Things I’ve learned in Danville

The day I lost my job, I thought my world had imploded. But after two months of soul – and job – searching, I now find myself in a new place with a new job and new experiences to blog about.

No, this is not where I expected to move after Culpeper. I wanted so badly – and still do – to go back to Richmond. And I’m sure I’ll get there someday, but I just took a little detour in the meantime. I’m still trying to figure out “why Danville,” but something tells me it’ll be a while before I get the answer to that question.

Until then, all I can do is accept that this is my home for the next few months – or years – and just be myself. Which means I will completely throw myself into this place, as I did in Culpeper. If I don’t, I’m just wasting my time. Why live your life halfway? Who knows how long I’ll be here, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve settled into my apartment and am beginning to settle into the city as well. Which only means that when I do leave, it will be that much harder.

I can already tell I’m beginning to fall for this city and these people, and maybe I’m stupid for letting myself – knowing this is probably temporary. But this is what I do; this is who I am. It’s impossible for me to live half-heartedly. Danville is no Culpeper, and it’s definitely no Richmond. But despite its faults, it’s got a lot of beauty and charm. And unfortunately for me, I have a great ability to look past blemishes and become completely attached to people and places, even when I know I shouldn’t. But I’d rather be happy for the time that I’m here than miserable for the next year, longing to be somewhere else.

mmm cookies

And so here I am, making some awesome friends and seeing where life takes me. Which so far, has been to some interesting places. Last week, for example, I was covering a meeting that our local congressman was at while he was in town. He’s really young (mid-30s I think) and brand new at his job. Afterward, I waited around until everyone left so I could ask him a few questions. I noticed he was holding a Tupperware container of cookies, which had been passed around earlier in the meeting. When I finished my interview, he offered me a cookie.

“No, thanks,” I said.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “They’re really good.”
“No, I’m good.”
“You sure?”
Wow, he wouldn’t let up about the cookies.
“My mom made them,” he said. “I’ll be hurt if you don’t have one.”
“Um, OK,” I said. “If your mom made them, then I’ll take a cookie.”

This is what I love about covering state politics in rural Virginia. Our U.S. representative brought cookies – that his mom made – to a public appearance. And they were delicious.

Last night I went to a “keg in the kountry” party (no, it wasn’t a Kappa social) with some friends. In addition to the fact that our congressman’s mom makes good cookies, here are some things I’ve learned in Danville:

Don't drink and mow.

1.    Roasted marshmallows are AWESOME on top of oreos.
2.    Grape moonshine is actually pretty good. The grapes at the bottom are not. As a general rule, don’t eat the fruit from a moonshine jar.
3.    At a county party, go with the flow. Old drunk men will try to dance with you – it’s OK, they’re harmless. And when they’ve had enough, they’ll drive home on their John Deere tractor.
4.    Make friends with your neighbors. When you come home at 2 a.m., they’ll invite you up to their porch to drink with the other neighbors while one of their daughters has a sleepover after her 5th grade “prom.”

Yeah, I think Danville suits me. So if you find yourself at a crossroads or starting over in a new place, don’t resist the change. If you do, you’ll miss out on some spectacular opportunities for new friends and new memories.

The journey to change a flat

Oh blog, how I’ve neglected you. Although the internet hasn’t forgotten about you… seems that a certain picture of a certain American Idol runner-up in disco drag has kept you alive and well. I mean seriously, how has this blog gotten like 3,000 hits since I last posted? Too bad nothing I actually write gets that much attention. 

But don’t fret, dear readers. I know there’s a few of you left, right? My life has continued to be a cheerful calamity, even if I haven’t been writing about it.

I’d been at my new job exactly one week and was on the way to an assignment 20 miles north of town. It had started to rain, but not too hard. Just that annoying in-between misty kind of rain that doesn’t drench you but is enough to ruin your hair. Singing along mindlessly to the radio, I was thinking about how I really had not prepared much for this assignment. I was going to an annual memorial service for the eight local law enforcement officers who had fallen in the line of duty over the last 80 years, but didn’t really know much more than that.

About five miles from town, I felt my car start to shake. I was going about 65 mph, and at first thought perhaps the highway was just bumpy or something. What? Sometimes that happens… But the road was pretty flat and the shaking continued. I braked slightly, which did nothing.  Something was definitely wrong with the car. I flicked on my hazards and slowed, letting traffic pass me before making my way into the right lane and pulling off the highway. None of my engine lights was on, but as I turned off the ignition I realized the problem. The car now sat at a slight tilt to the right. A flat tire. Damn it.

