Southwestern PA, By Way of CA
Saturday afternoon, once the movers were gone but before we’d really begun unpacking, Andrew convinced me that we had to go to a local bar to watch a basketball game that, he said, was the kind of game that people would one day ask, “Where were you when you saw the such-and-such game?” I pointed out that I’d put a lot of money on the claim that no one will ever ask me that question. However, I acquiesced, since Andrew’s been the one doing all the lifting during this move while I sit queenlike and tell him what to do.
We went to a local bar called Bunz and Company, which, despite its name, is not a strip club. It’s actually a cute bar/restaurant inside an old home. We sat at a table with a view of a TV; we ordered beer and water based on who is and is not pregnant. After a while, we ordered dinner. And as we sat there, eating, it occurred to both of us that we really felt like we were in Southwestern PA—at a place like Bud Murphy’s or the Boston Beanery or Lynn’s. There was just something about the atmosphere, the people, the menu selections. It all just seemed…familiar.
Our neighborhood, too—“Old Roseville”—seems very Southwestern PA-like, with modest little homes, many rundown, the odd character here and there wandering the streets, groups of teenagers walking around together in the evenings with nothing to do. And it’s quiet in a way that reminds me of sitting on the front porch in Connellsville on summer evenings.
What doesn’t fit with this comparison is the following: five minutes away, Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Tiffany, and Nordstrom either are in or are being built in the mall. There’s no Louis Vuitton in Fayette County, that’s for sure. There’s a very odd disjunct in Roseville between this strange and not unpleasant small-town feeling and the hideousness of the rest of Roseville’s sprawling, shopping plaza-filled, McMansion’ed, SUV malaise. Of course, when I walk to the local donut shop (which I did on Sunday, and, unwisely, subsequently consumed three donuts in one sitting, a brutal shock to my normally health-food-filled body), I can see shining green signs for the traffic-choked highway; so the bad parts are not that far off.
But from where I’m sitting now, I can see squirrels chasing each other up and down the enormous redwood in the backyard; we’ve spotted blue jays and mourning doves. Our window-lined sleeping loft makes us feel like we’re sleeping in a tree house. I think we’ve managed to find the good there is in Roseville. We’ve been saying all along that we like big cities and small towns, not the in-between; maybe our small homestead here will help us get through our time in suburbia.
We went to a local bar called Bunz and Company, which, despite its name, is not a strip club. It’s actually a cute bar/restaurant inside an old home. We sat at a table with a view of a TV; we ordered beer and water based on who is and is not pregnant. After a while, we ordered dinner. And as we sat there, eating, it occurred to both of us that we really felt like we were in Southwestern PA—at a place like Bud Murphy’s or the Boston Beanery or Lynn’s. There was just something about the atmosphere, the people, the menu selections. It all just seemed…familiar.
Our neighborhood, too—“Old Roseville”—seems very Southwestern PA-like, with modest little homes, many rundown, the odd character here and there wandering the streets, groups of teenagers walking around together in the evenings with nothing to do. And it’s quiet in a way that reminds me of sitting on the front porch in Connellsville on summer evenings.
What doesn’t fit with this comparison is the following: five minutes away, Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Tiffany, and Nordstrom either are in or are being built in the mall. There’s no Louis Vuitton in Fayette County, that’s for sure. There’s a very odd disjunct in Roseville between this strange and not unpleasant small-town feeling and the hideousness of the rest of Roseville’s sprawling, shopping plaza-filled, McMansion’ed, SUV malaise. Of course, when I walk to the local donut shop (which I did on Sunday, and, unwisely, subsequently consumed three donuts in one sitting, a brutal shock to my normally health-food-filled body), I can see shining green signs for the traffic-choked highway; so the bad parts are not that far off.
But from where I’m sitting now, I can see squirrels chasing each other up and down the enormous redwood in the backyard; we’ve spotted blue jays and mourning doves. Our window-lined sleeping loft makes us feel like we’re sleeping in a tree house. I think we’ve managed to find the good there is in Roseville. We’ve been saying all along that we like big cities and small towns, not the in-between; maybe our small homestead here will help us get through our time in suburbia.
Comments