recently i drove down to Savannah, Georgia, a place I never in one gazillion years thought i might remotely find myself in. alas, at about 9:30AM one brilliantly fresh Southern morning, i was veritably sailing down a smooth Savannian highway, headed further south, from Charleston. honestly, all of those words are still ridiculous to me. Charleston??? Savannah??? all I think is "NEW YORK". new york. new york. new york. new york. who. am. I.
to my credit [i checked], i was - thankfully - not morbidly obese, or wearing americanmom jeans. it was just me, right there, huge cup of gratis Starbuck iced coffee in hand, on a road with no potholes. in truth, southern drivers are just as docile as their surroundings, so, as you may imagine, my licensed aggressive driving made tremendous time. these things notwithstanding, some things truly spectacular happened:
as i cruised in the joyous sunshine, trying to keep my happy bubbles mainly to myself, i surfed through the endless supply of static on the radio and finally landed on something of a morning show where the hosts played - in my mind a completely unnecessary - prank on some unsuspecting southern lass along the lines of them being in a horse-drawn carriage and the horse was out of control, leading them directly to the river. i listened, driving along, passing a peach cider stand and thinking i should stop there on the way back, wondering where the fuck one found horse-drawn carriages these days, aside from Central Park. well, evidently, in answer to that, quaint little Savannah is full of them. those beautiful beasts sauntered along, hopefully droning out "and over here on the right, we have an example of British laid bricks", being heard for the 12,000th time as they pulled James and Mary from Wisconsin. there were many fat people. so, that was the horses.
i myself likewise trotted around Savannah, had lunch, stood in line for half an hour to get ice cream that i thought would blow me away, but which only seriously proved my significant lactose intolerance (regardless of the beguiling almond honey cream nomenclature), and finding myself bored and generally underwhelmed again, aside from the lush moss dripping off the trees, decided to head back to my car, parked on the muddy, decidedly unromantic Savannah River. as i marched through the thousandth quaint square i would encounter that day, my drowsy southern thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud crack, the trotting of hooves, and a scream of, "runaway horse, runaway horse!!"
sure enough, charging down the street, i watched a carriage-ful of stricken riders, mouths agape, hair blown back from their faces, the driver lost of her whip, her own face shaken as she called after her stubborn horse. behind them, running as best as she could up the street, Kay from Delaware, in grey capris and black rubber flip-flops, waving the whip the driver had left behind, screaming, "runaway horse! runaway horse! it hit my car!"
imagine that.
on the way back to Charleston, i missed the peach cider stands in an effort to quickly get back, and that was the last i saw of georgia. i didn't taste a peach, or even peach cider, in Georgia. only bad ice cream.
when i got back to NY, my neighbor brought me wine from the new wine shop down the street. i didn't think i should drink, but the bottle had my initials on it. this morning, someone spoke up to remind me that Life is "Tenacious". well, ain't that so. Here's to You, Life.
to my credit [i checked], i was - thankfully - not morbidly obese, or wearing americanmom jeans. it was just me, right there, huge cup of gratis Starbuck iced coffee in hand, on a road with no potholes. in truth, southern drivers are just as docile as their surroundings, so, as you may imagine, my licensed aggressive driving made tremendous time. these things notwithstanding, some things truly spectacular happened:
as i cruised in the joyous sunshine, trying to keep my happy bubbles mainly to myself, i surfed through the endless supply of static on the radio and finally landed on something of a morning show where the hosts played - in my mind a completely unnecessary - prank on some unsuspecting southern lass along the lines of them being in a horse-drawn carriage and the horse was out of control, leading them directly to the river. i listened, driving along, passing a peach cider stand and thinking i should stop there on the way back, wondering where the fuck one found horse-drawn carriages these days, aside from Central Park. well, evidently, in answer to that, quaint little Savannah is full of them. those beautiful beasts sauntered along, hopefully droning out "and over here on the right, we have an example of British laid bricks", being heard for the 12,000th time as they pulled James and Mary from Wisconsin. there were many fat people. so, that was the horses.
i myself likewise trotted around Savannah, had lunch, stood in line for half an hour to get ice cream that i thought would blow me away, but which only seriously proved my significant lactose intolerance (regardless of the beguiling almond honey cream nomenclature), and finding myself bored and generally underwhelmed again, aside from the lush moss dripping off the trees, decided to head back to my car, parked on the muddy, decidedly unromantic Savannah River. as i marched through the thousandth quaint square i would encounter that day, my drowsy southern thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud crack, the trotting of hooves, and a scream of, "runaway horse, runaway horse!!"
sure enough, charging down the street, i watched a carriage-ful of stricken riders, mouths agape, hair blown back from their faces, the driver lost of her whip, her own face shaken as she called after her stubborn horse. behind them, running as best as she could up the street, Kay from Delaware, in grey capris and black rubber flip-flops, waving the whip the driver had left behind, screaming, "runaway horse! runaway horse! it hit my car!"
imagine that.
on the way back to Charleston, i missed the peach cider stands in an effort to quickly get back, and that was the last i saw of georgia. i didn't taste a peach, or even peach cider, in Georgia. only bad ice cream.
when i got back to NY, my neighbor brought me wine from the new wine shop down the street. i didn't think i should drink, but the bottle had my initials on it. this morning, someone spoke up to remind me that Life is "Tenacious". well, ain't that so. Here's to You, Life.