Acknowledging my lack of experience with changing a flat, I called AAA and then my boss. What I didn’t realize was he had been planning on using my story for the next day’s centerpiece on the front page. So me not being able to make the memorial service = bad news. I could hear the desperation in his voice and said I’d go anyway to catch up with the sheriff after the service. I could throw something together.

As I waited nearly two hours for the mechanic to arrive, blue lights flashed behind me. I smirked thinking about how I normally feel when cops are behind me – which isn’t often, thank you very much. I’ve actually never gotten a ticket, although I’m sure I’ve now jinxed myself. 

“Flat tire,” I yelled out the window over the 18-wheelers whizzing by as The Captain approached my car. 

“And you can’t change it yourself?” he teased.

“No…” I said sheepishly. “Triple-A is on the way.”

I can do a lot of things for myself, but changing a tire simply isn’t one of them. Is that so wrong? We chatted briefly and The Captain offered to help with the tire. But I knew the mechanic would be there soon. He asked if he could do anything else; I could tell he felt bad leaving me on the side of the road alone.

“There is one thing, actually,” I said.

I explained that I had just moved here to write for the paper and was on the way to cover the memorial service. I wondered if he could tell me about it.

Turns out this captain who happened to pass me on the side of the road was the former partner of a fallen deputy. The community started holding the annual service after that deputy’s death.

“I don’t need to go to the memorial service,” he told me. “I memorialize him every day out here doing my job.”

When the mechanic finally arrived an hour later, I watched as he loosened the nuts on my wheel (I know some of you are trying to make “that’s what she said” jokes. stop.), taking mental notes for the next time this happens. But when it came time to pull the wheel off, it wouldn’t budge. He kicked at it and pulled at it and greased it up (again, stop), but nothing happened. After trying for what seemed like a half an hour and almost ready to give up, he finally yanked the wheel off with the help of a giant metal hook on a chain he had in the back of his truck. So in my defense – even if I’d known how to change a flat, I never would have been able to get the wheel off without help.

I finally made it to town on my spare and got my story, which ran on the front page. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget the story The Captain told me about his partner that I didn’t run.

More music I can’t get enough of

You know how when you are going through something – whether it’s happy or sad – you always discover songs that really connect with you? Something about music manages to cut through it all and hit you right at the point where everything you’re dealing with comes to a head. And you think, “YES! That’s exactly how I’m feeling!”

Well, even if you’ve never had that moment, here are a few songs that have hit me in the past few weeks. I was introduced to two of them on a great indie radio station in Charlottesville while driving between Danville and Culpeper. The Duhks’ “You Don’t See It,” is about the worst kind of love – the one-sided kind. And Needtobreathe’s “More Time” is uplifting and hopeful. Apparently it was in that movie “P.S. I Love You,” but I never saw that…

Another I heard on VH1 while getting ready for work – “Closer to Love,” by Mat Kearney. I can’t get enough of it. The video is simple but creative and the song is just sweet and catchy.

And this last one is Adele’s “Hometown Glory.” A friend made me a copy of her cd and this is by far my favorite track. It’s haunting and utterly beautiful.

“oh the people I’ve met are the wonders of my world” –adele

“Is that POOP?”

“What, that?” I said. “No, that’s just where the paint has chipped off the door. That’s why it’s brown.”

“No, not that. THAT. On the ground. What is that?”

And there, sitting in a quiet, little unassuming pile in the corner of a door jam in my new (to me) apartment, was poop. It wasn’t small enough to be a mouse’s, and not big enough to be a dog’s. Instead it was a grouping of pellets, perhaps from a rabbit. I bent down and inspected the specimen. Without touching, of course.

Yep. It was definitely poop.

I grabbed a paper towel and scooped up the pile as my sister-in-law, disgusted, watched from afar. The poop was clearly old and crusty, which for some reason made me feel better. At least it wasn’t fresh, right? Because that means it’s at least been a while since a live animal of some sort was in my house, pooping.

Such was my introduction to my new home in a new city. Surprisingly, the droppings didn’t really bother me as much as they probably should have. I’ve come a long way in what I can handle. Losing my job? Near mental breakdown. Poop on the floor? Whatev.

