“It’s Alive! It’s Alive! It’s Alive!”
This is probably one of the most classic lines ever from a horror movie. And yet, I found myself repeating these same lines over and over this past Sunday while walking the streets of the Oregon District.
For years, everyone from Forbes Magazine to our own media touted that Dayton, Ohio was a dying city. With the loss of the GM and Delphi plants, many large corporations and more, it was almost like people were giving up hope – that there was no reason to even try. Ask almost anyone how they felt about Dayton and the entire Miami Valley, and the general consensus was, “I can’t wait to get the heck outta here.”
Slowly but surely, we are pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps. Slowly but surely, we are – once again – rebuilding our great city. In the aftermath of the flood of 1913, all the residents, near and far, rallied around each other, and helped put together the town, piece by piece, brick by brick.
This time around the re-building may not be as literal as it was after the flood, but the results of the damage were almost as devastating. Apathy seemed to be the common denominator. People took a “why bother” stance.
But something great was happening in the background. Positive energy and forward thinking and visions were brewing underneath the complacency and negativity. There were enough people around that loved Dayton, and that felt strongly enough about the culture, the people and the future, that good things started happening.
As a town that has one of the best arts, music, nightlife and park systems around, people starting re-discovering why they loved this area in the first place.
The “Dayton is Ok – if you’ve never been anywhere else” stickers were being torn down. The wonderful positive attitude of the few started spreading to the many. Our town started a re-birth. And most everyone was drawn to the potential and that we could have an “It’s Great in Dayton” attitude once more.
This past Sunday, at the First Four Festival, I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t stop looking around at all the people that had come to celebrate not just basketball, but something bigger than that. Something you just can’t name. We were a town again. We were a city to be proud of. Our businesses and our politicians and Wright Pat Air Force Base came together with the Downtown Dayton Partnership and the Dayton Development Coalition to put on a party that celebrated so many things: community, college basketball, families, friends, survival and re-birth. And what a party it was.
Dayton, Ohio isn’t just the Birthplace of Aviation and the home of so many visionaries, inventors and more. More than that, Dayton is a just wonderful place to call home.
Showing posts with label city life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label city life. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Life as a City Princess
So, I’m really not much of a princess, I swear. I’m not married to a prince (well, yes, he is Prince
Charming to me, but not in the sovereign sense), nor is my mother the Queen (hmm, maybe I should rethink
that statement as well). As for other definitions, I am not a fairytale princess: I don’t live in a
tower, I’ve never been poisoned by a witch and none of my shoes are made from glass. Conversely, I’m
also not a spoiled rich girl: I take out garbage, buy clothes at a consignment store, do dishes and can bait
a hook.
However, there is an addendum to my first statement. I wear tiaras when playing cards and drinking
whiskey, I have clothing that has feathers on it, and I don’t like to be cold or walk far in the rain (unless
it’s on purpose). So when I moved to the city, I realized right away I had to make some changes; I had to
lose part of my inner princess.
First of all, I live in an artsy area, so thank goodness my wardrobe choices didn’t have to change.
Actually, I found I could get even a little more creative and still not seem too far out there. No, what I
had to change was my attitude.
I’ve never been a city mouse. Actually, I’ve never been a country mouse either, unless you count the
time my ex-husband and I lived on a half-acre of land and had chickens and ducks and tomato plants and
a rooster that annoyed the whole neighborhood. No, I’ve always been a suburbs kinda girl. Sidewalks,
driveways, garages, and neighbors who kept to themselves pretty much - that was the norm of my
existence. Walking to a store or restaurant was unheard of. Walking the dog was the only time I’d
venture out. I would drive home, open the garage, pull the car in, close the garage and walk into the
house. If I went outside it was to sit on our back deck. I saw our neighbors when we’d have a party or
when shoveling snow from a big snowfall. (I guess I should be clear – I watched my husband shovel
snow as I played with the dogs and chatted with the neighbors).
Being a suburb mouse is great. It’s what we all know and feel comfortable with. Being a city mouse is
more of an adventure. It’s a life where you aren’t sure what will come next. It’s a life filled with
scraping ice off of the windshield yourself, because your husband left for work early. And not just ice off
the windshield. Since I wasn’t able to just walk into the garage and jump into my warm, dry car, I had to
navigate down icy steps to do it. Wanting to be safe, I realized I needed to salt the steps. There really
isn’t much salt in those little Morton salt shakers.
Being a city mouse means changing how you look at things. Wanting to totally live outside our comfort
zone, we chose a 100 year old home. Old homes are charming and warm and inviting. Old homes
generally don’t have Jacuzzi bathtubs, basements with bars and a pantry the size of a small bedroom.
