First impressions
“Beautiful dogs. Are you new to the neighborhood?”
“Like about four hours.”
“Serious? You just moved here? Congratulations!”
We hit Sioux Falls at about 2 p.m. Wednesday, where I met up with second sister at the IHOP to get the keys and have her guide me to the townhouse.
Great place, I just need a new rug to tie the room together (pictures to come).
“Where are my South Dakota manners?” the older woman from downstairs said. “Would you like to come in for a cold beer?”
She’s a retired community college administrator from San Diego who winters in Arizona. She’s the unofficial mayor of the seven-plex and gives me the rundown on everyone.
Of course, the landlord gave her the rundown on me (probably a violation of some privacy laws, but who cares?), which I know she’s passed onto the other residents, a mix of doctors, teachers and other young professionals.
“You’ll need a church, so just ask me,” she said.
“Catholic.”
“Oh, wonderful! My sister is Catholic, but her husband is Lutheran like me, so we go to church together, wait until she gets out and all go to breakfast. We’d love it if you’d join us; I know you’ll love Saint Mary’s, Pastor Dave is such a sweetheart.”
Who was I to say no?
My townhouse sits a block outside the McKennan Park historical district. A mix-density neighborhood of stately older homes, little two-bedroom starters that were probably built during the post-World War II boom and a few townhomes mixed in. McKennan Park is beautiful; a band shell, pool, tennis courts and acres of grass, trees and picnic tables.
Since I don’t have a yard, the girls and I struck out to recon the ‘hood (and they could void the bowels before bed).
It was walk a half-block, talk to neighbors, walk, talk, walk (pick up poop).
I met the new president of the Washington Pavilion, the performing arts center downtown. He moved here from New Orleans six weeks ago.
“You’ll love it,” he said. “And when you get settled, call me and we’ll go to lunch.”
The girls and I were headed back to the house when a large, mixed Lab runs down the sidewalk (everywhere are sidewalks!) to greet us.
“I’m glad you have a smile on your face, because Bruiser can scare people,” Bruiser’s owner, a nurse, said.
Bruiser goes to mount Scully and knocks her over and she howls. Scully, being a lady, knows that no means no.
“Oh, God, I am so sorry.”
“As long as you’re OK with Scully teaching Bruiser a lesson.”
Bruiser goes to mount Scully again and she bites him square in the nose, and sends him running for home, tail between his legs.
“Oh, she can take care of herself,” she said.
She gives me the rundown on the neighborhood too.
So far, so good.
“Like about four hours.”
“Serious? You just moved here? Congratulations!”
We hit Sioux Falls at about 2 p.m. Wednesday, where I met up with second sister at the IHOP to get the keys and have her guide me to the townhouse.
Great place, I just need a new rug to tie the room together (pictures to come).
“Where are my South Dakota manners?” the older woman from downstairs said. “Would you like to come in for a cold beer?”
She’s a retired community college administrator from San Diego who winters in Arizona. She’s the unofficial mayor of the seven-plex and gives me the rundown on everyone.
Of course, the landlord gave her the rundown on me (probably a violation of some privacy laws, but who cares?), which I know she’s passed onto the other residents, a mix of doctors, teachers and other young professionals.
“You’ll need a church, so just ask me,” she said.
“Catholic.”
“Oh, wonderful! My sister is Catholic, but her husband is Lutheran like me, so we go to church together, wait until she gets out and all go to breakfast. We’d love it if you’d join us; I know you’ll love Saint Mary’s, Pastor Dave is such a sweetheart.”
Who was I to say no?
My townhouse sits a block outside the McKennan Park historical district. A mix-density neighborhood of stately older homes, little two-bedroom starters that were probably built during the post-World War II boom and a few townhomes mixed in. McKennan Park is beautiful; a band shell, pool, tennis courts and acres of grass, trees and picnic tables.
Since I don’t have a yard, the girls and I struck out to recon the ‘hood (and they could void the bowels before bed).
It was walk a half-block, talk to neighbors, walk, talk, walk (pick up poop).
I met the new president of the Washington Pavilion, the performing arts center downtown. He moved here from New Orleans six weeks ago.
“You’ll love it,” he said. “And when you get settled, call me and we’ll go to lunch.”
The girls and I were headed back to the house when a large, mixed Lab runs down the sidewalk (everywhere are sidewalks!) to greet us.
“I’m glad you have a smile on your face, because Bruiser can scare people,” Bruiser’s owner, a nurse, said.
Bruiser goes to mount Scully and knocks her over and she howls. Scully, being a lady, knows that no means no.
“Oh, God, I am so sorry.”
“As long as you’re OK with Scully teaching Bruiser a lesson.”
Bruiser goes to mount Scully again and she bites him square in the nose, and sends him running for home, tail between his legs.
“Oh, she can take care of herself,” she said.
She gives me the rundown on the neighborhood too.
So far, so good.
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