In an elevator today, I over heard the following conversation between, what appeared to be, two co-workers. Both were women, early-mid 30s, white, middle to upper middle class. One was blond, one was a red head. Their conversation:

Yellow: Oh, is that that oatmeal? (Red is holding what appears to be a Starbucks coffee cup but it has different coloring than normal).
Red: Yaaah, I’m really liking it.
Yellow: Yaaah, I heard about that. So it’s good?
Red: Yaaah, but you have to keep the lid on the cup for, like, 3 minutes or you know, it won’t, like, set up right, or cook right or something.
Yellow: Awwww, cool.
(Brief silence)
Yellow: Yaaah, I gotta try that sometime. It seems good.
Red: Yaaaah.

I lost brain cells. I KNOW I did. I’m so glad I got off on a floor before them and didn’t have to listen to that any longer. Yaaaah.

Suggestion: just because there is an opportunity to talk doesn’t mean you have to. Silence is nice, too.

Fires in cities are always big news. No exception was today’s fire at the DeSoto Hilton here in Savannah. I was witness to it from about 7 stories up and a few blocks over. The garbage shoot running up the entire height of the east side of the building (being used for renovations) was on fire. It was quite a spectacle seeing flames leaping off the hotel from that high up.

Here’s a snap a friend caught with her cellphone. She didn’t get the flames, just the smoke. The flames didn’t last long. Our firefighters are fast.

Local news: WSAV article

When running (actually walking) errands in the historic district, I am always sure to never take the same route when possible. Since the city is on a grid, jockeying through the squares and residential streets doesn’t really delay me at all and I get the bonus of seeing the remarkable beauty of this place. I also get the bonus of having these infinite only in Savannah moments.

My errands today brought me through one of the residential streets lined with opulent, preserved mansions. Along the middle of the block was a lovely brown stucco home with a grand staircase leading up to the front entrance. At the top of the steps sat a woman, probably near my age, with a dog, large and long haired, breed unknown (the dog, not the woman).

The scene was normal in all other aspects except for the fact that she was reading from a children’s book … to her dog. Full of warm emotion, her voice sang through the air in the melodic tones that can only mean a book is being read to a child. No, a dog. She was reading to her freaking dog.

Maybe she was practicing for a big speech she was going to give to a group of 3 year olds. Probably not. This is Savannah, afterall. Good doggie.