A Room with a View

The Final Lake Burton Rumination

I had the downstairs to myself last weekend. My bedroom opened up to the screened porch, so I kept the door open all weekend. I woke up in the middle of each night to sit on that darkened porch … enjoy the alive solitude of 3 a.m. … stare at the still lake, the black sky baubled with millions stars … hum along with the cricket serenade … leave my worries and thoughts and stresses farther behind with every rock of the chair.

From the porch, at dusk

When (and notice I didn't write “if”) that house becomes mine, I plan to knock down walls and make the lake-facing side all windows. Without window treatments. Just the sky and lake and trees for curtains.

Captain brother-in-law, with sister’s beloved beagle

Brother at the helm

I love living life by boat — getting up in the early morn and zipping to the marina for the morning paper (and a fabulous boho skirt), taking two or three rides every day, cruising in the evening with a glass of wine and gentle breeze.

Georgia trivia: There are no natural lakes in the state; they’re all man-made (man-dug?). ‘Tis true; my mama told me so. Lake Burton is owned by Georgia Power.

A bank of kudzu

One downside about the most beautiful spot in Georgia is it’s where the very moneyed have their weekend homes, pricing paupers such as I out of the market. Folks are building McMansions up there — seven bed/ten bath behemoths (or, as I call these houses, behomeths) that are priced around six million. Yes, I mean dollars.

Here are some houses snapped from the boat.

I could be very happy here

Not quite what I’d call a lake house

This could be yours — for $6 million (and your soul)

Lake Burton is glorious. It needs me as much as I need it. I’m gonna suck up bigtime to the brother-in-law so that he’ll invite me up every three weeks. And introduce me to his widowed dad.

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Hey, Kids, Shake a Leg

The Drive to Lake Burton

In the beach vs. mountain question, I’ve always picked mountains. I love the north Georgia mountains — the peace in the green, the silence in chirping crickets and singing birds. It’s the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, so everything is green and blue and leafy. My soul relaxes as soon as I spot the first mountain.

The drive to Lake Burton is just under two hours from my place. Last Saturday’s drive was wonderful. The sunroof and windows were down … our local station was in the middle of a Smells Like the ‘90s weekend, so the music was great … the weather was glorious, a bit overcast, but humidity-free. I zoomed and sang and danced in the driver’s seat all the way to the driveway.


The Sautee-Nacoochee Indian Mound has always been a favorite spot on my mountain tours. Legend has it that it’s the resting place of two tragic young lovers from warring Cherokee and Chickasaw tribes. Sometimes called the Romeo and Juliet Indian Mound, it was built by mound builders in 10,000 B.C.

There are many Indian mounds around the state. If you ever make it to Georgia, I recommend an afternoon trip to the Etowah Indian Mounds, about 45 minutes north of Atlanta. Very cool place.

And here’s the Lake Burton house. Beautiful, isn’t it? On the outside, anyway. Inside, it’s a museum for 1974 décor.

Can’t you see me writing great stories and novels here? Dancing to and singing along with R.E.M. from one end of the porch to the other? Just look at that porch, that view. You know how I love porches (I'm on my porch as I'm writing this, in fact).



And the level below has a screened porch running the length of the house. The home is owned by my brother-in-law’s father. Widowed father. I’m seriously considering roping him into marrying me so that I can get that house. Do you blame me?

Tomorrow: Photos from around the lake.

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A Grand Time Was Had by All (Well, Me)

Another Monday nearly done. I can finally exhale and relax … and remember my weekend that just ended. It was a typical weekend, and a great one at that.

Friday

Friday is my night. Time to slug, to veg, to fade away. I tend to cocktail a lot on Thursday, so Friday gives me a chance to recharge for the rest of the weekend and decompress after five days at the office. A perfect Friday night has yoga pants and R.E.M. T-shirt, take-home Thai and a good bottle of wine, a guilty pleasure movie and the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly. I don’t want to expend any energy beyond pulling the cork out of the bottle or flirting on the phone. You may be able to lure me out with the promise of cocktails and a cute guy clutching a microphone, but I’d rather share the sofa with my cats.

This past Friday night was perfect. An early Mexican dinner with a couple of magaritas, followed by my yoga-panted self drinking wine and watching Bridget Jones’s Diary. Twice. The 9 p.m. and the 11 p.m. broadcasts. (A call from a cute and tipsy boy at 9:03 made me miss Hugh Grant’s entrance, so I had to watch it all the way through a second time.) I know the dialog and facial expressions by heart, and can tell you to the minute when the elevator doors open on Hugh Grant and “Respect,” or when Colin Firth gives Bridget that look at her birthday dinner as “Dreamsome” plays in the background. I never tire of Bridget Jones’s Diary. It’s like watching a documentary of My Life as a Single Girl. And, well, it has Colin Firth and Hugh Grant.

Saturday

It was too darn hot for a delicate Southern flower such as myself to go outside (we mustn’t glisten around the menfolks, you know), so the canine nephew and I spent the morning watching a fun movie — Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Rent it today, and thank me tomorrow. Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer are excellent in it. Added bonus: Robert Downey Jr. sings the song over the closing credits; downloaded it yesterday and like it.

My friend Jennifer, whom I’ve known since high school, came over Saturday night. She recently went to her class reunion (she was a year ahead of me), so we drank wine (well, I did; she’s a much stronger soul than I), studied each Flickr reunion photo (Jimmy Knight is still very cute and very tall, and his gold band is very wide), listened to the Retroactive channel, and talked and talked and talked and talked. Jennifer’s a very cool woman, and I should see her more often.

Jennifer and I were on the newspaper staff in high school. I was the first sophomore to make the staff, which was a big deal since we had the best paper in the state. I thought I was selected because I was one helluva writer with raw talent waiting to be tamed. But Jennifer and I soon found out we made it because we had short, dark hair … and the photography editor had a thing for cute girls with short, dark hair. But I learned how to write and today support myself as a writer, thanks to everything I learned during my three years on The Panther Tracks.

Speaking of Jennifer, her son is in an up-and-coming Athens band. Check out Thunder Chizzle; go see them if you’re in the Athens area.

Sunday

A good Southern Baptist, I helped my mom fill in as teacher for the fifth grade Sunday school class. The kids were a lot of fun, and we got to arts-and-crafts it.

After we completed our Christian duty, we raced up to Lake Burton [for you non-Georgians, it’s a lake in the north Georgia mountains, one of the prettiest spots in the state]. My brother-in-law’s dad owns a home on the lake, and sister and hubby were spending a long weekend there. We had a fried chicken lunch on the porch, then the brother-in-law took me on a fast, fun boat ride. I’m considering pursuing the dad so that I can marry into that house.


And that was my weekend. I need to figure out how to live on five-day weekends and two-day work weeks.