Battling kudzu is, to me, the ultimate futile fight of mankind against the inevitable. Finding a wayward patch, you grab it and pull. Yards upon yards of leaves and vines file through your hands as you tug roots up from the ground or pull the curled vines free from trunks and branches. But the branching, ever multiplying plant has no true end. Ultimately, you have to choose the point at which you declare “enough.” Even as the plant comes free in sweet release, your relief can only be physical. You have not won the war. In truth, you have not even won the battle. With a snip of your shears you have merely determined the location from which the fight will next resume.
You would think, with all the money we invest into biological warfare and gene tech, that someone out there would be able to develop a poison I could spray over my entire lawn that would only target the specific genetic structure of kudzu (Though I would be willing to sacrifice a few other ivies along the way if necessary). Yet, if such a product exists, people are completely failing to market it because I have yet to find it. When faced with a yard rung with kudzu, the most you can hope for is to declare your battle lines and to try to keep the enemy from crossing them. I pull vines free from the trunk of the one tree in my backyard which has not already had them intertwined into branches too high for me to reach. I monitor the fence that separates my back yard from my neighbors to ensure that the kudzu that covers it has not begun to creep along the ground. And I patrol the edge of my house while keeping a sharp eye out for any vines that have sought to cross over the thin strip of lawn in order to attack my foundation.
Should the vines ever reach the house, we’re done for. In a matter of months, kudzu can demolish a home. It twines through the foundation, busts through windows and tears down rafters. We bought our house in November, when the bare vines are barely distinguishable from all the other grey foliage, and we gave them no notice. At the closing the previous owners mentioned that the yard had “a bit of a kudzu problem” that we should keep an eye on. Of course, at that point it would have been too late for us to back out, even if we had realized the true implications of that innocuous comment.
The truth is, I love my house. At the most, the kudzu problem may have made me argue for a lower purchase price, but I doubt it would have been a deal breaker. I keep the pit of vines mowed back and monitor the lines I have declared. One day I hope to have the money to call in a landscaper and ask them how many thousands of dollars it will cost to have some professionals come in and clear out all the kudzu on my land (and that of my immediate neighbors, because otherwise there is little point). Hopefully, it will be a price I can afford. Perhaps it might be best to save this for closer to when we’re thinking of selling. While such an investment may definitely count as a battle won, it is still just buying time against the inevitable, unending war. After all, even a professional will ultimately have to pick the point at which they simply declare “enough” and and give the snip that merely redraws the battle lines anew.
Showing posts with label urban. Show all posts
Showing posts with label urban. Show all posts
Friday, May 20, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
Settling Down in My Home Town
These days it seems like the everyone is moving across country (or to another country entirely) from where they grew up. I can understand the desire to go someplace where no one knows you and you can get a fresh start. And sometimes, it’s just the best decision based on where the availabilities in your field can be found. However, I feel there are some definite advantages to growing older in the same town where you grew up.
I was born in Atlanta and grew up deep in the heart of Midtown. Growing up I was walking distance from my middle and high schools, from a movie theatre, a (small) grocery store, numerous restaurants, a couple of laundry mats, a hair salon we never used, the biggest park in the city and a neighborhood convenience store that probably had a name, but was always just called Richard’s Store. My husband grew up in a nearby suburb, and taught me that sometimes it’s okay to go someplace for an evening that’s more than ten minutes away.
I love Atlanta and, despite her mass transit problems, I have no desire to leave her. Other cities just don’t have enough trees, for one thing. But more than that, I know this town and she knows me.
I have never had to look for a mechanic. It seems like a taxing process. I have friends who have had their cars totaled by incompetent mechanics, and heard tons of horror stories of people being tricked and defrauded by those who are less than scrupulous. This has never been an issue for me. When I was little my parents used Bob Todd as their mechanic. When he retired, he passed the business, and their custom, on to his son, John. One of my first memories of being back in Atlanta after graduating college was taking my car in to get my blinker repaired. It was just a matter of replacing the casing and it only took a minute. When Mr. Todd (as I still call him much to his great annoyance) was done, I asked him how much it cost. He looked at me like I was crazy and told me “I’m not gonna charge Robert’s daughter for that.” It felt really good to be home.
Of course, living in the town you grew up in isn’t always discounts and name dropping. Sometimes it’s realizing the consequences of your favorite neighborhood bar also being your father’s favorite. There I am, sitting at a table full of my friends, my Guinness has just arrived and I am reaching to get a cigarette to accompany it when my father spots us and joins our table. Now, I am not a smoker. I just feel that beer, specifically Guinness, tastes better with tobacco. But after the years I spent giving my father grief about his cigarette addiction, the times I watched him try to quit, and the general “don’t ever start smoking or it will haunt your life for all time” sentiment in my house growing up, there is no way I can smoke in front of my dad - even as he bums a cigarette off my roommate and starts puffing away. Now, my dad is generally accepted amongst my friends to be pretty awesome, so there is no lack of engagement to drive him from the table. Meanwhile, my beer is growing warm and I really wish he’d go find his friends so that I can indulge my vices with out parental supervision.
