Thinking about the passing of Jurg Steiner a month or so back, my mind turned naturally back to Glen Heights in the seventies. It seems to me that the single most important decision in my life was made by my parents back in '71 when they bought a house and moved us there. Most of my best friends on the planet all come from there (and I am going to kick one of their asses on the tennis court tomorrow), and I also have their parents and siblings and even their offspring who still seem like extended members of my family. Not only that, most of them still live relatively nearby, which is pretty amazing.
Actually, this came to mind not because I was thinking about Jurg, but because I was texting with my mom about going for a walk with my mom and Natalie a little later in the woods at Carolina North, which -- as I have written before -- were just known as "the woods" when we were growing up, and occupied a mythical status in my psyche when I was young. Now they are overrun by everyone, his brother, and their mountain bikes. On the one hand it makes them a place of much less mystery and allure. On the other, it protects them from all being turned into subdivisions, so I'll take the good with the bad.
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