Living in Montrose

After having spent a month living in New York City a few summers ago, I begin daydreaming about living in an area where people could mostly walk instead of driving. When you are able to walk in a neighborhood, you begin to savor its nuances--in New York I loved seeing people out on the streets, having dinner, bringing home groceries, shopping for towels, or stopping to buy falafel or a bottle of water from street vendors. And venturing into the subways, I might be enthralled by a Mennonite choir or a man playing the saw.


Two years ago, when I moved to Montrose, I was delighted because this is the closest I can get in Houston to the New York experience. My new house is within walking distance of several charming restaurants as well as the River Oaks and Angelika theaters and the Museum of Fine Arts. I am ten minutes away from the Alley Theater and the Hobby Center by car as well, so I don't dread a long drive home from the theater at night. I love to walk to Sunday brunch or to dinner in the evening, passing people on the street or stopping to chat with an old man sitting outside his apartment doing a crossword puzzle.

What I have been surprised by in Montrose, as well, is the sweetness and congeniality of the people who live and work in the area. Even post office employees are pleasant and kind, lacking the oppressed feeling they sometimes manifested in the old post offices I knew. I don't know exactly what it is--perhaps the sense of old-style neighborhood quiet and serenity. You do have to drive several blocks before you get into the nerve-wracking traffic at Shepherd and Westheimer.

The other explanation may be the variety of people and places here--on my way home I drive by car repair shops, a great coffee place, a Puerto Rican cafe, a Tee shirt maker, antique dealers, a sports bar, my favorite little restaurant for a quick bite, Barnaby's, townhouses next to small houses and apartment buildings with enchanting little courtyards--all on the streets before my final turn.

Everyone seems to thrive on the variety in the neighborhood rather than suffer from it. My neighbors, for instance, leave out aluminum cans for a homeless man who pushes a shopping cart around the area. He says a pleasant hello everytime I see him--and even--I think--went through the stuff in my garage when I accidentally forgot to close the garage door recently (Not a good idea, but no harm done this time!).

I have noticed a couple of parking lots a couple of blocks from my house and was wondering who uses them. Finally driving home later than usual from downtown recently, I found two quiet little places with barely visible names turn into hip, trendy spots for twenty year olds after ten p.m. or so--that's who parks there. Who knew that sort of night life was going on in my quiet neighborhood?

Living in an age where most of us are surrounded only by people like us, I am delighted to reside in a place where diversities of age, work, and styles of life are not just accepted, but embraced.