Leaves Calm Traffic in Winston Salem

In Winston Salem, piles of rotting leaves languish on busy thoroughfares, narrowing two-way roads to one-way and forcing cars to slow.

The City has abandoned its customary pickup of leaves, brush, and limbs. Huge piles of organic material block roadways for months at a time.

The controversial strategy is part of an innovative program designed to calm traffic all over town, even in rich old white folks' neighborhoods. One resident, not a rich white folk, is angry.

"I couldn't take it anymore," he fumed. "The piles were blocking my mailbox and eating up my parking. What with the holidays, it was bad timing. I borrowed a friend's pick-up Saturday and hauled away as much as I could. I drove it out Bethania-Rural Hall Road and dumped it."

A similar program launched by the City last Fall attracted national interest. It successfully created cost-effective speedbumps, roundabouts and neckdowns, and is known locally as the "Bags and Bags of Garbage" initiative.

My Afternoon on the West End Home Tour, 2008

The West End neighborhood of Winston Salem is an intriguing mix of beautiful historic homes, apartment buildings, and dilapidated rental properties. It was planned in 1890 by Jacob Lott Ludlow.

I feel as if I was born to live in the West End; I just haven't been able to make that happen yet. So with my first Christmas in Winston Salem drawing near, I partook in the annual Historic West End Holiday Tour 2008 last Sunday.

My friend and I began at the Bahnson House, where we registered and picked up information. We spent the afternoon going from one home to the next; quickly falling into a comfortable rhythm of critiquing exterior structures and landscaping as we approached each tour site.

Once inside, conversation flowed as as we discussed aspects of light, open space, and "souls" of houses. Sometimes we had less than positive opinions about what owners had done, but tried our best to be discreet. After all, we were extremely grateful they had opened their homes to us.

Well, we were mostly grateful.

One site on the tour was leased by businesses. Upon entry, we were invited to provide our e-mail address so local merchants could contact us. Um, no thank you.

After a quick look around I wanted to leave immediately. Something about the house felt sterile, and I'm thinking this property shouldn't have been on the tour. There's a time and place to hawk and peddle wares, but this didn't seem like a good one.

It seemed like a classic bait and switch; the bait being an old house. When my friend was cornered by a docent-saleslady, I fled outside like the true friend I am and waited in the cold for her to emerge.

At another tour site, a compelling photograph of a bride in her gown held my attention for an inordinate amount of time. I stood looking at it for what seemed five minutes or so when I noticed a docent eyeing me suspiciously. Quickly, I moved on to another part of the house.

There were memorable rooms in various houses: two baths in a home that shared delicious views of the same old tree. A gorgeous family room with huge windows. A dining room I hated to leave; beautiful in milky paint and sparse, perfect accents of furniture and accessories.

In one residence, we laughed at our frequent and gushing use of the word "love." "I love this table," and "I love those windows!" Then, "I LOVE that paint!"

I hope to make the Tour a yearly holiday ritual. Thanks to all involved for a wonderful day.

Annual Presentation of Handel's "Messiah" in Winston December 7th

Soprano Elizabeth Pacheco Rose will sing in the local Mozart Club's presentation of George Frideric Handel's "Messiah" next weekend in Winston Salem. The Mozart Club describes Winston as

...a link in this "great chain of harmony" as the approximately 300 singers, representing the more than 225 church choirs and choral organizations of the Triad area and vicinity, unite their voices under the direction of an internationally renowned guest conductor in presenting the 75th Anniversary performance of "Messiah"....

The performance will be Sunday, December 7th, three clock, in Reynolds Auditorium (301 North Hawthorne Road, Winston Salem). It is free to the public but donations are appreciated.

Revisited: Rumors of Racism at Winston Salem KFC

A few weeks ago I wrote about an incident of racism at a Winston Salem KFC. Allegedly a white male was refused service by an African American woman working at the restaurant. (Read the inital report and subsequent discussion at Triad Forum).

Was I wrong to be skeptical the incident had occurred at all?

Why had I been immediately disbelieving? Was it because the victim is a white male? Was it about my overweening desire to seem "politically correct?"

The victim, below with friends, after leaving the restaurant.

Death of a Speakeasy

The Speakeasy jazz club in Winston is gone. It closed last month.

A friend gave me the sad news on Election night.

The town we moved from had a jazz venue, too. But I was never comfortable there. Folding chairs were lined up side by side, in rows, like little toy soldiers. I felt like I was at a child's dance recital or in a church fellowship hall. The atmosphere seemed stuffy; almost somber.

