I continue to be amazed at what they've built into my car. A few days ago, it informed me that it was due for service. Since I'm in Chicago, this seemed like a good time to get it taken care of before another jaunt. Yesterday I dropped it off and headed back to the house in a cab. At which point, I got a call ID-ed as Dealership. Thinking of the dealership I'd just left and muttering because I assumed it meant I'd forgotten something there, I took the call. Well, it was from my local dealership back on Long Island.
I learned that someone had found my keys back on the Natchez Trace in Mississippi and gotten them to a dealership there. Since, of course, the key is chipped the local folks knew where they belonged and got the keys back to my local group. The Oyster Bay folks were calling me to ask how I wanted the keys returned. After explaining the story, I asked the gentleman if he could just send the keys to my new mailing address. He told me he lived in Glen Cove and would personally drop them off where my mail is being held and forwarded.
When I hung up from the call, I couldn't resist commenting on it to the cab driver. He listened to the story and said he was glad I had told him because a friend had found some car keys and didn't know how to go about getting them back to the owner. Now he would tell him to return the keys to the dealership. Paying it forward.
So now my keys are wending their way back to me and all is well on the adventures. Now if I could just make a decision on where to go next.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Houses, Houses, Houses
Having completed the Natchez Trace, I continued on to Natchez, Mississippi. Somehow it seemed inevitable. Another old town full of old houses. Not plantation houses. These were the estates or, I would say, the town houses. Built by the planters to show how much money they had. Back before the Civil War, at one point the majority of the millionaires in the United States were in Natchez. So they had a lot to show off. And they surely did. Big, graceful houses. Spacious to catch the breezes off the Mississippi on all those 90+ days. With details from all over the world. And I never knew there were so many things you could put gold leaf on.
Maybe it has something to do with having recently sold a 200 year old farmhouse, but I love these old houses. They have so many stories and they speak a language I understand.
Then from one sort of house to another. I had passed through Asheville, North Carolina on my way to Savannah. This time I came back to see Vanderbilt's Biltmore house. It is unbelievable. Even though not all of the original 250,000 acres are still there, it's still three miles from the gatehouse to the main house. I swear I've seen smaller castles in Europe. It is hard to imagine that a house that is measured in acres could look and feel like a home, but somehow this one manages. The walls drip with Sargent portraits (he commissioned Sargent, one of my all time favorite painters BTW, to do portraits, not of the family, but of the architect for the house and of Olmstead who did the gardens and as much of the rest of the property as he could get to in his lifetime) and then there is a wall of Durer prints, including the inaccurate rhinoceros. I thought I had some acquaintance with the Vanderbilt style after seeing the house in Long Island, the one in Hyde Park and The Breakers in Newport, but I had no idea. The house parties here would leave Downton Abbey in the dust. And somehow, through it all, you do see real people and a family, which is perhaps the most amazing thing of all.
Maybe it has something to do with having recently sold a 200 year old farmhouse, but I love these old houses. They have so many stories and they speak a language I understand.
Then from one sort of house to another. I had passed through Asheville, North Carolina on my way to Savannah. This time I came back to see Vanderbilt's Biltmore house. It is unbelievable. Even though not all of the original 250,000 acres are still there, it's still three miles from the gatehouse to the main house. I swear I've seen smaller castles in Europe. It is hard to imagine that a house that is measured in acres could look and feel like a home, but somehow this one manages. The walls drip with Sargent portraits (he commissioned Sargent, one of my all time favorite painters BTW, to do portraits, not of the family, but of the architect for the house and of Olmstead who did the gardens and as much of the rest of the property as he could get to in his lifetime) and then there is a wall of Durer prints, including the inaccurate rhinoceros. I thought I had some acquaintance with the Vanderbilt style after seeing the house in Long Island, the one in Hyde Park and The Breakers in Newport, but I had no idea. The house parties here would leave Downton Abbey in the dust. And somehow, through it all, you do see real people and a family, which is perhaps the most amazing thing of all.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Technology and the Trace
For the last couple of days I've been exploring the Natchez Trace. It's a wonderful, do-it-yourself kind of place. You drive the Natchez Trace Parkway, stopping at whatever turnout or historic site or nature trail looks interesting, doing as much or as little as you like.
