Flash forward a couple of years, and this is how I’m crossing that particular line off of the list:

Ladies and Gentlemen, your Derby City Rollergirls!

After reading about roller derby on Pamie and Jen’s sites for years, then reading Pamie’s book about it, I figured it was time to see a live bout for myself. On Saturday night, Mr. Martini and I ventured to the Manslick Rollerdome to watch the Derby City Rollergirls vs. Northeast Ohio Rollergirls. We had a great time!

The rink was packed with people, filling up the stands and shoulder to shoulder along the rail. Mr. M and I were lucky enough to grab a rail spot after a couple of guys vacated it for a chance to sit in the “suicide seats.” (The suicide seats are at either end of the track, and are not protected by a rail, so there’s a chance you could end up with a roller girl in your lap.)

The girls played hard, and the DCRG jammers were incredible – they were fast and wily and seemed to find holes between opposing blockers like magic. Our blockers were pretty impressive, too – my new hero is Jimi Hit Trix, who would look so casual as she hipchecked an opponent, seemingly with no effort whatsoever, and that opposing blocker would just go flying off the track.

Did I mention they were fast? They were very fast.

I thought I’d be out of place in my khaki shorts and sensible sandals, but the crowd was filled with every kind of person imaginable. Gray haired ladies, kids, punks, yuppies, hipsters, you name it, they were all there supporting their team, and having a great time.

I wasn’t sure if photos were allowed, so I didn’t bring my good camera. Next time, I definitely will to get some better shots.

Derby City in red, Northeast Ohio in purple

As the bout started, Mr. Martini turned to me and said, “This is fantastic. We should do stuff like this more often!”

Agreed. It was a great time, and I’m only sorry it was the last home bout of the season. We’ll definitely go back next year.

Oh, and I almost forgot – Derby City won the bout, with a score of 139 to 41. Woo-hoo!

For more info about the DCRG, check out their website.

Since we hadn’t planned on being away from home so long, I worried the cats would fret over our sudden disappearance. Yeah, right:

Oh, were you gone?

Saturday was Kentucky Derby Day in Louisville. After the gorgeous weather on Friday, Saturday was rainy and windy. Not the best weather for a big outdoor sporting event, that’s for sure. But we didn’t really mind, since we weren’t planning on attending.

However, we did make a run to the grocery store on Saturday morning for provisions. I learned last year that I don’t like Mint Juleps, so I figured I’d try a different bourbon recipe to celebrate the big event – an Old Fashioned:

Here we have orange, maraschino cherry, sugar, bitters and a splash of water waiting to be muddled. Then you add bourbon and ice, and voila! an Old Fashioned.

Sadly, while I’ve lived in Kentucky for a year now, I haven’t gotten a taste for Kentucky bourbon. I had to top off my Old Fashioned with 7-Up to make it palatable. And I just heard a collective tongue click and tsk tsk and forehead slap from all of the true bourbon connoisseurs in the crowd. I’m sorry! What can I say, I’m more of a margarita girl.

After all of this, we kind of missed the big race live – whoops! But the horse I probably would have picked won, so that’s always a good feeling. Granted, hindsight is 20/20 and all that, but still! Go Calvin! (He always get so choked up and emotional, which chokes me up, which – gah. I’m such a softie.)

Sunday was more rain and wind and I spent the day wondering if our basement was flooding, without actually being brave enough to go down there to check it out. I figured if it was flooding, the downstairs neighbor would let us know. Ignorance is bliss, and all that. I figure there are some things I can afford to be an ostrich about.

Especially since today is sunny and warm and beautiful, just in time to go back to work. Figures, right?

How was your weekend?

But for me, it’s the opening of the Chow Wagon.

Last year, my first Derby Season in Louisville, when my co-workers talked about “Chow Wagon” I had no idea what to expect. Really, to describe it, it doesn’t sound like much: a bunch of fair food vendors in the park. At night, there are free concerts. That’s it.

Oh, but for those of us who work downtown, it’s a fantastic yearly ritual. Here’s why:

This was my lunch on Thursday. On an absolutely goregous, sunny day, I walked less than two blocks to the Waterfront, ordered some ribbon fries with cheese and bacon along with a fresh-squeezed lemonade, sat outside in the fresh air and listened to a band play.

It was fantastic.

Granted, it rained Friday and all weekend, and it’s dreary outside today. Luckily, the Chow Wagon is up and running through the end of the week. I’m definitley going to go back for more lemonade.

I don’t think my stomach can handle any more ribbon fries, though.

But remarkably, by the end of it, I was feeling pretty good.