The Speakeasy was friendly and cozy. And I wasn't the only one who loved it. There was a mix of old and young; straight and gay, folks who looked like professors; and people who may have been a little down on their luck. A racially and socioeconomically diverse group, hanging out together in a small North Carolina city. It seemed right.

All that...and the music.

I used to joke about my intent to get a job at the Speakeasy, once I was more settled after our move. Oh, well. It wasn't to be.

"We're No Longer A Southern State"

I went to the drugstore today. Better living through chemistry, and all.


For the second time since I voted, I saw the man who helped me with my touch machine at election time. A big bear of a man, a white senior citizen, oozing friendliness and goodwill.

This time, in the drugstore, I decided to say hello. "Did you work at the polls?" I asked. "Yes," he said, "for early voting." "I thought you looked familiar," I said.

"Did you see me in the newspaper?"
"No, I saw you at the polls."
"You don't read the newspaper?"
"No. My husband does."
"I said some things I shouldn't have."
"Like what? That you were happy with how things went?" I smiled.
"I said 'We're no longer a Southern state.'"

I stared at him silently, uncomprehending. "What do you mean, 'we're no longer a Southern state?'"

"We're no longer a Southern state," he said regretfully. "Not like Kentucky. Or Tennessee. And Virginia--Virginia's no longer a Southern state." He elaborated, allowing as how he didn't like what had gone on with the election. No racist language was used, yet I was troubled by the sentiments implied.

I could feel my face become guarded. I looked at him blankly; disappointed, regretting I'd initiated conversation. He complained of people going to the polls in droves simply to vote Obama and a straight Democratic ticket. "That's what I did," I said. "Well, I voted for some Judges."

It became clear that while I had assumed he was a Democrat; he assumed I was Republican. Then I remembered. My candidate won. I can afford to be gracious. We discussed acne medications.

"Welcome back to North Carolina," he said; heading toward the cash register.

"Thank you."

As I walked away, he called out: "Forget everything I said."

I smiled. I can afford to be gracious.

Cross posted at BlueNC.

Rumors of Racism at Winston Salem KFC

I ran across an "unconfirmed" report this morning that a white man was refused service by a black Obama supporter at a Winston Salem Kentucky Fried Chicken a few days ago.

THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!!!

What the hell was he doing there? Meat is murder.


I'm skeptical of this report. Very, very skeptical. Ok, I'm more than skeptical. I think it's bull. Not only bull, but predictable bull.

I'm going back to sleep now. Still trying to recover from celebrating Obama's victory.

Zevely House Cheesecake

I woke up this morning wracked with guilt. And I'm not blaming it on the Cuervo; I'm blaming the cheesecake. The cheesecake I had at Zevely House's brunch yesterday morning, while on a double date. Cheesecake doesn't even go with an omelet—but that didn't stop me.

It was the best cheesecake I've ever had. No one else at my table had desert. No one asked to try it, and I was relieved. I doubt they saw me order it. Once it arrived, I ate quickly and avoided eye contact.

My friend came over during the afternoon. It was nice to see her twice in one day. For some reason, we decided to get into some white wine. I spilled much of mine on the grass in the backyard, but don't worry—-plenty got in. That led to her husband driving over and making margaritas. Thankfully he had both limited time and supplies: we were to have one margarita each.

After one shot of Jose Cuervo, we danced to Double Dutch Bus. I hoped she'd reprise her legendary Tina Turner impersonation, for which I almost dug out the silver metallic platform sandals I wore at my wedding. Thank God I didn't. I'm not sure how either husband would have coped.

The friends left, and that's when the unthinkable happened. I sent my husband to the store for chocolate. This is much more than my hope to lose pounds again; it's about my need to follow an anti-inflammatory diet.

Countless potions, oils, pills, and supplements of questionable value litter our bathroom, which looks like an infirmary. Nothing seems to help my maddening, incurable non-deadly skin condition.

As a vegetarian, my dietary choices are limited. At all costs, I'm to avoid sugar, alcohol, and refined carbohydrates. The list of banned foods is endless. I'm encouraged to enjoy green tea, vegetables, nuts, and tofu. No wonder I behave like an actively abusing heroin addict—-it's hard.

Anecdotal evidence suggests adhering to this infernal diet could help me. After a month of following it religiously, I may know. But "anecdotal" evidence feels pretty damned flimsy when wrestling with an intense sugar craving.

This morning I was subdued. In the mirror, my face appeared puffy and swollen. Morose and repentant, I made coffee for myself. I don't even know why white wine was in the house. I didn't buy it.

That's when I saw the crumpled Reese Cup wrapper on the counter, and it all came back. Last night. How many Reese Cups did I have last night? How many chocolate covered almonds?

One shot of Jose Cuervo. One piece of cheesecake. The wheel of life.