Lost and Found

I think the flyer is stapled to every utility pole on our side of North Highand, between Alon's and North Morningside.  It might be on others, too, but that's where I've seen it while walking to Alon's or walking the dog.  A purse, stolen from a parked car parked late at night in front of Alon's, contained some irreplaceable things that would be of no value to anyone other than the person from whom they were stolen:  a wedding and engagement ring, that had belonged to her mother; some letters; a card from her father's funeral.  So there were flyers, and an offer of a reward.

When I first saw these, Iain and I were walking to Alon's.  Do we really think the perpetrator lives in the neighborhood, I asked him.  But of course the wallet could have been taken from the purse, and the purse discarded, and someone might have found it.  But if someone had found it, I doubt that the finder would have waited for an offer of a reward to try to get it back to its owner.

My father died in 2003, and the following year my mother had a devastating stroke; she died nine months later.  During the time between my dad's death and my mother's stroke, I remember her telling me with great sadness that she had lost her wedding and engagement ring.  Years before, she had had the jeweler fuse them together as a single ring, so when she lost one, she lost them both.  My mother was not a highly emotional woman, but she was sad that the rings were missing.  She said she'd looked everywhere, that she was sure that they weren't in the house, that she was afraid the rings had slipped off in a supermarket vegetable bin. I was sad for her, but there was nothing I could do to help.

After she died, there were so many things to get rid of.  We gave things away, threw things away, and sold things at auction.  There was a car that we didn't want.  A friend of my dad's suggested that if we were willing to give it away, the youth minister at my dad's church could use it. He was a young man with a wife and children, and maybe they needed a second car, or a bigger car, or a more reliable car, I'm not sure.  Anyway, that would get it off my hands, so I signed the title and gave it to him.

I was at my parents' house sometime later - still dealing with the contents of the house, probably, although I don't remember for sure - and the youth minister came to see me.  He had found something in the car, he wasn't sure but thought maybe I would want it.  It was a ring.  It was small, he said, he thought it might be a child's ring.  He took a small brown envelope from his pocket; it was my mother's rings.

I hadn't thought about this for years, but seeing the sign on the neighborhood utility poles reminded me of it.  Once lost, things of value only to you sometimes do find their way back. 

Learning from Soccer: Buying the Scarf

Two of my favorite local institutions are in trouble.  I am referring, of course, to the Atlanta Silverbacks and the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra.  Although they both play on Saturday night, there are some differences.  For one, the Silverbacks are a minor league soccer team and the ASO is a major league orchestra; the ASO wins Grammys, and I've never seen the Silverbacks win a game.  I've gone to the ASO, off and on, ever since I moved to Atlanta and I first went to a Silverbacks game a couple of months ago.  I learned about the doubts about the Silverbacks' future near the end of their season, and the lockout delayed the start of the ASO's season.  Both organizations are losing money; the Silverbacks are owned by some guys who have been cutting costs and still haven't turned a profit, and the symphony is under the Woodruff Arts Center board which has been cutting costs but actually is in charge of a not-for-profit entity.  The Symphony has terrible brochure -- whose idea was this terrifying naked flying nymph motif? -- and as far as I know the Silverbacks do not.  (I just included that last part because I have wanted to say something about the terrifying naked flying nymphs for a while, and this really was my first opportunity to do so.)

I started going to the symphony when I was in medical school.  I bought a series subscription to open rehearsals, and sometimes splurged and got tickets to concerts.  So it's natural for us to go to the ASO; that's something we do.  But not everyone goes, even as much as we do, and that's the rub for the ASO.  There should not be empty seats in Symphony Hall.  How do you grow the audience?  (Probably not with terrifying naked flying nymphs.)   But I will give them credit for trying something new last season, with the first Friday concerts that are earlier in the evening, only an hour long, and less expensive.  I've heard that other orchestras have tried late night concerts with a more club-type atmosphere.  But they really need to fill the seats in Symphony Hall with full-fare ticket buyers.