At one point I stopped at a spot where you can walk on the old trace. It's sunken quite a bit below the ground level but it's maintained by the National Park Service. I thought it would be neat to walk a short ways on the original trace so I set out after carefully locking the car (this will become relevant later). I walked a bit and headed back to my car. Put my hand in my pocket and couldn't find my keys. Not that unusual. Probably in another pocket. After repeatedly checking every available pocket, I had to believe they had dropped out of my pocket somehow. So I started back over my short walk. An older gentleman and his daughter who were also checking out the trace saw what I was doing and promptly started to walk along with me checking the ground. Unfortunately my key ring had only the black key insert for a BMW and not much else. And the trace is just as you might expect -- wet and muddy in places, covered with leaves, twigs and everything that falls from trees and bushes. Not exactly easy to see anything, let alone a small black object a couple of inches long.
My new friends suggested calling AAA or my insurance and I envisioned hours at a turnoff on the Natchez Trace waiting for someone to find the right place and then probably tell me that they couldn't deal with it on the spot. But the suggestion did spark my memory of those commercials for BMW Assist. Well, let me tell you, those commercials are true. I reached a human being on my cell phone quite quickly, convinced him that I was the owner of the car and about a minute later - as we all watched - the button popped up on the driver's door and I could get the spare set of keys in my purse. Hooray for cell phones and magic door openers.
At one point I stopped at a spot where you can walk on the old trace. It's sunken quite a bit below the ground level but it's maintained by the National Park Service. I thought it would be neat to walk a short ways on the original trace so I set out after carefully locking the car (this will become relevant later). I walked a bit and headed back to my car. Put my hand in my pocket and couldn't find my keys. Not that unusual. Probably in another pocket. After repeatedly checking every available pocket, I had to believe they had dropped out of my pocket somehow. So I started back over my short walk. An older gentleman and his daughter who were also checking out the trace saw what I was doing and promptly started to walk along with me checking the ground. Unfortunately my key ring had only the black key insert for a BMW and not much else. And the trace is just as you might expect -- wet and muddy in places, covered with leaves, twigs and everything that falls from trees and bushes. Not exactly easy to see anything, let alone a small black object a couple of inches long.
My new friends suggested calling AAA or my insurance and I envisioned hours at a turnoff on the Natchez Trace waiting for someone to find the right place and then probably tell me that they couldn't deal with it on the spot. But the suggestion did spark my memory of those commercials for BMW Assist. Well, let me tell you, those commercials are true. I reached a human being on my cell phone quite quickly, convinced him that I was the owner of the car and about a minute later - as we all watched - the button popped up on the driver's door and I could get the spare set of keys in my purse. Hooray for cell phones and magic door openers.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Rediscoveries
You would think that with no appointments and no one but me to set my "schedule" I could get my time organized and keep my postings up to date. When I figure out why that isn't so, I'll let you know.
You would also think that after a month in Savannah I would have definitely rediscovered the South. And in fact I did do a bunch of that. Paula Dean's fried chicken helped a lot. As did the softer attitude and voices and the patience of drivers and the helpfulness of everyone. But I've added a few things to my rediscovery.
First there were the Civil War battlefields at Chattanooga and Chickamauga. I remembered visiting Lookout Mountain but I had forgotten or never known that it too was a battlefield. I'm not enough of an historian to appreciate the nuances of troop movements and the old firearms. What got through to me was the waste of life and young life especially. I don't remember the statistics but the overall feel of the story is so sad. I wish we could learn that very, very few things are worth dying for. There are beautiful stories also, of course, of the times when each side showed respect for the gallantry of others but it just does not balance at all.
