Hungry Times Two

Scott and I are so many things right now.  Jobless. Unemployed. "Between Jobs," which is one of my least favorite terms, as I imagine us physically bookended by work.  We prefer the term our financial advisor shared with us - the "Intentional Sabbatical" - when we told her we'd both gone and resigned from our jobs in Oregon and planned to move back to North Carolina. We thought she'd "Tsk" us into shame, but she was actually supportive of our need to stop the needle on the record of life and make some drastic changes.  While we're not in a terrible situation financially, we're trying to watch the spending, and though I avoid a spreadsheet like most steer clear of the plague, I know one of our biggest spending categories is food. Like, duh. Have you seen Scott eat? Do you know the damage I can do in a cheese shop?  I won't pretend that I fully know what I'm doing, but I have made some adjustments to our meal expenses

West Asheville has some big damn hills. I forgot about them after 15 years away, but my quads now remember. Yesterday I walked almost four miles round-trip to see my first West Asheville residence, on Hudson Street. In 2001 I split rent with two UNC-Asheville friends, paying less than $300 each per month for a three bedroom house. During my junior year of college, my dad came up to visit from Concord, NC one December day, bringing a Christmas tree and treating us all to a holiday lunch at Asiana Grand Buffet on Smokey Park Highway (now the Yao Buffet & Grill). He also may have gotten a U-Haul truck stuck in the front yard while backing into the very steep driveway. Hudson Street looks nothing like what I remember. Two-story McBungalows at the top of the street replaced the small cottage where a nice older man used to live, a man I once called 911 for when I saw him fall around the corner on State Street.  After Hudson Street, I rented my first solo place on Oakwood Street,