Movin' on up!

I took a picture recently, looking down at my slippered feet standing on the caramel-colored hardwood floors of my Cheviot home. A soft light glows from the kitchen in the background.

Of all the dozens of photos I have taken in the last few weeks to preserve my memories of Cincinnati before we move, it’s my favorite. That picture represents every bit of comfort I feel here for this city, my home of nearly seven years.

Patrick and I got new jobs in Michigan, and we’re moving soon.

It’s funny now to think that I steadfastly did not want to move here and never thought I’d feel like this was home. We were living outside lovely, lake-lined Chicago in 2000, when Pmurph was interested in a job at the Cincinnati Enquirer. My response was something like, “Ohio? Ugh. Ohio is boring and flat.” Boy, was I wrong. The moment we drove to Cincinnati and I saw the rolling hills and winding river, I was hooked.

Is Cincinnati perfect? Ha. Being a reporter, I know too much about the politics and the problems to say that. (And I simply do not understand why there is no lengthy bike trail along the river.) But there is so much to appreciate.

For starters, what will I do without the Cincinnati Art Museum? I have been awed by exhibits like Cat Chow’s clothing display, and I have loved my 10 percent members discount at the light-filled museum café. I have enjoyed jazzy “picnics in the park” and partied there for the museum’s birthday. And thank goodness the recipe for the spicy and spectacular tomato bisque was printed in a recent members magazine, or I really might not be able to move.

I will miss Covington and the super cozy Greenup Café. If you haven’t been there to try the quiche with salmon, you’re missing out. I used to love walking around the tree-lined Licking Riverside Historic district, and I fondly remember the pottery and stained glass classes I took at the Baker Hunt Foundation, an absolute gem for art and dance lessons that is tucked away on Madison Ave. And I already can’t believe I won’t be here for the new Pho Paris

I also will miss the opportunity to drop in to hear the brilliant, inspiring sermons of pastor Sharon at the Unitarian church or be wowed by the energy, selflessness and collective brainpower of that feisty parish.

Then there’s Newport, drawing diverse blends of culture from the uber-cool Southgate House to the absolutely quirky York Street Cafe. (Oh, York Street, how I’ll miss your escargots.) And some of my favorite memories include eating tacos and Jarritos at La Mexicana on Monmouth or drinking hot chocolates at the Levee’s Barnes & Noble, while I pour over cooking magazines in the shadow of the blazing city lights across the river.

I’m sure I’ll long for the scenic drive along Columbia Parkway on my way to a play at the New Edgecliff Theater in Columbia Tusculum or appetizers and dirty martinis at nearby Bella Luna. I can’t believe I won’t be eating again at Honey or Slims in Northside or stopping by the French-inspired shops in Montgomery or eating pancakes at the Echo diner in Hyde Park or picking the perfect cheese at Findlay Market in Over-the-Rhine or sipping wine at the Quarter Bistro in Mariemont.

And I cannot neglect to mention the underrated West Side, where we bought our first home – a character-filled early 20th gem with pocket doors and hardwood floors. (You have to love West Side prices for East-Side caliber homes. Check out 3739 Herbert, if you’re interested. It’s a steal.) Our kitchen reminds me of all the meals my husband and I shared at our first dining room table. Our deck reminds me of all the grilling while friends laughed and drank wine. The backyard reminds me where Phoebe romped for three years and where the cats loved to try to sneak out to munch on grass. I learned to garden here. I learned to love the feel of dirt on my hands here. I learned to love the smell of fresh paint and hold a hammer in my hands here.

Cincinnati, you have inspired me with your devotion to the arts, satiated me with your diverse restaurants, frustrated me with your bickering politics and segregation, challenged me with plentiful opportunities to try dance and cooking lessons, wowed me with your historic architecture and rich history, introduced me to some of my best friends and made me sad to go.

I am moving home to Detroit to make new memories there, but know this:

I only hope it doesn’t take the prospect of leaving for others to appreciate what you have to offer and embrace your potential to be even greater. You are a Queen City to me.