Which brings me back to the Silverbacks.  I had never been to a professional soccer game until a couple of months ago.  I am not very knowledgeable about soccer (I still don't understand what "offsides" means) and I have never been that much of a sports fan.  But once I went I wanted to go back, The first game we went to, we ended up sitting behind Terminus Legion, one of the supporter groups, and that made it lots of fun to be there, even though we lost the game.  (The Ottawa Fury ended up with six yellow cards - not exactly what we expect from Canadians, I might add.)  On our way out that night we bought Atlanta Silverbacks scarves, and later both Iain and I joined Terminus Legion.  We came early to games and joined Terminus Legion's tailgate party, and Iain sat with them on the front row and played the drum.  I sat a few rows back from the group but joined in the chants (my personal favorite -- after a questionable call, "I'm blind - I'm deaf - I want to be a ref.")

A week ago on Sunday there was a fundraiser for the symphony musicians at Moe's at Ansley Mall.  This had been scheduled before the lockout ended, and ended up being more celebratory than originally expected.  Throughout the afternoon and into the evening musicians and members of the chorus were there, and recordings of the symphony were playing on the sound system.  (I've never heard Mahler in a restaurant before, I don't think.)  This was right after the first concerts since the lockout had ended, and we were so glad we had been at the Symphony on Saturday night.  A long talk with a violinist from the neighborhood, who said she'd seen Tom and me in the audience the night before, and how glad she was to see us there.  She told me that they were working on a new piece by Richard Prior, a local composer who is on the faculty at Emory, and they'd be playing it in a program the following weekend with Beethoven's 5th, and we should come.  I bought one of the black T-shirts that said "ATL Symphony Musicians" that had been ubiquitous during the lockout.  

After that conversation, I wanted to go to the next concert.  Tom had something else he needed to do, but Caroline was home for the weekend, and she and I went.  It was wonderful. 

I have been thinking about how one soccer game made me a Silverbacks fan, and wondering if something about the symphony experience could change to make it more likely that a first-time symphony goer would -- figuratively speaking == buy the ASO scarf after attending their first concert.  Somehow, I thought, the experience needed to be more social and more participatory.  But maybe it wasn't the symphony experience that needed to change, but my engagement with it.  What made it more social and participatory, for me, was a conversation with a violinist at Moe's about the next concert.  I did buy the T-shirt, although it's not exactly symphony wear.

And the scarf?  The symphony now has supporter groups, too, and one of them is selling a scarf.  Mine is ordered, and I'll wear it to the next concert.

Destruction, With or Without a Permit

First, the good news on the construction front.  The house at the corner of Wessyngton and North Highland, across Wessyngton from where the apartments used to be, is being renovated rather than demolished and replaced with a completely different house.  As it turns out, they didn't even dismantle the garage - it has new siding, as does the second floor on the back of the house.

Another piece of good news is that the rental house on our street that is currently vacant got a new roof put on it this week.  This strongly suggests that the owner doesn't plan to sell it to anyone who will demolish it and replace it with new construction any time soon.

The new, very large house that was built where Angela's house used to be is no longer yellow. It has now been painted a sort of tan color.

Yesterday morning, when I was walking the dog, I noticed something I'd never noticed before.  This is the sign that is in the yard at the duplex -- I took this picture back in September, when the sign was first placed there.

Note the wording:

A. Stillman doesn't only have permission to remove the trees marked with the orange "X," he or she has permission to destroy them.   That's a pretty strong word.  Yesterday afternoon, when I was walking the dog the next time, Iain came with me and I pointed this wording out to him.  Were they trying to make it completely clear that the trees in  question were going to be killed, reduced to firewood and sawdust, and not relocated to some forest on the outskirts of the city where they would live out their lives, safe from developers?  Permission to "remove" the trees might suggest that.

Let's be completely clear about this.  The trees have been sawed into chunks of wood and are awaiting disposal.  They are definitely not being relocated to a tree sanctuary.  This is the view from Lynsley's deck.  (Incidentally, the structure is the upper left hand corner is the garage of the very large new house that used to be yellow and now is tan.)

Yesterday afternoon Iain and I continued on around the block.  Usually we cut through the parking lot at Morningside Presbyterian back to Wessyngton, but I told him I'd noticed a yellow sign on the house on North Morningside near the church that used to have the front yard completely filled with bamboo, and I wanted to see what it was.  So we walked past the house with dog statues in front of it on to this house, which had the ubiquitous dumpster in the front yard.