Still, if my dad randomly showing up to curb my bad habits is the worst of my complaints, then life in my home town is treating me pretty well. And truly, his proximity is far more of a blessing than a burden. My husband and I only have one car between us, and MARTA doesn’t run to his office (did I mention that Atlanta’s mass transit sucks). Tomorrow I have an invited dress rehearsal for a show I’m doing costume design for at 8:30 in the morning in another part of town with out MARTA access in the opposite direction of my husband’s office. This would be an impossible situation if it weren’t for my dad who is graciously willing to pick me up at 7:45 and drop me off at the show. Because he loves me and is, as is generally accepted, awesome.
And this is with out even getting into the perks of having the in-laws nearby. Whether it’s help moving, help mounting shelves, or help getting around town, it is definitely nice to have the built in support structure of family. And when looking for reliable businesses, it’s a lot easier to spot them if you’ve been using them for over a decade, and possibly went to school with the owner’s children. I can understand the appeal of a fresh slate, but as for me? I really like being home.
I was born in Atlanta and grew up deep in the heart of Midtown. Growing up I was walking distance from my middle and high schools, from a movie theatre, a (small) grocery store, numerous restaurants, a couple of laundry mats, a hair salon we never used, the biggest park in the city and a neighborhood convenience store that probably had a name, but was always just called Richard’s Store. My husband grew up in a nearby suburb, and taught me that sometimes it’s okay to go someplace for an evening that’s more than ten minutes away.
I love Atlanta and, despite her mass transit problems, I have no desire to leave her. Other cities just don’t have enough trees, for one thing. But more than that, I know this town and she knows me.
I have never had to look for a mechanic. It seems like a taxing process. I have friends who have had their cars totaled by incompetent mechanics, and heard tons of horror stories of people being tricked and defrauded by those who are less than scrupulous. This has never been an issue for me. When I was little my parents used Bob Todd as their mechanic. When he retired, he passed the business, and their custom, on to his son, John. One of my first memories of being back in Atlanta after graduating college was taking my car in to get my blinker repaired. It was just a matter of replacing the casing and it only took a minute. When Mr. Todd (as I still call him much to his great annoyance) was done, I asked him how much it cost. He looked at me like I was crazy and told me “I’m not gonna charge Robert’s daughter for that.” It felt really good to be home.
Of course, living in the town you grew up in isn’t always discounts and name dropping. Sometimes it’s realizing the consequences of your favorite neighborhood bar also being your father’s favorite. There I am, sitting at a table full of my friends, my Guinness has just arrived and I am reaching to get a cigarette to accompany it when my father spots us and joins our table. Now, I am not a smoker. I just feel that beer, specifically Guinness, tastes better with tobacco. But after the years I spent giving my father grief about his cigarette addiction, the times I watched him try to quit, and the general “don’t ever start smoking or it will haunt your life for all time” sentiment in my house growing up, there is no way I can smoke in front of my dad - even as he bums a cigarette off my roommate and starts puffing away. Now, my dad is generally accepted amongst my friends to be pretty awesome, so there is no lack of engagement to drive him from the table. Meanwhile, my beer is growing warm and I really wish he’d go find his friends so that I can indulge my vices with out parental supervision.
Still, if my dad randomly showing up to curb my bad habits is the worst of my complaints, then life in my home town is treating me pretty well. And truly, his proximity is far more of a blessing than a burden. My husband and I only have one car between us, and MARTA doesn’t run to his office (did I mention that Atlanta’s mass transit sucks). Tomorrow I have an invited dress rehearsal for a show I’m doing costume design for at 8:30 in the morning in another part of town with out MARTA access in the opposite direction of my husband’s office. This would be an impossible situation if it weren’t for my dad who is graciously willing to pick me up at 7:45 and drop me off at the show. Because he loves me and is, as is generally accepted, awesome.
And this is with out even getting into the perks of having the in-laws nearby. Whether it’s help moving, help mounting shelves, or help getting around town, it is definitely nice to have the built in support structure of family. And when looking for reliable businesses, it’s a lot easier to spot them if you’ve been using them for over a decade, and possibly went to school with the owner’s children. I can understand the appeal of a fresh slate, but as for me? I really like being home.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Real Housewife of Atlanta
Hi, I'm Anie. I've decided to start a blog about my life. I'm not sure if anyone will want to read it, though. I mean, my life is pretty normal and straight forward. I got married at 23 to my highschool sweetheart. We bought a house in the city three months later. He has a salaried job and I work super part time (about 15 hours a week) just to give us a little extra grocery money. He pays the bills, I wash the underwear.
