(This post is a tribute to the friends and neighbors we've enjoyed through the years here in the sac. Love you all!)
On July 21, 1991, Rice and I moved with our three kiddos into a suburban neighborhood northwest of Atlanta. We chose a big house on a little cul-de-sac, smack in the middle of the bulb. We’ll probably move one day. For now, though, life’s on track here in the sac.
If you’d asked me back in ’91 if I’d still be living here today, I would have shouted NO! I figured we’d live here a few years, and then relocate to another home in another neighborhood, maybe one closer to the ATL. Turns out, the joke’s on me. The kiddos may have outgrown driving their camo jeep round and round the sac, but Rice and I are still here.
When I was a kid, I lived in at least seven different houses. That’s what people in my life did. They focused on movin’ on up. Rice, on the other hand, lived almost his entire childhood in the same house. Years after we married and moved away, he had to return to empty and then sell that very house after his mother’s passing. In the mind of a Rice, if you’ve got a good, strong house, why move?
Over the years, wanderlust has struck me more than once. Here are just a few of the reasons I’ve suggested to Rice that we should move: Cul-de-sac life is insular. It breeds dependence on cars and a false sense of security. Guests don’t have a place to park. Cars use it for a turnaround spot. Kids often skip our street when they’re trick-or-treating. The neighbors are close. Here’s the reality. Our cul-de-sac is safe and quiet. Littles toddle about and draw with sidewalk chalk like they own the whole bulb. Biggers play hockey and basketball, ride bikes and scooters, and sometimes tolerate their parents during a challenge of corn hole. Adults whine over wine. The neighbors are close. We look out for one another. We share a sense of community, a heart.
Have I mentioned the parties?
In this sac, we celebrate. Life gets reveled through pool parties, cocktail parties, jewelry parties, art parties, Bunco parties, holiday parties, gender reveal parties, rent-a-pony birthday parties, erotic toy parties, Pampered Chef parties, progressive dinner parties, Tupperware parties, karaoke parties, rent-a-bouncy-house just-because parties, engagement parties, divorce parties, come-sit-in-the-sac-cuz-it’s-Friday parties.
What a surprising journey, to watch your life story unfold around a cul-de-sac, season after season, year after year.
In this sac, lives evolve. The days of those lives (shoot, even the weeks or the months) don’t always merit a FaceBook post, pic, or smiley emoticon. Sometime pipes burst, playdates fizzle, cigarettes get snuck, parents yell, teenagers come out, marriages unravel, college rejections arrive, addictions get battled, miscarriages occur, cancer gets diagnosed, ceilings cave in.
So there you have it. In this sac, life sometimes sucks. Here’s the deal. We try to celebrate anyway. That’s how we role, here in the bulb.
Through the years, this sac has been home to sales execs, retail clerks, DFACS managers, at-home moms, flight attendants, dispatchers, fire fighters, grants managers, school teachers, RNs, airline pilots, and computer programmers. Yesterday’s littles have blossomed and moved on to become today’s school teachers, RNs, airline pilots, computer programmers, organic hippie moms, Arabic dancers, TV camera operators, nonprofit managers, and administrative whizzes.
Here in the sac, we’re mostly a gentle community, one with a big fat throbbing heart. Even on Halloween.
To this sac, yesterday’s littles who have blossomed sometimes return. Not for good. Just for one more taste…one more reminder that it’s a good thing to look out for one another.
For 27 years, 3 months, and 10 days, Rice and I have made a home in this little northwest Atlanta cul-de-sac, smack in the middle of the bulb . We’ll probably move one day. For now, though, life’s on track here in the sac
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