I don't know what the story is with this house, but there are good sized trees growing on the roof, suggesting a certain degree of lack of attention to maintenance.

The yellow sign that I'd caught a glimpse of from the street was a Stop Work order.  Apparently there weren't the proper permits for construction or demolition. 

There's a large tree in the front yard, marked with two X's in fluorescent orange. But there is no sign from the arborist in the yard, about a request to remove a tree. And looking at the drawing on the back of this tree, in the same bright orange, I am thinking that the arborist didn't paint those X's.

There was this sign in the yard, in front of the house.  I was amused by it, as it didn't seem likely that the intent was to renovate, restore, or renew, unless by renew one meant "demolish and replace with new construction." But of course I could be wrong.

And I guess they're planning on a new tree, too.

Research Made Easy

There are three construction dumpsters on the street right now.  Here's the update.

At the incredibly large house on the other side of Kathy and Steve's house, the one with the great views of our back yards, the siding is up, the windows are in, and the brickwork that covers the foundation is getting done.  The architect has posted his name in front of the house, suggesting a certain disconnect in perception between him and most of us who live nearby.

The siding on the house is yellow, and I assumed that was the final color that the house would be.  That seemed to me to be one of the less objectionable things about it, but Tom thought it was a completely terrible color and was speculating that it was just primer.  Now several different colors of gray have appeared on the front of the house.  I am hoping maybe we'll get to vote for which color we like best.

It seems like that would be a small concession to the neighbors who have been inconvenienced by construction vehicles that obstruct our driveways and the nails left in the street.  One day last week I picked up three 2-1/2 inch nails from the pavement in front of this house.  

Two houses down, at the duplex, they've started removing trees.  Lynsley said that last Wednesday her house shook when they brought them down.

The picture below was taken back in September, after the city posted the announcement that the owner was allowed to remove some trees.  It's not a very good picture -- the back yard was very overgrown -- but they were big trees.  And now they're down.

The only good news on the construction front (at least I hope it's good news) is at the corner of Wessyngton and North Highland, across the street from the still-vacant lots were the apartments used to be.  That house sold a few months ago and has been vacant for a while, but now there's work going on there.  It looks like the insides of the house are getting ripped out, which suggests renovation and not demolition.  They are taking apart the garage - the white building on the right side of the photo below, so maybe they plan to add on to the house.  Or maybe they just didn't like the garage.

There's an article in the New York Times today about researching one's future neighbors, about how neighbors really matter to lots of people, and how the real estate agents either can't or won't tell you anything much about them.  (This being New York, the neighbors are in your building, not on your street, but the principle still holds.)  Since the real estate agent is unlikely to know anything about our street other than which houses might be future knock-downs, I will provide some helpful information that will be easily available to anyone interested in our street who can spell it properly (admittedly, not the easiest thing) and do a Google search.  

Tuesday night a small dog, owned by the parents of one of our neighbors, escaped from their daughter's house and made a run for it.  This prompted a street-wide search involving a large number of people.  Sally brought over Christina's father to give me a description of the dog and Christina's phone number so I could send an email out, which I did.  Separately, another neighbor posted the missing dog information on the street's Facebook page, and the neighbor that had found the dog posted it on Nextdoor.  (Myself, I don't have a problem with redundant systems.)  The exchange on Facebook that followed the dog's return said it all.  Several expressions of relief that Christina's parents had their dog back, and then Christina said thank you, and how relieved her mother was, and "she also commented about what an amazing street we live on!"

That's our street.  If this sounds good to you but >$1 million for one of the new houses is outside of your budget, there's a house for lease right now.  One the plus side:  immediate availability, as best I can tell.  On the down side:  it's between the first and the second construction sites described here, and soon there will be neighbors on both sides with great views of your back yard.  But if this is the kind of neighborhood you want -- a great neighborhood and great neighbors at a more affordable price, or your dog is an escape artist -- it might be worth putting up with the noise for now.  The lack of privacy in the backyard, unfortunately, is forever.

Losing the Game

I've never been much of a sports fan.  I grew up in small towns where high school football was a big deal, and went to a state university in what was then the Big Eight Conference where football was a really big deal.  I went to four games during college -- two on Dad's Weekend, with my father, and two other times when someone gave me a ticket.  That may very well have been the last time I went to a football game.

