My hood

Getting ready to move in with James has had me thinking, lately. Mostly about where we are going to put all of his tools... but about some other things too. I know, I know... another sentimental blog post? What the hell, Bridgette? What's gotten into you?

Springtime in Kentucky is my favorite time of year, and everything I love about the Spring is amplified in the hood. That's right. You may not have realized, but I live in the hood. I have for about 6 years now. I love my hood. It is the kind of place that my mom is afraid to leave her car parked outside for more than an hour at a time. But it is my place.

Years ago I was working for a company doing promo work. This meant a lot of traveling. It was summer and I was between classes, so it worked out well. I would be gone for 3-4 days at a time, finding out which city I would be staying in the morning of. Then I would be back for a few days. I was also in the process of moving out of my old house, which I had shared with 4 other girls.

I didn't have anywhere to live. For most people, this would be frightening. You see, I have a little bit of a gypsy side and this was nothing new, really. However, it just so happened that my newish boyfriend, James, was looking into investment properties.

So we struck a deal. I could pick out the house, he would buy it, and I would rent it with some friends. Pretty good deal, huh? So after a few weeks of living out of my car, I found a house.

It was cute. It was perfect. It sat up on it's own little hill and looked cheerily down at the street. It had a precious little front porch. Shotgun style with a hallway, three bedrooms, a laundry room (a luxury, here in the hood), and one bathroom. The kitchen was massive.  Lots of windows. And it only got broken into once!

I won't get into much more detail about the house, that's probably another story for another sentimental time, but I will describe my hood for you.

I am close to campus, and close to downtown, but far enough away that I have some non-student neighbors. I can see the fireworks from Thunder over Louisville from my front porch. I can hear concerts at the old stadium in the summer. I can smell the grass being cut in the park and cemetery across the street. I am a short walk away from bars, pizza and ice cream.

My permanent neighbor, Thomas, is senile, but he grows a little row of grapes between our houses. He told me one time that he makes jellies and jams with them, but I have never seen him pick a single grape. So sometimes I eat them. My neighbors on the other side are constantly changing, and right now they have left their Halloween decorations up for so long that I am beginning to think that they live in an actual haunted house. Across the street, the family of four will sometimes drag their couch and TV out on their front porch. The old lady across the street doesn't feed her cat, so I do. The little old man down the street will sit outside every day and wave to me as I pass and the man that lives in the garage down the street finally stopped following me when I walked to campus.

When I drive around my neighborhood, the sights and smells are mostly what I will miss. Especially in the Springtime. In the morning the air is warm and the breeze is strong enough to waft the scent of coffee and donuts from the bakery and cafe, Nord's and Sunergos. On the way home, in the evening, I have to drive past Zanzabar's smoker out in front of the restaurant, and then Vito's pizza.

People are always out walking, mostly because I live right on the bus line. They walk their dogs and ride their bikes. They are walking to school or picking up cans. They are buying wine from the Greenhaus or stopping in the Barber's College.

It is a busy little place. It always smells amazing. There is always something to do or somewhere to eat. It is close to everything. I am trading in this little city-skirts life for the burbs in just a few short weekss and the only thing I will drive past then is hoodlums loitering outside of the movie theater and a bunch of other houses.

I will have to make side trips through my hood every now and then, just so I don't forget my roots, and so I can pick up a tub of pulled chicken from Frank's and a bottle of wine from the Liquor Store, where they know my name.