Old homes don’t have much closet space. Princesses tend to have large wardrobes. Since I’m not really
a princess, my wardrobe is only kind of large. So two weeks after moving in, I am still trying to find
creative ways to store my clothes, and they are all spread out throughout the house. Soon I will need a
map of the places I have squirreled away my wardrobe. (Note to self: remove belts and hats before
turning on the oven). However, I have found that what I lack in space, I have garnered two-fold in
charm.
Being a city princess isn’t that bad. I know my neighbors better here in two weeks than I ever did in the
‘burbs. I can walk just about anyplace worthwhile. I have a front porch. And I will use it. I already know
my mail carriers name and that she is left-handed. I can put out my used treasures in the alley and the
“pickers” will magically make them disappear. I have found more dog-lovers per square foot than I
knew existed. And best of all, I found out that I am stronger willed than I ever thought I was – and that if
I put my mind to something, I truly can do it. Here’s to a new adventure and here’s to a new type of
princess. And here’s to my 180 shift of the show Green Acres – Hello, City Life!
Charming to me, but not in the sovereign sense), nor is my mother the Queen (hmm, maybe I should rethink
that statement as well). As for other definitions, I am not a fairytale princess: I don’t live in a
tower, I’ve never been poisoned by a witch and none of my shoes are made from glass. Conversely, I’m
also not a spoiled rich girl: I take out garbage, buy clothes at a consignment store, do dishes and can bait
a hook.
However, there is an addendum to my first statement. I wear tiaras when playing cards and drinking
whiskey, I have clothing that has feathers on it, and I don’t like to be cold or walk far in the rain (unless
it’s on purpose). So when I moved to the city, I realized right away I had to make some changes; I had to
lose part of my inner princess.
First of all, I live in an artsy area, so thank goodness my wardrobe choices didn’t have to change.
Actually, I found I could get even a little more creative and still not seem too far out there. No, what I
had to change was my attitude.
I’ve never been a city mouse. Actually, I’ve never been a country mouse either, unless you count the
time my ex-husband and I lived on a half-acre of land and had chickens and ducks and tomato plants and
a rooster that annoyed the whole neighborhood. No, I’ve always been a suburbs kinda girl. Sidewalks,
driveways, garages, and neighbors who kept to themselves pretty much - that was the norm of my
existence. Walking to a store or restaurant was unheard of. Walking the dog was the only time I’d
venture out. I would drive home, open the garage, pull the car in, close the garage and walk into the
house. If I went outside it was to sit on our back deck. I saw our neighbors when we’d have a party or
when shoveling snow from a big snowfall. (I guess I should be clear – I watched my husband shovel
snow as I played with the dogs and chatted with the neighbors).
Being a suburb mouse is great. It’s what we all know and feel comfortable with. Being a city mouse is
more of an adventure. It’s a life where you aren’t sure what will come next. It’s a life filled with
scraping ice off of the windshield yourself, because your husband left for work early. And not just ice off
the windshield. Since I wasn’t able to just walk into the garage and jump into my warm, dry car, I had to
navigate down icy steps to do it. Wanting to be safe, I realized I needed to salt the steps. There really
isn’t much salt in those little Morton salt shakers.
Being a city mouse means changing how you look at things. Wanting to totally live outside our comfort
zone, we chose a 100 year old home. Old homes are charming and warm and inviting. Old homes
generally don’t have Jacuzzi bathtubs, basements with bars and a pantry the size of a small bedroom.
Old homes don’t have much closet space. Princesses tend to have large wardrobes. Since I’m not really
a princess, my wardrobe is only kind of large. So two weeks after moving in, I am still trying to find
creative ways to store my clothes, and they are all spread out throughout the house. Soon I will need a
map of the places I have squirreled away my wardrobe. (Note to self: remove belts and hats before
turning on the oven). However, I have found that what I lack in space, I have garnered two-fold in
charm.
Being a city princess isn’t that bad. I know my neighbors better here in two weeks than I ever did in the
‘burbs. I can walk just about anyplace worthwhile. I have a front porch. And I will use it. I already know
my mail carriers name and that she is left-handed. I can put out my used treasures in the alley and the
“pickers” will magically make them disappear. I have found more dog-lovers per square foot than I
knew existed. And best of all, I found out that I am stronger willed than I ever thought I was – and that if
I put my mind to something, I truly can do it. Here’s to a new adventure and here’s to a new type of
princess. And here’s to my 180 shift of the show Green Acres – Hello, City Life!
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