I found Ms. Wonder in the kitchen preparing for her trip to Shallotte. I thought it the perfect time to tell her the exciting news about Wilmington. If you're a newbie to this blog then I should probably explain that Wonder and I recently moved to Wilmington, North Carolina, from our home in Durham. I've had a little trouble adjusting but that's all about to change.
"Wilmington isn't Charleston," I said just to get things going.
"Wilmington isn't a lot of things," she said. And I remember thinking that she was right, of course, but what of it? Got right over my head but that's true of many things she says. Not surprising really. She knows just about everything due to having one of those Italian-designed brains and I have the rollback-special from Walmart.
"What?" I said.
"Exactly," she said.
You may think it odd that we have this type of conversation but you wouldn't think so if you lived with us for a pandemic week. You see my way of escaping the Groundhog-Day sameness of one day after another is by binge-watching Netflix until I fall asleep on the sofa. My current addiction is "AJ and the Queen". I recommend it highly. However, indulging in the video drug until overdose doesn't result in an alert, clear-headed morning.
But, I've jumped the rails again. Let's get back to the comparison of Wilmington with Charleston. Before the pandemic, we had plans to move to the fair city in sister state to the south--oh for God's sake, Charleston! But due to this and that, we moved to Wilmington instead.
"Do you remember," I said to Ms. Wonder, "that when we told people we were moving to Wilmington, they would say, "Why? Wilmington is nothing like Charleston."
"I remember," she said.
"Well, they might be surprised to learn just how much the two cities have in common."
"Both of them being colonial port cities," she said. "And sharing a lot of history with the golden age of piracy--especially Black Beard.
"Was there a golden age of piracy?"
"Both cities also figured heavily in the 19th-century turmoil that southern dames referred to as, "the recent unpleasantness between the states."
"Is dames an appropriate choice of words?" I said.
Not dames as in "there is nothing like a dame" from South Pacific. I use the term as in a woman descended from a noteworthy ancestor.
I held up a hand to indicate that this runaway tangent must stop because I had something important to say and I didn't want it to be brushed aside.
"Districts," I said to get right to the point.
"What about them?" she said.
"Wilmington has them," I said. And knowing that I had to move quickly if I was to remain recognized and keep the floor, I continued. "Just as any city worth the air it breathes has defined, recognized districts--like Charleson, New Orleans, and San Francisco; Wilmington has some really cool districts that I plan to explore and write about."
"Like what?" she said.
"Well, like the newest district, which is called the Lollipop District."
"I think you mean the Soda Pop District," she said.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," she said. "It's named for the old Coca-Cola bottling plant that used to operate there."
"We visited the Coca-Cola plant in Chattanooga when I was in third grade," I said.
"Fascinating," she said. "I can't wait to hear about it when I get back from Shallotte," she said. "I'll bet you hold be spellbound."
And with that, she breezed out the door like a pirate ship under full sail leaving me in the kitchen with a cup of cold coffee and three cats. We have these conversations frequently. I blame binge-watching Netflix.