During medical school, we used to go to baseball games.  I thought for a while I might become a sserious baseball fan, but I didn't.  But it was fun to sit in the bleachers with friends on a Sunday afternoon.  We could get to Fenway Park on the Green Line or even walk.  Later I lived in Durham, very close to where the Durham Bulls played, and I went to games sometimes.  In Atlanta, the hassle factor to get to Braves' games seems significant, and I've only been to Turner Field a few times.  In spite of that, I'm still really angry with them for abandoning the city for Cobb County.

When the kids were little, they all played soccer.  Then, in 2010 the World Cup was in South Africa and somehow we were paying attention.  We watched games, we cheered for the U.S. team, and I mailed updates to Iain during the week he was at Boy Scout camp.  I was in Johannesburg for a meeting right after the World Cup and brought back T-shirts and a vuvuzela.

I was in Geneva the night the first game of the 2014 World Cup was played.  I had gone out for a walk, and on my way back to the hotel, I heard a sound.  It was sort of a roar, and was coming from everywhere.  Every bar, every restaurant with a television must have had a crowd that night, and when anything happened, there was a collective shout that I heard from all directions.  The next morning I had to leave early for the airport.  At the bus stop, I saw people standing on the sidewalk clustered outside a bar that was closed.  I assume they were watching a game on a television that had been left on, facing the window.

Later in June I was in Japan and watched part of the U.S.-Ghana game in my hotel room.  I had to turn the sound off because I found the announcers (who of course were speaking Japanese) distracting.

We watched a lot of soccer this summer.  We cheered for the U.S. team and marveled at Tim Howard's performance in the game against Belgium; even though we lost the game, there was so much pride in how well the team -- our team -- had done.  We laughed at the brief-lived Wikipedia entry, that Tim Howard was the Secretary of Defense, and were reminded that Ann Coulter is a troll.  After the U.S. was eliminated, we cheered for other teams.  

I was with a colleague in a restaurant during the World Cup and a game was on.  The place was full of people who should have been at work, probably, but who were taking an extended lunch break.  We were trying not to watch the game but it was hard not to.  We talked about how soccer is a heart-breaking game.  A game can be lost in a split second, and that's it. 

Atlanta has a soccer team now, the Atlanta Silverbacks.  We've been talking for years about going to a game, but we weren't quite sure where they played or how to get tickets.  But in September Iain and I decided to go to a Silverbacks game.  We got tickets on line and found our way there, to Silverbacks Park, near I-85 and -285.  It was so much fun, even though the Silverbacks lost.  There are supporter groups at the games; we were sitting behind Terminus Legion and they were on their feet, cheering the Silverbacks and shouting insults at the visitng Ottawa Fury.

There was a mascot, a guy (or maybe a girl) in a gorilla suit.

And there was a game that Atlanta lost, 0-3.  The Fury ended up with six yellow cards.  Even though our team lost, it was so much fun.  We were hooked.  We bought our Silverbacks scarves that night.

We saw them play Minnesota United on the big screen at a pub in East Atlanta.  The watch party was hosted by another supporter group, the Atlanta Ultras.  We lost that game too, but it was fun.

The following week we saw them play the Fort Lauderdale Strikers at Silverbacks Park.  We saw -- for the first time -- the Silverbacks score a goal.  (By this time, the coach had been fired and there was a new coach.)  We got to see Terminus Legion fire up the fire extinguishers.

That game ended in a tie, and at that point, a tie felt like a win, and there was another tie the following week against the Tampa Bay Rowdies.  

It was after that game that this ominous post appeared on the Silverbacks' Facebook page.

I don't understand what the issue is but I am worried.  We love going to the games and although it would be nice if the Silverbacks won, it's fun even if they don't.  We missed the game against the Carolina RailHawks, but the last game of the season is this afternoon and I'll be there at the Elder Tree to see the team play Edmonton.  

How serious is this?  Serious enough that Terminus Legion and the Atlanta Ultras have called a truce for the afternoon; both supporter groups will be there for what could be the last Silverbacks game, ever.  I know in a couple of years Atlanta is supposed to have an MLS team, but that's not going to be a substitute for the Silverbacks.

I knew soccer was a heartbreaking game, but I never expected this kind of heartbreak.  

