Signs of Easter on Golf Circle

The countdown has begun for the Easter Bunny's visit, and the decorations to welcome him are starting to appear on Golf Circle.

I just hope the Easter Bunny isn't like this fellow below...

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...because that might be enough to scare me off chocolate.

Going Around in Circles

The Villa sits at the top of Golf Circle, a short loop with houses on one side and a golf course on the other.  It's an easy 8-minute walk when I just want to stretch my legs. 

That's how I trick myself into exercise.  "Come on, Susan, just one time around," I say to myself.  "It will be over before you know it." 

I slip out the back door, down the driveway toward downtown, turn right and head down the hill.  The downhill momentum carries me forward and I'm halfway around before I even notice.











It's a pretty walk. The first half, the western part of the loop, looks over the swimming pool and tennis courts of the Ansley Golf Club.

Then, the view opens up onto the fairways and greens of the golf course.

I approach the bend halfway around the loop.

After I round the bend at the end of Golf Circle, I walk along a wooded roadway that couldn't possibly be in the middle of the City of Atlanta...and yet it is.

Back at the top of the loop, in front of The Villa, I look across Montgomery Ferry Drive to more golf course.

After one trip around, it's easy to walk a little longer.  If I turn to the right, I head toward Sherwood Forest, Peachtree Street, and the rest of Ansley Park.  If I go left, I cross the bridge toward Flagler Avenue, Ansley Mall, and points beyond. 

Or maybe I'll keep going in circles -- this time, in the opposite direction.   

 

Breakfast at West Egg

Time for breakfast!

My upstairs neighbor and I drive through Atlantic Station to Howell Mill Road and the West Egg Cafe.  Now at its new location (a few doors down from the old one), it substitutes casual, minimalist elegance for its former kitschy charm.  (Although the photo booth at the entrance does add a nice touch of the old 'kitsch.')

My neighbor K sees a former colleague sitting at the counter and goes over to say hello.  I slip around to check the display case for baked goods -- cupcakes, croissants, and cookies, including the oatmeal cookies with butterscotch chips that are the stuff of dreams. 

Many times in the old location we'd ask the server to steal two for us as soon as they came out of the oven, and we'd take them home, still warm.  My look caresses the top cookie waiting for me behind the glass.  Maybe after breakfast, my pretty...

I force myself to turn away and return to K, who has finished talking to the man and his friend at the counter.

We select the table with a good view of the room.

We open the menus, but in my case, why bother?  I order the same thing every time--vegetable omelet (no cheese, I hate cheese) with skillet potatoes and a biscuit.

And, once again, it's delicious!

Afterwards, my plate is clean, and there is no room for a butterscotch oatmeal cookie.  Leaving, I keep my eyes averted until I reach the exit, then, with a single wistful glance back over my shoulder at the baked goods, I go through the door without one.

Maybe next visit...

Close to Culture

One of the best parts of Villa living is how close we are to the finest that Atlanta has to offer.  We can walk to the High Museum, the Atlanta Symphony, Alliance Theatre...it's a hike, and you might not want to sit by us when we get there if its summer, but we can walk it.

Yesterday I experienced another cultural moment, about the same hot & sweaty hop, skip and jump away (although I confess to driving the 1.4 miles).   Borders - Brookwood Place (now closed) hosted Anthony Williams signing the cover of Marie Claire's April issue, which features Heidi Klum wearing his winning design from Project Runway.  Now we're talking culture!

What fun!  While in line I was entertained by Scott Hennessy, an intern with Anthony's management company, who offered to use his camera to take my photo with Anthony, since I didn't bring mine.  (Like Heidi, I wore blue.)

Scott emailed the photo to me before bedtime.  (Note to Image Architects & Management, LLC of Atlanta, GA: Scott makes a great member of your team!)

When I finally stood at the signing table, Anthony and I bonded over our home state of Alabama.  We forgave each other's allegiance to the "wrong" football team back home, although Anthony did cry "Security!" when my son called my cell phone & Anthony heard the ring tone--Auburn University's fight song "War Eagle."

Driving home on Peachtree Street, I saw my sister Elizabeth headed to the store, so I turned around and went back through the line with her.  Again, Scott came to the rescue with his camera.  We laughed so much, we hurt.

Just another day of Villa living.

Am I dreaming?

7:45 a.m.

I know it is early, but do I hear bagpipes?

I open our front door.  I can't see the bagpiper but I can hear him in front of the Ansley Golf Club next door.  He's a Pied Piper.  I watch men in suits lured from the parking lots in streams to the front of the clubhouse, as if they are entranced by the sound.

I want to go see the piper, and see if he's wearing a kilt, but I can't.  I'm standing ready to drive my son to school as soon as he bursts out of his room, wild-eyed, and says "Mom?  Are you ready?" as if I'm the one who has been holding us up.

A St. Patrick's Day breakfast?  That must be it.

I hear "Mom?" behind me.  I grab my keys and head for the car.


8:10 a.m.

I'm back from the frantic run to school, but the piper is gone.  Disappeared into the early morning mists.  But I'd caught a glimpse of the piper earlier, as we waited to turn onto Montgomery Ferry Drive on the way to school. 

She was small, and wore black, with black and red tartan.  (She looked somewhat like the man in this photo, but with prettier hair.)

I realize that I had automatically pictured not only a man, but also a Scottish Highlands piper, all wrong for St. Patrick's Day.  Back inside, I jump on the computer and spend too much time learning about Irish pipes, then Scottish, then pipes from around the world.  Swedish bagpipes? Turkish bagpipes?  Who knew? 

I finally force myself to close the tab, and walk away. 

It's as intoxicating to me as green beer, this investigation into arcane facts that I likely will never use again. 

Plus, there's no hangover.