such a deal

so i'd had a lovely walk in the old suburban neighborhood where a friend lives. it's 30 minutes by car to get there, but worth it for all the birds, traffic-free hills and patches of woods.
when i got back home, it was misting, not quite raining. no need for the umbrella. but somehow my arms were full anyway as i exited the car, so i slammed the door with my foot.
from the second-story porch next door, a woman with dark hair waved, smiling as if we were old friends. in her arms was a tiny white dog, smaller than my cat.
i waved back.
"nice dog," i say, loud enough to carry.
"free to good home," she yells back.
at first i'm wondering why a dog needs four names. then i get it.
"don't think my cat would much care for that," i say, pausing at the sidewalk.
"oh she loves cats," the woman says. "we have three."
"tempting," i say. "but i think we're good with just the one cat right now."
she shrugs, still smiling.
"i'm joy," she says. "this is celine," she points to a girl who's maybe 20, "and he's robbie." a toddler crawls on the clay tiles in his diaper and t-shirt.
i say my name twice before she gets it. i think about asking if they're cold out there without jackets.
we smile at one another, nod the way you do when you're not sure what to say next, and go our separate ways.

catching up on where i've been

so i'm back in the world of quick turnaround newspaper stories – snapshot journalism. the kind of thing where a conversation becomes a window to a life or calling and the challenge (and joy) comes from seeing how quickly you can translate it to the page.
this is what i loved most about my last three years at the ajc, when i worked out of the gwinnett bureau.
sometimes i'd have so much fun immersing myself in one or another of the county's fascinating towns, i'd wonder what it would be like to actually live there, instead of driving up for the day and pretending.
picturing a crashpad under the trees, just small enough for a bed and desk and hotplate, i imagined being able to watch a place go to sleep and wake up, to hear its particular cast of birds and smell its particular flavor of morning.
can you ever really know a place, i wondered, without living in it?
now i get to find out.
committing to a weekly column – wherein i'm never sure what will be next but i'm on the hook for it anyway – is a big part of the charm.
here are links to a few. the first is about painter rocio rodriguez, whose terrific show at barbara archer gallery in inman park has been extended through feb. 5.

http://vahi.patch.com/articles/local-artist-brings-her-art-back-home

http://vahi.patch.com/articles/rescuing-the-rescuers-2

http://www.reporternewspapers.net/2010/12/30/churchs-divorce-recovery-group-helps-singles-learn-loss/