The next discovery was much more upbeat. I revisited Memphis, a place where I used to visit family every summer when I was a kid. Most of the time it was just me and my mom because my dad couldn't leave his business and I remember those long, long Greyhound bus rides. But then there would be the arrival and hugs, hugs, hugs. My cousins (the relation is more complicated but we just said cousins because it was easier and after all there are so many kinds of cousins in the South) who were close to me in age and the visits to relatives in Mississippi who lived on farms. Sleeping on pallets of quilts and talking long, long into the night with all the younger relations or listening to the stories the adults were telling out on the porch. Well, the family part is no longer around, but Memphis is still here. Looks like it's struggling with the hard economic times but it is struggling and that's a good sign. There's still the Peabody, where my oldest sister once worked as a hostess for the dining room, and the ducks are still there coming out of the elevator and hurrying down their red carpet to the fountain. What a life. Too bad the dining room was closed but good that Beale Street is right there to provide. Blues City Cafe. I took a bite of the ribs and they tasted like home. Who knew I'd been missing the taste of Memphis all these years.
Next morning I visited the Metals Museum. Completely forgetting that a combination of daylight savings time and a new time zone had completely thrown off the time on my watch, I arrived before the museum opened. Still completely unaware of the correct time, I saw the gate opening and thought how well timed my visit was. Well, the gate closed after me and I realized someone had opened it to get in or out. A few questions and I realized my goof but the folks were so nice they let me stay anyway. I wandered through the sculpture garden, took pictures of the fantasy of metal flowers and of the barges on the Mississippi. Chatted with the guys in the smithy about ironwork (what I call it), which is actually steel and wished I could commission them to do a chandelier or a set of andirons for me. I wish I could figure out how to upload some of the pictures to the blog, but I'm going to post some on facebook in any event.
I'm now in Mississippi exploring the Natchez Trace. Did you know that buffalo actually helped form the Trace? Once upon a time, they did live in this area and were one of the animals who began this trail. I sure didn't know that before. National Park Rangers are very informative.
You would also think that after a month in Savannah I would have definitely rediscovered the South. And in fact I did do a bunch of that. Paula Dean's fried chicken helped a lot. As did the softer attitude and voices and the patience of drivers and the helpfulness of everyone. But I've added a few things to my rediscovery.
First there were the Civil War battlefields at Chattanooga and Chickamauga. I remembered visiting Lookout Mountain but I had forgotten or never known that it too was a battlefield. I'm not enough of an historian to appreciate the nuances of troop movements and the old firearms. What got through to me was the waste of life and young life especially. I don't remember the statistics but the overall feel of the story is so sad. I wish we could learn that very, very few things are worth dying for. There are beautiful stories also, of course, of the times when each side showed respect for the gallantry of others but it just does not balance at all.
The next discovery was much more upbeat. I revisited Memphis, a place where I used to visit family every summer when I was a kid. Most of the time it was just me and my mom because my dad couldn't leave his business and I remember those long, long Greyhound bus rides. But then there would be the arrival and hugs, hugs, hugs. My cousins (the relation is more complicated but we just said cousins because it was easier and after all there are so many kinds of cousins in the South) who were close to me in age and the visits to relatives in Mississippi who lived on farms. Sleeping on pallets of quilts and talking long, long into the night with all the younger relations or listening to the stories the adults were telling out on the porch. Well, the family part is no longer around, but Memphis is still here. Looks like it's struggling with the hard economic times but it is struggling and that's a good sign. There's still the Peabody, where my oldest sister once worked as a hostess for the dining room, and the ducks are still there coming out of the elevator and hurrying down their red carpet to the fountain. What a life. Too bad the dining room was closed but good that Beale Street is right there to provide. Blues City Cafe. I took a bite of the ribs and they tasted like home. Who knew I'd been missing the taste of Memphis all these years.
Next morning I visited the Metals Museum. Completely forgetting that a combination of daylight savings time and a new time zone had completely thrown off the time on my watch, I arrived before the museum opened. Still completely unaware of the correct time, I saw the gate opening and thought how well timed my visit was. Well, the gate closed after me and I realized someone had opened it to get in or out. A few questions and I realized my goof but the folks were so nice they let me stay anyway. I wandered through the sculpture garden, took pictures of the fantasy of metal flowers and of the barges on the Mississippi. Chatted with the guys in the smithy about ironwork (what I call it), which is actually steel and wished I could commission them to do a chandelier or a set of andirons for me. I wish I could figure out how to upload some of the pictures to the blog, but I'm going to post some on facebook in any event.