Almost Magic

A couple of weeks ago, Iain was on fall break, and he and Tom went to Florida to kayak a couple of rivers.  I took several days off that week, including the two days they were gone; I thought I'd get some things done (I did, although not much) and look after the dog, who is not used to being home alone all day.

One of those days I was home by myself with the dog, I was sitting at the dining room table doing something on my computer, and heard a rustling sound from the kitchen.  It was not a loud sound, just a plastic bag changing position.  The first time it happened I thought it might be happening on its own - a draft or gravity or something, not anything that meant anything.  When I heard it again I only had one thought, that there was a rat in the kitchen.  We have had rats in the house before, and I found this a quite upsetting idea.  I looked; I didn't want to, but I felt that I had to, and I didn't see anything.  Relieved, I went back to whatever it was I was doing.

A little while later, I heard it again.  There definitely was something moving around the plastic bags with produce in them that were on the kitchen counter.  It did not sound big enough to be a rat.  Maybe it was a mouse, but it was something.  So I looked again, and saw a lizard that was just starting to make its way up the wall.  So I grabbed a plastic container and caught it.  It wasn't happy.

It was a green anole,  Having pursued many small lizards in the wild over the years and failing to catch them, I figured I could keep this one for a little while, given that it had intruded into my kitchen.  So I went to Pet Supplies Plus and got a plastic terrarium and a dollar's worth of small crickets, and put some dirt and a plant and the lizard it it. 

The lizard spent most of its time immobile on the small plant or on the sides or top of the terrarium.  Green anoles change color.  Sometimes they are green and sometimes they are brown.  This one was brown most of the time but one evening I couldn't find it when I looked; it was green, and sitting on a leaf, was so well camouflaged I didn't see it for several minutes, even though I knew it must be somewhere in that small container.  

Caroline came home over the weekend.  She had had a pair of green anoles as pets for a time and pointed out that this one, lacking the characteristic dewlap that male anoles have, was a female.  By then Iain was back from Florida and he noted that the lizard was molting.  We didn't know that lizards molted but that is what this one did, that first weekend.

The terrarium eventually got moved off the dining room table onto a shelf.  There were still crickets and I figured I'd turn it loose when the crickets were gone.  Every day I misted the terrarium, but I was getting ready to go out of town for a week and I didn't want to ask Tom to take care of it, so last weekend I figured it was time to let it go.

So I took the terrarium into the back yard and took the lid off of it and watched.  I thought the lizard would make a run for it immediately, but it didn't.  

It was immobile, except for its head; it looked around from its perch on a philodendron leaf.  

Over the next several minutes, it turned nearly completely green, starting from its armpits (if a lizard can be said to have armpits).

Only then did it move from the philodendron leaf, to freedom.

Since then I've read a little about color changes in anoles.  There is less known about this that you would think there might be.  Color changes in anoles are thought to have less to do with camouflage than with level of stress.   According to Wikipedia, the green anole (or Carolina anole, in this article) has three layers of chromatophores in its skin that account for the color changes.  

But watching it last Saturday morning it almost seemed like magic.  

Riding a Bike, Again

My first ride on my first bicycle was not particularly auspicious.  The house we lived in when I was a small child had a steep driveway (at least that's how I remember it).   The first time I got on my new bike, I went rolling down the driveway and my mother screamed as I went sailing across the street, and then I crashed into the curb.  I do not remember being hurt but the tire didn't survive the collision with the curb.

When I was about to go off to college, I told my parents one night at dinner that I thought I needed some wheels to take to school.  They were relieved when they realized I meant a bicycle, and I got a 10 speed Schwinn that I rode all through college.  I didn't ride it every day but the two years I lived off campus I did ride it to class some of the time.  I never had a car when I was in college.

I didn't have a car in medical school, either, and at some point I bought another bicycle which I remember riding to the hospital the month I did a rotation at the Roxbury VA Hospital.  When I lived in Boston, my primary modes of transportation were walking and public transit, but I did ride my bike some.

