seen the kids, who are in their late teens or early twenties, cross paths on the driveway or the front porch and not acknowledge each other. Once, the daughter went in the house with the son behind her and apparently locked the door behind her, since he had to ring the bell. They were quite the enigma.

It seems a little ironic that they and their canine prisoners moved out just weeks before I probably will. I can enjoy the peace and quiet while I pack.