On Friday night we light Shabbat candles and have a nice dinner. About every other weekend we're joined by our boyfriend and girlfriend and their boys. We spend dinner trying to keep the kids from blowing out the candles and then we head out to our local vampire LARP (Live Action Role Playing game). Usually mom and the boys will hang out for half an hour to an hour. Then they go home and go to bed while the rest of us play until two in the morning. After game, a handful of friends (somewhere between two and five) come back to our place to spend the weekend.
Saturdays are spent with the kids going to the park, friends hanging out on the porch, and lots of computer games. Until nightfall, when it's time for another LARP. Sundays are for walking around the neighborhood and sad goodbyes. Then it's back to the grind of another work week in which my darling husband will leave me with a To Do list that I will never quite finish.
Weekends with out games are usually more low key. Most of the time there's some party or club event scheduled, which will give my boyfriend a reason to come to town. I'll put on my party clothes and he'll put on his nice collar and we'll go out to have some fun. Often the husband comes along as well. Living in the city, we can usually come up with a few different options for entertainment, though Sunday nights still usually find us at home watching television shows on Netflix.
Passover is spent with my mother's extended family here in Atlanta. Easter is the big holiday for my husbands family, but it's pretty open invite so this year we brought our boyfriend and girlfriend along, too. Thanksgiving we usually travel to South Carolina to stay with my parents and go see my Dad's family. We don't tend to stay long, however, because a friend here in Atlanta hosts a big Friends and Family feast the Saturday following that we like to be back for (if only to recreate the holiday with the [gender]friends and their kids). Christmas is complicated, but seems to have settled into a compromise with my family coming to Atlanta and us doing Christmas Eve for my dad. Then we all head out for the in-law's big todo on Christmas Day. Unfortunately, it happens at the same time as the girlfriend's family's todo, but we all managed to get together afterward for some quality family time. Maybe this year we'll see if people can shuffle their schedules around a little, but probably not.
Of course there are other key events in the year. Our LARP is part of an international organization, and we host an event every March. Then there's always Dragon*Con in September (which served as our honeymoon one year). Somewhere around January or February we tend to travel to Milwaukee for their event game. And this year we're talking about both New Orleans and Israel. It seems like there's always something coming up that we need to save our pennies for. Luckily, we all seem to get along well on long car trips and in cramped hotel rooms.
Really, I guess that's my life. I admit, the house isn't nearly as clean as it should be for someone with nothing else to do with her time. And the laundry always tends to get done minutes before we run out of clothes. And juggling all the various families and faiths can get complicated, not to mention budgeting in the trips and cons. But my home is full of love and happiness and parties and people and even a few whips and chains just to keep everything in line. All in all, it's just a normal, boring life. But maybe you'll enjoy reading about it anyway. I hope you do!
On Friday night we light Shabbat candles and have a nice dinner. About every other weekend we're joined by our boyfriend and girlfriend and their boys. We spend dinner trying to keep the kids from blowing out the candles and then we head out to our local vampire LARP (Live Action Role Playing game). Usually mom and the boys will hang out for half an hour to an hour. Then they go home and go to bed while the rest of us play until two in the morning. After game, a handful of friends (somewhere between two and five) come back to our place to spend the weekend.
Saturdays are spent with the kids going to the park, friends hanging out on the porch, and lots of computer games. Until nightfall, when it's time for another LARP. Sundays are for walking around the neighborhood and sad goodbyes. Then it's back to the grind of another work week in which my darling husband will leave me with a To Do list that I will never quite finish.
Weekends with out games are usually more low key. Most of the time there's some party or club event scheduled, which will give my boyfriend a reason to come to town. I'll put on my party clothes and he'll put on his nice collar and we'll go out to have some fun. Often the husband comes along as well. Living in the city, we can usually come up with a few different options for entertainment, though Sunday nights still usually find us at home watching television shows on Netflix.
Passover is spent with my mother's extended family here in Atlanta. Easter is the big holiday for my husbands family, but it's pretty open invite so this year we brought our boyfriend and girlfriend along, too. Thanksgiving we usually travel to South Carolina to stay with my parents and go see my Dad's family. We don't tend to stay long, however, because a friend here in Atlanta hosts a big Friends and Family feast the Saturday following that we like to be back for (if only to recreate the holiday with the [gender]
Of course there are other key events in the year. Our LARP is part of an international organization, and we host an event every March. Then there's always Dragon*Con in September (which served as our honeymoon one year). Somewhere around January or February we tend to travel to Milwaukee for their event game. And this year we're talking about both New Orleans and Israel. It seems like there's always something coming up that we need to save our pennies for. Luckily, we all seem to get along well on long car trips and in cramped hotel rooms.
Really, I guess that's my life. I admit, the house isn't nearly as clean as it should be for someone with nothing else to do with her time. And the laundry always tends to get done minutes before we run out of clothes. And juggling all the various families and faiths can get complicated, not to mention budgeting in the trips and cons. But my home is full of love and happiness and parties and people and even a few whips and chains just to keep everything in line. All in all, it's just a normal, boring life. But maybe you'll enjoy reading about it anyway. I hope you do!
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