One summer during medical school I did my obstetrics rotation in Dublin, and after I figured out that they didn't care if we were there or not, started taking three- and four-day weekends.  I made three different trips to three different parts of Ireland.  I rode the train somewhere, and then rented a bike and stayed in bed and breakfast places along the way.  One night I stayed in a bed and breakfast place run by an older lady who was very eager to find things for me to do.  She told me I should visit the beach.  I asked her where it was and she gave me very complicated directions involving lots of turns and climbing over some fences.  I told her I thought I'd have trouble getting there and would probably get lost.  She said she'd have her dog Joey take me there.  She called the dog, and said, "Joey, take her to the beach," and the dog headed to the end of the driveway and turned to the right.  There seemed to be nothing I could do but go with him, and he took me to the beach.  This was a rocky beach and as I recall it was an overcast day; this was not the kind of beach where you sunbathe, but the kind where you wear a sweater and walk around with your hands in your pockets and think about death.  So I was glad to be there with the dog for company, and when I was ready to leave he got me back to the house and I had salmon for dinner.  That was the summer where I learned about topographic maps and if the lines were too close together, it was difficult bicycling.

Later I lived in Durham and used to ride my bike around downtown in the evening, although by then I did have a car.  It was the same when I lived in Nashville and Baltimore -- I didn't ride a lot, but I did ride sometimes.  I knew where to go and what times of day would feel safe for riding.  Then, I moved to Atlanta, and I stopped.  It didn't feel safe, so I just didn't ride.  That was 25 years ago, and I didn't ride a bike again.

Of course in recent years some things have changed.  There's the Beltline, and the new extension of Piedmont Park to Monroe, very close by, and finally the light installed that stops the cars for a safe crossing to the park.  Before each of the last several Streets Alive events, I thought this would be the one that I would finally do on a bicycle, but I didn't.  Last year I looked at bikes at a bike shop a couple of times, but I never rode one.

Last weekend it was beautiful weather, and we wanted to get out of the house on Sunday afternoon.  So Tom dropped Iain and I off at the Beltline on Irwin Street and we walked back, all the way to Ansley and then home from there.  It took a couple of hours.  The Art on the Beltline installations are still up, and they were fun to see, but this is the thing we saw that impressed me the most:

This is at the Elizabeth Street access point to the Beltline.  I'm not sure where all these people came from, but they were probably having a late lunch in one of the restaurants nearby. 

Atlanta Streets Alive was on Highland weekend before last.  We were on our way home and saw there was a new bike shop that had opened up in Virginia Highland, between George's and Moe's and Joe's.  We stopped in and chatted and I looked at a couple of bikes, but I didn't ride any and we headed on home.

Today I'd taken the day off and Tom and Iain are in Florida.  So after I'd walked the dog I headed back there this morning.  I rode a couple of bikes in the parking lot next to Highland Hardware.  I haven't ridden a bicycle in 25 years; I'm glad no one was paying any attention, those first couple of minutes.  I bought a bike, and after lunch, rode from our house to Piedmont Park to 10th Street to the Eastside Trail on the Beltline and then on down to Irwin Street and then back.  I'm not sure what time it was when I left, but I think it took a little over an hour (including walking up the last couple of hills, close to home, on the way back).

Dinner somewhere on the Eastside Trail?  Totally.  I'm in, just let me know when and where.

Atlanta Streets Alive -- North Avenue Edition

Last Sunday was Atlanta Streets Alive, the wonderful open streets event organized by the Atlanta Bicycle Coalition.  This time the route was from the intersection of Virginia Avenue and Highland Avenue south on Highland through Poncey-Highland into the Old Fourth Ward, then north on Boulevard to North Avenue, then past the Ponce City Market and Historic Fourth Ward Park back to Highland, in a lower-case sans serif "d" shape, 4.5 miles in length.

I volunteered for the early shift to help with tactical urbanism projects.  We met on the stretch of North Avenue between the Historic Fourth Ward Park and Ponce City Market.  Our first task was spray painting the slates of some wooden shipping pallets, repurposing them as mobile blackboards.

Next, we constructed protected bike lane in along the Ponce City Market-side of North Avenue, with plastic bollards, plants, and sandwich board signs.  A man with a leaf blower came when we were done and cleared debris from the pavement.

Once that was done, I got a taco from Tex's Tacos food truck.  

