Exploring This Great City of Mine

A few weeks ago, I was in the midst of pre-wedding chaos trying to finalize a stream of last minute details. It was beyond wet and soggy outside, I had two major appointments to go to after work, and no access to a car.

Yeah, it was about to be one of those days.

But I had just finished writing my post about Where The Rabbits Have Been Hiding and had prepared myself to “push through the struggle” for the sake of checking several things off my to-do list that absolutely HAD to get done. Admittedly, I did have to give myself a little pep talk. I thought, “Constance, it’s not like you haven’t taken the bus a million times before, so forget about the fact that you’ve gotten more than a little spoiled with regular access to a car, it’s time to get back to your roots and tough it out. Let’s go!”

Cheesy, I know, but it served it’s purpose. I went online, looked up the bus routes and times that I would need to connect to, and planned out my full trip. Of course, nothing went according to that plan.

I got stuck at work five minutes later than I wanted, the clock on my computer jumped ahead five minutes, and the combined effect left me scrambling because I thought I’d just missed my first bus.

I frantically started walking up the block trying to figure out a way to still make it to my first appointment on time. I vaguely remembered that the bus I needed made several stops near my job. I may have missed the closest one, but if I could run up ahead to the next, I might be able to catch it. I started out in a full sprint – Jackie Joyner Kersee didn’t have nothin’ on me! I made it five city blocks in under two minutes flat, and was just beginning to congratulate myself on a job well done, when the passing thought occurred to me that I wasn’t completely sure this was the location of the next stop!

I mean, I was almost sure. I’d glanced at the bus map and it definitely mentioned something about Spring Street, but was it the corner of Spring & Marietta Streets exactly? I couldn’t remember. Ten minutes later, there was no need to question my memory any longer. No bus had ever arrived and I was even more late than when I started.

I didn’t know what to do at this point, but I couldn’t just stand around waiting for a miracle, so once again I went into “JJK” mode, and started sprinting. Within five more blocks, I was covered in sweat (okay, so I’m no Olympic athlete after all) and the hem of my pants were soggy from the rain. Leave it to Atlanta weather to be disgustingly hot and torrential downpour raining at the same time. The thought had occurred to me more than once so far that this entire situation was beyond comedic in its absurdity.

Well, almost. If it were an episode of “New Girl” instead of my life.

It seemed almost definite that I was going to miss my first appointment, but I still had that whole “push on, through the struggle” mantra ringing in my ears and I couldn’t bring myself to give up just yet. Ten minutes later, I got a little miracle after all. The sound of an approaching bus made me turn around just in time to see my saving grace pulling up like something out of a dream. I promise you, it was epic. The skies parted and there were doves.

Okay, maybe I’m being a little over dramatic, but seriously, you had to be there.

I still haven’t figured out how the exact bus I needed managed to arrive at that moment – was the driver extremely late? was I ahead of schedule and I didn’t know it? did I channel my inner athlete and get 20 minutes ahead of the bus after all? I’m almost positive that last one was a “no” – but whatever the reason, five minutes later I was pulling up to my stop three blocks away from my appointment.

Of course, there was no direct Marta access to the front of the building I was going to; but after everything I’d already been through, I thought that walking three more blocks would be no big deal. Again, I was wrong. If it had been torrential downpour raining earlier, what I experienced in the next few minutes was easily a re-creation of Noahs great flood. By the time I arrived, it wasn’t just the hem of my pants that were soaked but my entire outfit.

My destination was the King Plow Arts Center for a paid business meeting, but I was in serious danger of missing the opportunity. I’d been splashed by passing cars, dunked in massive puddles, and was completely unfit to be seen. I was already five minutes late, and now I needed to stop at a restroom just to make myself presentable. Once again, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

Ironically, my business meeting was not directly arts related, so having never been to the campus before, I had no idea I was at The King Plow Arts Center. The complex is a large one, so it took at least another ten minutes to find the exact office I was looking for, but I’d realized where I was by now, and was beginning to see a ray of sunshine in this dreary day.

Surprisingly, my colleague was still willing to meet with me, and even better, when I finished the meeting I spent the next twenty minutes exploring the site. By the time I left, the sun had come out for good and I had a three block trek waiting for me to get back out to the nearest Marta stop. I arrived just in time to see the bus pass me by, but somehow I couldn’t muster up the angst to be as upset about it as I should have been.

I like to think of myself as “in the know” when it comes to most of the major art venues in Atlanta, but although I was aware of Midtown West and Marietta Street as an arts district, I’d never taken the time to truly explore the area. I decided that missing the bus to my next appointment gave me the perfect opportunity to play “tourist” for the day and focus on the little details.

I walked past junk yards, the Atlanta Department of Water Works, abandoned lots, and Christmas lights decorated shacks. In the process, I fell in love with this amazing city all over again, and found myself wishing I were the type to walk around with a professional camera around my neck at all times. Instead, my cell phone would have to make due.

An hour later, I finally dragged myself up to the entrance of my second appointment just in time to see another bus roaring past me. This time I didn’t have to think twice about what to do. I laughed out loud!

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It’s Official, We’re Married!!!

“Sadie, Sadie married lady
See what’s on my hand?
There’s nothing quite as touching
as a simple wedding band!”

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Babs sure knew what she was singing about. These first two weeks of married life have been wonderful! And yes, the groom was definitely prettier than the bride… especially with these chipped up nails of mine (I promise they were fierce for the wedding though!)

I would continue with all the many ways we complete each other, need each other, love each other, drive each other, feed each others dreams souls wishes desires, and all the rest of those lovely descriptions that go into waxing poetic. But I’m pretty sure you can just see it on us. So without further ado… Introducing the new Mr & Mrs Mercado! Ain’t we cute?

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