All day yesterday I was crabby. Beyond crabby. I was frustrated and grumpy and prickly with an undercurrent of angry. I’m not exactly sure why (I think the weather had a lot to do with it), but it was one of those days where I couldn’t see the good in anything. I was defensive and frustrated and just plain unhappy. It was one of those days in which you could have told me I was a million dollar lottery winner, and I would have bitched about the taxes.

Yeah, it was one of those days.

After a day where I was so unhappy with every choice I had ever made to get me to that particular day, a day where I honestly wondered what it would take to chuck it all and move with Mr. Martini to a sheep farm in Australia, I finally was released from work and went to my car on the sixth floor of the parking garage.

And my car wouldn’t start.

And my cellphone battery was dead.

I silently cursed the heavens, and oh so luckily managed to catch Awesome Co-Worker B before she had left the garage. She let me borrow her cellphone, and I called Mr. Martini and then AAA, who said they’d be there in about 45 minutes or so. B offered to wait with me, but I figured it was just the battery, and all I’d need was a jump, and told her not to worry, and to go home. She reluctantly left after also offering to leave me her cellphone (how nice was that?) but I told her not to worry, I’d just wait in the car and read a book and I was sure I’d be on my way home in no time.

Flash forward a (very, very, very cold) hour later, and AAA’s “Rescue Ranger” couldn’t get the car started, and needed to call a tow. Which would take another hour and a half or so. Or, as little as 10 minutes. He really couldn’t say.

Not wanting to miss the tow truck, but wanting to let Mr. M know what was happening (remember, I had no cellphone) I ran across the street to my office, where amazingly Other Awesome Co-Worker S was working late. I called Mr. M, and let him know that I’d be even later. Other Awesome Co-Worker S said she’d swing by my car on her way out, and see if I was still there. Which she did, and she even waited with me and kept me warm until the tow truck guy showed up at 8:30.

Tow Truck Guy was a little gruff. A little rough around the edges. But I’m a firm believer in that little tingle that you might feel in the back of your neck when you sense someone is out to hurt you. You know what I mean? I had that feeling a few times when I lived in Boston on my own, and even in Chicago a few times. I respect that feeling.

Tow Truck Guy, for all of his gruff exterior, didn’t give me that feeling. And I knew that I was in good hands when he asked for my keys, and I handed him my entire key ring. “Don’t ever do that,” he said. “Don’t ever give someone all of your keys, your house key and everything, when they ask for them.” As he spoke, he twisted my car key off of the key chain. “Just give them your car key. Like this.”

Since the tow truck wouldn’t fit in the garage (the clearance was too low) he had to push my car down the six flights of the garage (which apparently isn’t that big of a deal, since it’s all downhill, but it freaked me out).  Other Awesome Co-Worker S waited long enough to make sure that he was able to get my car hitched up, while I made arrangements with B (via S’s cellphone), who awesomely agreed to meet me at the garage and drive me home.

Tow Truck Guy got the car hooked up, and we were on our way to the garage.

And here is where my day turned around.

I asked Tow Truck Guy his name. “Scott,” he said. “I’m Susan,” I said. “Pleased to meet you, Susan.” Scott replied.

On the ride to the garage, I learned a lot about Scott. Scott is a recovered alcoholic and drug addict, seven years clean. Scott used to be homeless. Scott now works for a center that rehabilitates homeless and drug-addicted veterans. In the winter, when his job gets slow, he drives a tow truck. “I can’t be bored,” he said. “I was an addict 24-7, and now I need to be in recovery 24-7. So when it gets slow at work, I drive this truck. This way, I still get to help people.”

“You sure helped me tonight,” I said.

“That’s right. You see, I was a little put out when they called me for this run. I was supposed to finish at 8 tonight, and I was all the way across town. But then they told me that a young lady was way up on the sixth floor of a garage, downtown, at night, and I knew I had to help. What if you were my daughter or my sister up there? Yup, I knew I had to take this run.”

“Well, I do appreciate it.”

“Yup. I try to do good each day. Now that I’m recovered, I thank God for every day that I’m clean, and I try to give back. I wake up each day and seek clarity, and am thankful I found a spiritual God to help me through. You notice I said spiritual God, not religious. I think everyone has to find their own version of a spiritual God, and serve him. That’s what I try to do.”

Scott said that he tries to give as much to the world as he can, because he knows that he’ll get the same in return. And, as he put it, “I figure, if I’m good, the devil will have to work hard to get me. And the devil’s lazy. He don’t want to work hard. So I work harder than him and keep God in me, so the devil will move along. I’m too much work.” He chuckled.