Although that wasn’t the only issue upon moving in. Seems there was a slight miscommunication between the landlord and the utilities’ company last week, and I had power but no hot water. Let’s just say I wouldn’t need to join a gym if I kept up those ab workouts just trying to avoid frigid water spilling down my back in a shower that’s smaller than a cruise ship bathroom. Other than that, the apartment is fantastic. Cheap rent, new appliances and hardwood floors, all in a charming old house with enormous rooms and sky-high ceilings to boot.

So after the sub-freezing shower-induced headache subsided and my family headed back home, I was left with boxes to unpack and a life to start.

But without Internet, I felt incapable of doing hardly anything. I hadn’t checked my email in probably 36 hours, let alone stalked my friends on facebook. So after picking up some curtain rods at Target, I drove around the city in an attempt to find free WiFi. A phone call to The Artist (who did a little internet research for me) led me to the public wireless network downtown. Of course, being a Sunday evening, none of the municipal buildings was open. So instead I sat in my parked car outside the library with my laptop like a creeper as a handful of cars drove past. This is how I get things done.

No joke, there was totally a guy in the bar wearing this.

Now it’s Wednesday night and I have hot water, Internet, cable, a new cell phone (that was an entire ordeal in and of itself) and am beginning to settle in quite nicely. I even made a few friends last night after working a 13-hour day when one of the sports guys invited me out for a beer and a cheeseburger. The bar was smoky and the people were trashy (minus the tall, awkward guy dressed head-to-toe in what I can only guess was an authentic X-Men replica suit), but it totally beat eating alone. And I got to know two of my coworkers outside the office, who gave me the lowdown on office gossip. Though, it doesn’t seem like there’s anything particularly juicy. Damn.

So work is good, although I’m already swamped and feeling like I’m in over my head. I’m essentially doing the job I had in Culpeper, on top of covering two other beats. I guess being busy is better than being bored. Plus, the people are great and my boss is a riot. And there’s a young professionals mixer tomorrow night, which means an opportunity to meet more people.

I think I’ll be ok. As long as whatever left me the little present on my floor doesn’t show back up.

A new beginning

Surprisingly, I’m doing pretty well considering I just uprooted my life and moved to a completely foreign place. And although it was tough to say goodbye to Culpeper, I didn’t cry as much as I expected. Maybe my mom was right – I certainly cried enough in March. Maybe I’m just done crying for a while. I’d say when you get to the point that you wake up with chapped, peeling skin under your eyes (I didn’t know that was possible) from days of endless tears, you’ve had your fair share of crying for the year.

I must say I had the most fabulous sendoff my last week in Culpeper. The Musician, The Drummer and their band played a set dedicated to me at open mic night, which included “I Will Survive,” “Say It Ain’t So” and “Shine,” an original. And later, just The Musician played a song I actually wrote, which he set to music. It was incredible to hear my words sung aloud by another person – especially by someone who knew and understood the thoughts behind the words. If he ever gets around to recording it for his demo CD, I’ll figure out how to post it.

In my year and a half there, I made a lot of friends. I also lost a few, but can happily say I’ve reconnected with all but one. That one I don’t expect to reconcile with anytime soon – if ever – and I don’t need to. I think some people aren’t meant to stay in your life, and when your time with them ends, it ends, and there is no reason to maintain a relationship except for nostalgia. Sometimes I think about him, and I think, “I don’t even know who that person is anymore.” I stumble upon old pictures and it’s like he’s just someone I briefly knew once. I think I’m finally getting close to being able to close the door on that part of my life. And I mean that in a good, healthy way.

But it’s funny how leaving can also bring other people back together. Leaving can make you realize how ridiculous past indiscretions were. You realize that whatever it was that happened is dwarfed by the fact that you just want to tell your friend – who at one time was one of your closest – how much she meant to you, and how much it sucked that you had a falling out. And you wonder how everything else might have changed if things had turned out differently. But you can’t play that game.

Leaving – and moving somewhere new – also makes you realize how much you truly care about those you’re leaving. My sendoff left me feeling so completely and utterly loved that my heart ached. Ached from the love and from how much I already miss them.

But here I am, a new person in a new place with a new job and a new life. The cheerful calamity lives on.

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