...Do as the Romans Do

Ellen Brody:  "I just want to know one thing - when do I get to become an islander?"

Mrs. Taft:  "Ellen, never.  Never!  You're not born here, you're not an islander.  That's it."

Anyway, as I was saying, I had an epiphany one night that I was trying to hold myself and my pets to the same standards I always had and that wasn't okay for the situation we now found ourselves.  I had to chastise myself pretty soundly for being both so willfully blind and so selective.  I mean, it was all right there in front of me.  The clues could not have been more prevalent:  the fact that I actually had to ask to make sure fences were even allowed in the area because hardly anyone had one.  Then there was the fact that I actually wondered for the first few months I lived here if anyone else on my street had a dog because I never saw one other than my neighbor's little ankle-nipper that never leaves her lot.  The fact that, in fact, most people had pets didn't come to view until spring when people came out of their homes.  I should have put it together, but I didn't.  And no one had complained before, so I had lived in happy ignorance of the fact that I was the odd duck.

But really what bothered me about all of that was that I have to admit that I was quick enough to adopt the aspects of living here that I liked.  For example, I was happy enough to embrace the fact that lawn statuary is a good thing and many lawn statuary is an even better thing.  I got into the fact that you not only could, but should, decorate liberally for every little holiday.  And playoffs are considered holidays.  I accept french fries on one's sandwich.  I can dig the Pittsburgh left.  I really like that I can walk my dogs in the cemetery.  I've taken advantage of the freedom to speak my mind.

Bob's Garage at Christmas
(small, smoky lounge in Fox Chapel famous for over-the-top decorations and karaoke)

The Pits-Burger from Primanti Brothers

I've even come to accept some of the things that puzzled me the most when I first came here:  the fact that you have to go to one place to buy your beer (and you have to buy it by the case at that), but someplace else to buy your wine, but neither of those places is where you buy your groceries.  Yet, I pass five neighborhood bars before I get to the first ATM machine operated by my bank.  Go figure.  I've accepted that my Garmin goes nuts downtown and isn't particularly reliable any place else.  I've learned that getting lost is just part of the rhythm of life here.  Most people do it.  All newbies do.  There's no shame in it.  Just don't panic.  Because it doesn't help and if you are prone to freaking out, then you'll learn that you spend most of your time in that state.  I've even come to accept, if not particularly like, the extremely high expectations the fans here place on the major sports teams.  I'll still turn off the sports talk radio station I listen to as soon as they let callers on because they're usually negative.  About something.  About anything.  (And, sadly, there's been enough to be sad about the last couple of years.)  But, that aside, I have even found myself falling into the what-have-you-done-for-me-lately mindset every so often.

Yes indeedy, I have often congratulated myself on how well I had assimilated to life in the City of Bridges.  And, if I'm being totally honest with myself, maybe that was part of what hurt so much about someone complaining about me - or strictly speaking, my dog - because didn't they believe I was one of them?  But, of course, I wasn't.  Not totally.

Now I am.  Sometimes - often actually - I don't think it's fair.  On a beautiful summer day, I would like Ripley to be able to go outside and enjoy the weather because I can't.  Somebody in the house should enjoy a mid-summer day in the mid-70's.  But now she has to hang out with me all day.  She's clearly bored.  She ate a flip flop a couple of days ago.  She never bothered shoes, even as a puppy.  And she's now horrible on walks - all that pent up energy just comes bounding out.  But, we're like all the other dog owners on the street.  The dogs don't go outside for more than controlled periods of time.

The question would be as I headed in for my second court appearance:  was it enough?  It was.  No other complaints had been received, so the case was closed and my bond will be returned.  The caveat is if another complaint is received there's not much I'll be able to do about it other than write a very large check.  And any hope my neighbor and I ever had of being civil toward one another is now irrevocably gone.  To her I would imagine I'm just the crazy animal lover (I feed anything and everything, which means they constantly have birds crapping all over their stuff on their way to my house).  And to me, she's the rude woman who would rather traumatize me and have her friends threaten me rather than just talk to me.  But at least I'm a little bit closer to totally being a Pittsburgher.  Right?