We had a really nice talk the whole way to the garage. He told me about his wife, and their dog, and how much he loves his job and his life, and how lucky he feels each and every day to be alive, and able to give something back.

Remember the bad day I’d been having? Talking with Scott totally turned me around. It was hard for me to stay so grumpy and angry about everything, when I was listening to someone so purposeful about their daily happiness. He made it a point not to let the petty frustrations get to him, because he kept an eye on the big picture. Even if I didn’t agree with all of his beliefs about God and the devil, really he was talking about optimism and pessimism and internal demons and what it takes to get through the day, and how what you give is what you get.

Granted, I’m still going to have bad days – one conversation in a tow truck isn’t going to relieve me from my mood swings, and that’s fine. But last night, after a really, really bad day, those words of optimism were just what I needed to hear.

Thanks, Scott.

Prior to this year’s auction, the horses were displayed in front of the Louisville Metro Center. (This is the same Metro Center where there was a fire drill right when Mr. M and I got our marriage license.) Shutterboo and I took a walk over on Friday to check them out. I’d seen many of them around the city, but to see them all in one place was spectacular. Such variety! Such artistry! The best part – no horse poop.

Here are some favorite photos I took. Enjoy!

I grabbed my camera, and walked a couple of blocks to Seneca Park, one of Louisville’s Olmsted parks. (I admit that only know who “Olmsted” is because I read Devil in the White City. But he designed some mighty impressive public parks>)

I’m going to admit that I didn’t do as much exploring as I would have liked, because the park is bigger than I anticipated, and very crowded on such a nice day, and I was wearing the wrong shoes. But it was great to see the enormous walking track that is there, which is in good shape and even has water fountains available. Also, everyone seemed to be keeping a close eye on their dogs (I only saw one dog off leash, which pleased me greatly – I have a thing about unleashed dogs in public areas). All in all, from what I saw, it definitely gets a thumbs up.

Lots more left to explore, but still a nice way to spend part of the afternoon.

Yay! Nature!

I’m not naive enough to think that once we moved to Louisville, I would stop seeing the weird stuff. Strange things happen everywhere, no matter what the zip code or population. I’ve actually had a pretty good run of not seeing to much of the strange and unusual since we moved down here. Until last night.

Scene: 5:30 pm, in our parking garage. I usually park on one of the upper levels, and when I get to the lowest level I wave the security guard who directs the traffic out through the two exits.

But last night, the security guard got on the elevator with us, which is strange. He got off at the third floor, while my co-workers and I kept going up to our cars. I didn’t give Security Guy much more thought as I buckled myself in and started the spiral descent to the street.

That is, until I got to the third floor, where I saw the security guard standing in an empty parking space, scratching his head and staring down at the ground. As I drove by, I glanced down to see what he was looking at. And then I understood why he was scratching his head in confusion.

He was looking at a severed deer leg.

No, you didn’t read that wrong. He was looking at a SEVERED DEER LEG.

At least, I’m assuming it was a deer leg. It had a hoof, and fur, and looked like it should have been attached to a deer, but then again, it could have been some other woodland creature. I’m not that proficient in animal part recognition, I must admit.

As I drove away (because I was too surprised to stop  and take a picture, but now I really wish I had, because COME ON, how often do you witness something like this?), I tried to imagine the ways in which this poor animal’s limb managed to find its way to the third floor of a parking garage in the urban center of town.

Here’s what I came up with:

1. Someone hit a deer, and this particular limb got caught up in the undercarriage, and fell out while said person was working, and didn’t notice it as they drove away. Theory rejected because the limb was too neatly severed to have been accidental.

2. Someone went hunting this weekend, bagged a deer, did a quick butcher job in the back of their truck, but somehow missed this particular limb while cleaning out the truck bed. Theory rejected because I don’t want to think about a truck with random animal parts hanging around in our parking garage, and really, how do you not notice a spare deer leg hanging around in your truck bed?

3. WILDLIFE MAFIA. Bambi didn’t payback the opossum loan shark, and got extremely knee-capped. Either that, or the Elks are sending a message.

In other words I have no idea. If you have any theories, please share them, because I’d love to figure this out.

And now, after talking about severed animal limbs, I offer the following pretty picture as a palette cleanser. If you read through all of this, you’ve earned it.

See, that should take your mind off of severed limbs. At least until I just mentioned them again, sorry!

In the course of that day, we must have seen a half-dozen complexes, and walked through units in varying states of deterioration and stinkiness. We finally decided at the last minute on the apartment we have now based on the model we saw, and the fact that, for the price, we got the bonus of an in-unit washer and dryer.

