Wolfpeople: The Pits (Not)

I love heading west on 64. West is my favorite direction, and 64 is my favorite high way. The road we live on empties out onto 64. It is the high way we drove to the birth center, where we listened to our baby's heart beat when he still resided in my belly and where, eventually, I birthed him. It is the route we take to Asheville, my favorite city, where, before baby, Wolfman and I took mini honeymoons, holding hands in the shade of rolling mountains. And it is 64 West, just past Lake Jordan, where Pittsboro is nestled, our destination this past weekend (well, Monday--our weekends are Sunday and Monday).

I'd been wanting to visit Pittsboro for a while, but somehow it never happened. And then, last month, Wolfman ate lunch out there with his friend Crist. The whole thing reminded me, not without humor, of my grandma complaining my grandpa never takes her places but would travel great distances to golf or fish with buddies. After his Pittsboro daytrip with a friend, Wolfman had no excuse not to take me.

Crist accompanied us on our trip, knowing Pittsboro and its people. He took us to Angelina's Kitchen, a farm-to-table Greek restaurant patronized at that particular lunch hour by farmers--bearded men, mostly older, who greeted each other jovially and smiled indulgently at Mads. Next, we walked to The Phoenix Bakery, where owner Jodi (and pal of Crist's), in talking about parenthood, opened the door to The One-and-Done Club for me. I'd never heard One-and-Done Club, but I am so a member--Mads is my one and only baby, my one and done. Wolfman and I brought home three macaroons, a brownie with the heft of a brick, and a vanilla buttercream cupcake (I was torn between the cupcake and a coconut cream donut, but ultimately, I cannot resist buttercream). The macaroons and half the brownie lasted until breakfast the next morning. (The grown-up way to eat dessert for breakfast is with black coffee.)

We visited a couple other shops on Hillsboro Street while Mads slept in his stroller. I admired a pair of studded $700 cowboy boots and paintings of fish (I've really been into paintings of fish lately, more than any other animal). Wolfman bought me a couple photographer's greeting cards. Altogether, we were only in Pittsboro for a few short hours. It was cold and wet, and the shops and sidewalks all felt too narrow for my stroller, which seems to get more cumbersome the longer I use it. On Mondays most of the shops are closed as well, but Crist pointed out the businesses he found particularly interesting for our future visits. As we drove back out to the high way, I pointed out the tree that greeted me when we entered Pittsboro, which the menfolk had somehow missed, a tree with a cowboy silhouette leaning against in on one side and teddy bears stapled to the other, as if climbing.