I ate the last piece of gourmet chocolate this morning. A chocolate
fudge sundae. Or was it a chocolate tiramisu?
It was a Christmas gift, something I intended from the moment I opened the box at the Breakfast Club on Tybee Island to give away, to re-gift.
Except I didnt. I couldnt.
Whats a tray of eight silky, smooth, Belgian chocolates in a month of eggnog-from-scratch, potato latkes with sour cream and apple sauce, homemade shortbread, a piece or two of sweet potato/pecan pie, Italian biscottis (the tooth-threatening kind you dunk in coffee), stuffed sweet peppers?
OK. There were two trays of gourmet chocolates. Not one. Sixteen pieces altogether. But whos counting? Who cares?
We know how to socialize in this town. We know how to have fun. We also know when its time to get real.
Still, when the temperature hovers around 70 -- and its January -- when pink and blue hues flood the skies at sunset, when the few cold nights weve had only help to sweeten, not kill, the rows of arugula, the motherlode of collards, the curly mustard greens, who can complain?
So what if the dogs are still chasing fleas, if we have to wait for March winds to drive, and then rake, last years leaves from their comfort zone, if I have to spend $2,000 to replace a sewer line that the gas company busted when it bore through the ground with a new pipe?
Not that I minded those few weeks of sub-30 weather. When else are we
going to get to wear all the sweatshirts and jackets that follow us around and take up space in our closets?
When else are certain neighborhoods going to be free of drug dealers, the scourge of the earth?
Its even too cold for them, I guess, a neighbor said to me.
You dont realize how great your neighborhood -- and your life -- is and
how irritating those guys are -- the ones who hang around on a porch or
in the middle of the street at 6 in the morning -- until theyre not there.
Which reminds me: Hows that crime commission going, Mayor Johnson? I know youre trying to go after the big guys, the ones on top who pull all the strings. But in the meantime, how about getting aggressive with the worker-bees so the old people on the block can come
out of their houses, so people dont have to be afraid to move to this sweet, little coastal town with moderate temperatures and good parties?
Now thats what Im talking about, said a friend in a coffeehouse when we read about the Mayor and the City Council getting together for a meet-and-greet retreat. Thats what Id like to see him and Brother Pete deal with.
As we start the new year, we can resolve to pass on the chocolate bonbons, eat our greens, drink our six glasses of water a day, swim our laps, try not to spend more than we make.
We can change our name from the Coastal Empire to the Creative Coast and consolidate more city and county departments.
We can -- praise Jesus -- lighten the bureaucratic load on our public school teachers and just let them teach. But we
cant do it all.
We can run, but we cant hide. Neither can you.
Jane Fishman, who will write a weekly column for ConnectSavannah, can
be reached at email@example.com.
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If I left, how far inland would I have to drive to be safe? How hard would it be to find a motel that would take in my cat and I? How would my cat act all that time in the car? She gets very unhappy in just the five-mile drive to the vet.
The ordinance was written by and for the entrenched interests of downtown property owners, seeking to preserve their dominance in the short-term rental market, and hoteliers seeking to limit the growth of new, competing supply in a market where they are already concerned with over-building.