Because we agreed to the lease based on the model, I was worried that the apartment we would actually live in would be a disaster, a stinky, deteriorating mess with a leaky sink and no water pressure. Happily, I was wrong. But we do have to contend with a lack of sunlight, a view of the parking lot, a management staff that doesn’t quite get the whole “call before coming over” concept, and, oh yes, the fact that one of the buildings in our complex caught on fire earlier this year.

Needless to say, now that our 14-month lease is up, we’d like to move.

I’ve been stalking Craigslist for a couple of weeks now, and I have to say that Louisville is not a town drowning in rental opportunities. Sure, the students at U of L have their pick of affordable apartments near the university, but for working professionals like Mr. Martini and I who don’t want to be surrounded on all sides by students, the pickings are slim. Most people in our position own their own houses, it seems, so the rental units are few and far between, at least in the neighborhoods we want to live in.

Because I do want to live in a neighborhood. A walkable neighborhood, where I don’t necessarily need to take the car to get coffee on a Sunday morning. I’m longing for a place with lots of light, where the cats can bask in sunbeams like they used to in Chicago.  Selfishly, I’d love to have a little more room for my crafts, too.

Fortunately, we have plenty of time to find a place. Unlike Chicago, where you’d be crazy to let your lease lapse before finding a new place, or else find yourself homeless. I’m trying to be calm, and realize that even though we have to let our current landlord know we’re not renewing our lease, that we still have an entire month to find something new, and that’s plenty of time. I will say that most of the listings I’m seeing all seem to say, “Available now!” so the turnaround time that we could be in a new place would probably be very short.

I’m just finding it hard to keep my confidence up about this whole process when the list of rentals on Craigslist doesn’t really change much from day to day.

But then we have an evening like last night, when our HVAC starts spewing a smell somewhere between wet dog and rotting hay, and I think, “Oh, yeah, eff this place. We’re moving.”

Wish us luck, will you? Thanks.

The drive to Bardstown was easy,  mostly along winding country roads that have picturesque farms and scenery. Bardstown itself is a cute little tourist town, and I definitely want to go back for more of a walking (and photo) tour of the downtown area.

Once we got to town and scored a fabulous parking place, we hung out on the lawn by Spalding Hall, checking out all of the booths set up with arts and crafts and food, most of which had a bourbon theme. The big name bourbon companies had the most elaborate set ups, with semi-permanent type structures filled with logo merchandise for sale.

The booths were set up right in front of the bourbon museum, which offered free admission. We took our time and wandered through all of the displays, enjoying the air-conditioning.

I must admit, though, that there was a surprising lack of actual bourbon at the festival. I did not do my research thoroughly, or I would have seen that the bourbon tastings were held at events taking place earlier in the week. There was bourbon available at the beer garden, but we really weren’t in the mood for a drink as much as tasting and comparing different bourbons. But now we know for next year.

We only stayed for a few hours, and brought home some bourbon enhanced sugar roasted pecans and some local hot sauce made in bourbon casks that Mr. Martini claims is delicious (I don’t do hot sauces, so I’ll take his word for it). Still, it was a nice, easy getaway for the afternoon, that only spurred our desire to visit one of the distilleries for an actual tour. Look for another road trip for down south in the weeks to come!

And everything was OK. In fact, a year later on September 4th, I spent the morning at the spa and the afternoon at the movies with Mr. Martini. Basically, it was a complete turn around than the year before.

In fact, from here and into the future, when I think back to events that I experienced year ago, they won’t have taken place in Chicago. They will have taken place in Louisville. I can’t believe it’s been a year.

Since our move to Louisville, we’ve experienced a wind storm, an ice storm, a neighborhood fire and a flood. Thankfully, none of those affected our lives beyond some minor inconveniences. I’m no longer comparing my days to how they would have been spent up north in the larger city. I’m still getting used to having to drive everywhere, and park everywhere, but it’s getting easier. I’m learning my way around a little better, but I still have a lot to explore.

I think it’s a testament to our new city that when I told people in Chicago where we were moving, they all said, “Oh, Louisville, you’ll love it there. It’s such a cool place.” They were right. Louisville has a great arts scene, a great restaurant scene (which we have barely, barely explored) plus a great combination of city life vs. outdoor life. If you want to live in a suburban neighborhood close to downtown, that’s available, if you want to live in a trendy hip neighborhood close to the bars and nightclubs, that’s available too.

Yesterday, my co-workers and I went on a quick photo walk at lunch, and here are some of the pictures I took of my new downtown. It’s not as bustling, not as well-known, and not as HUGE as Chicago, but I still think it’s pretty cool.