I'm now in Mississippi exploring the Natchez Trace. Did you know that buffalo actually helped form the Trace? Once upon a time, they did live in this area and were one of the animals who began this trail. I sure didn't know that before. National Park Rangers are very informative.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Further Moving On aka Improv
I have said way too many times that I believe that improv theater is the best training for life and its events. I may not have done improv but I am now getting into the spirit.
Plans change, as they say. I am not headed for Chicago. Judy is headed back to Michigan but I have freed up my schedule and am now faced with the question of what to do and where to go. Opting to stay in the South and away from snowstorms and all that cold, I am now in Alabama. I was going to Memphis for the weekend but found that reservations were hard to come by so I am detouring up to Chattanooga and the ChooChoo and then on to Memphis where I hope to see the ducks in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel. Memphis is a place I used to visit a lot in the summers when I was kid and the Peabody has a couple of places in family history so I am looking forward to seeing it. Not sure about Graceland although as an Elvis fan, I may be obliged to visit. And of course there's the barbecue.
Meantime, I will take a look at the Smokies and some memories of that locale as well. Just taking it slow and easy and making up my mind as I go along.
Plans change, as they say. I am not headed for Chicago. Judy is headed back to Michigan but I have freed up my schedule and am now faced with the question of what to do and where to go. Opting to stay in the South and away from snowstorms and all that cold, I am now in Alabama. I was going to Memphis for the weekend but found that reservations were hard to come by so I am detouring up to Chattanooga and the ChooChoo and then on to Memphis where I hope to see the ducks in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel. Memphis is a place I used to visit a lot in the summers when I was kid and the Peabody has a couple of places in family history so I am looking forward to seeing it. Not sure about Graceland although as an Elvis fan, I may be obliged to visit. And of course there's the barbecue.
Meantime, I will take a look at the Smokies and some memories of that locale as well. Just taking it slow and easy and making up my mind as I go along.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Moving On
I will be moving on from Savannah tomorrow. Fortunately, my friend, Judy, will be accompanying me for the next couple of days, but then our ways separate as she heads back to Michigan and I go on to Chicago. A few days there and then I hope to heading Southwestward.
Of course, Judy and I will be dining at The Pink House tonight for one more Georgia splurge. And ice cream at Leopold's, of course.
Of course, Judy and I will be dining at The Pink House tonight for one more Georgia splurge. And ice cream at Leopold's, of course.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Visitors
My first visitors were Kit and Nate and Fiona, but you've already read about our adventures at Tybee Island. They were followed by my friend, Betty, a historian who was in Savannah for a conference. Thanks to her history connections, I was able to join a visit to Wormsloe Plantation. Wormsloe has been in the same family for nine generations. It is now a historic site that is home to an amazing amount of research. The studies range from boxes full of papers documenting the work and events on the plantation back to the days of Ogelthorpe to a plant which is essential to an endangered butterfly and, of course, the butterflies. Not to mention the care of the mile and a half avenue of live oaks and Spanish moss. It was so heartening to see someone so excited about her work as the lady who is in charge of this site is. As a result of the work of this one lady, there are now more and more scholars engaged in more and different areas of study in this location. Talk about jobs creation. Who needs corporations?
As if that weren't enough, Betty and I went on to a presentation on heirloom grains from the Low Country. Once again, it was great to hear the excitement and the commitment of the people engaged in this work. But I have to admit that the best part was getting to taste the grains they had brought back to life -- White Flint corn and Carolina Gold rice and Hopping John with a new variety of pea beans that goes back to the settlers. Seconds were offered and gladly accepted. It's amazing that local and unaltered foods can really taste so different and so wonderful compared to what is usually available. Keep on working, plant historians. I'm ready for more.
As if that weren't enough, Betty and I went on to a presentation on heirloom grains from the Low Country. Once again, it was great to hear the excitement and the commitment of the people engaged in this work. But I have to admit that the best part was getting to taste the grains they had brought back to life -- White Flint corn and Carolina Gold rice and Hopping John with a new variety of pea beans that goes back to the settlers. Seconds were offered and gladly accepted. It's amazing that local and unaltered foods can really taste so different and so wonderful compared to what is usually available. Keep on working, plant historians. I'm ready for more.
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