The young woman who took my order said it was her boyfriend's truck and this was his third week of operation.  She recommended the chicken taco and I got one of those and one carne asada.  They were both terrific.  (Business must have been ended up being good because when I came by with Iain later, they were out of carne asada.)

I was still on North Avenue when the bike parade came through, with the famous huge flying phoenixes.  I think that's Chantelle Rytter in the lead.  

By then Iain was on his way home from mock trial, so I went home to meet him and then we walked the route on foot.  I took lots of pictures, and if you weren't there, I'll show you a little bit of what you missed.

There were people.  I think this couple was on Highland.

There were lots of children.  Before I took this photo I asked a woman standing nearby if I could take it.  She said "sure," and as I was taking the picture, she hastily added that this little girl wasn't actually with her.

There were friends and neighbors.  We saw Mia at Java Vino.

Even the APD officers seemed to be having a good time.  This was at Highland and Ponce De Leon.

There were dogs.  This one was near Ponce City Market, and the one below was near Blind Willie's.

This faux dog was spotted on Boulevard, on the back of a bicycle.  I think I'd seen the rider-bike-mannequin without the dog head previously at one of the Streets Alive events on Peachtree.

We spotted this pup at Java Vino and Iain and I were both struck by how much he looked like a younger version of Leonard; he has the same longer hair on his ears that Leonard does.  We told his owners that he looked like our dog, a Labrador retriever-Australian shepherd mix.  They were surprised and said their dog was also a Lab-Australian shepherd mix.  And it doesn't show in the photo, but he also has a patch of white on the chest and long white coarse fur at the tip of his tail, just like Leonard has.  So I bet this is what he looked like when he was a puppy.  If he ever needs a picture of himself as a pup for a project at dog school, I'll just use this one.

There was music. There was blues at Blind Willie's.  (There also was jambalaya, which Iain got for lunch before he had the taco.)

There was zumba at several points along the route.  This was near Highland and St. Charles.

There was a marching band.  We saw them later, performing at North Avenue and Freedom Parkway.

There was dance music on Boulevard.

And this trio was performing on North Avenue, near Ponce City Market.

There were plenty of other things to see and do.  There were people playing bicycle polo and a little kids' soccer field on the parking lot on Highland across from American Road House.  Iain and I played a couple rounds of corn hole; neither of us did very well.  On Highland, there was ping pong.

On North Avenue, there were acrobats from the Imperial Opa Circus.

The poets from Free Poems on Demand were set up on Highland.  As we always do, we requested a poem -- this one about the Braves moving to Cobb County -- but we didn't wait for it and were unable to circle back by to pick it up.  I need to follow up with them on that, as this is always one of our favorite Streets Alive activities.

This wonderful collection of portraits (part of this year's Art on the Beltline) was on North Avenue.

There were a couple of large constructions on Boulevard that were created by architecture students at Southern Poly State University.  This is one of them.

 And there were the other tactical urbanism interventions along the route.  The blackboards we had painted were all along the route, and cross walks had been decorated with sidewalk chalk, in a sort of temporary intersection repair-type intervention.

 This one, on Boulevard, was set up as a participatory color-by-number activity.  Iain and I colored in one of the large red squares before we moved on.

And here's the protected bike lane that we'd constructed earlier, when we came back by later.

It was a great event, and I'm so glad we went.  There were a couple of disappointments, though, besides not getting back by the Free Poems on Demand table to pick up our poem.  The commercial areas of Highland were totally packed with people and bikes and activities, but Boulevard seemed underutilized.  Atlanta Medical Center should have had displays and health screening in front of their facility, but once again they were completely missing.  The only sign of life we saw in that stretch of Boulevard was this stethescope-carrying guy in scrubs who was on a cigarette break.  

There also was nothing going on this time at Fort Street United Methodist Church.  One bright spot on Boulevard was a lively scene at Blueprint Church, near the color-by-numbers crosswalk, 

This was the last Streets Alive event of the year; already I'm looking forward to the next one.  And if Atlanta Medical Center needs any ideas about what kinds of activities they should have, the next time Streets Alive is on Boulevard, they should feel free to get in touch with me.  And maybe they could include some information on smoking cessation.

Addendum from October 6, 2014:  I got the poem by email!  Thanks to Zac Denton for writing it and Jimmy Lo for emailing it.  Here it is: