I had a lovely stopover in Beacon with Kit and Nate and Fiona. We visited or revisited local parks, tried some new restaurants and some old ones and mostly just hung out together and with local friends. At this point in my nomadic existence, I am amazed at the number of friends I have in Beacon thanks to Team Burke-Smith, especially Fiona, who is a great contact person. Walking Murphy, the three legged hound, is also a great way to get to know people.
And now I am back in Amagansett. That means unpacking a car that hasn't been fully unpacked for about six months. Winter clothes (I did leave in January), Spring clothes, which came in handy in South Carolina, supplies of Carolina Gold rice (a heritage food that I learned about last year in Savannah), two new needlepoint projects yet to be begun, supplies for a knitting project that's underway (a blanket sized for a growing young lady like Fiona) which will probably be finished in time for the next Polar Vortex, and a new hunt print (its easier than finding the ones in the storage space).
There are, of course, the usual chores like appliance repairs that got postponed from last summer and renewing membership at the local gym, and the inevitable dentist appointment. I guess I have to get serious sometime. Fortunately that still leaves a good deal of time for watching from the deck for deer and turkeys and the fox. The deer are no problem as the deer feed is particularly green this year. It's still early in the season so the neighbors are just beginning to come back, which leaves it nice and quiet for me and the wildlife.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Research
As I wind up my second annual babysitting assignment in Chicago, I'm thinking back on the three weeks I've spent and what I've learned. One of the things I have really wanted to see in Chicago is the sculpture known as the Bean. I've tried to see it a few times as I made my way around Chicago on various visits, but somehow I just could not locate it. Very frustrating. So my answer was that this time I did not want to leave Chicago without seeing the Bean. I was assured that it would be taken care of.
So one day Elly and Annie and I set out for the Bean. Annie was delighted to show me the way through the park and tell me all about how big the Bean is. And I loved it. It was fun, delightful, charming. I took pictures of the reflection of the skyline in it and my own version of a selfie, a picture of the Bean and if you look hard enough you will see a picture of me taking the picture reflected in the Bean. Sort of a Dotty version of Where's Waldo?
Then Annie told me that, while the Bean was nice, the really great place was the fountain next to it. She had a point. The fountain is not your ordinary fountain like Bethesda fountain in Central Park or Buckingham fountain here in Chicago. It consists basically of two large flat rectangles facing each other in a shallow pool type area. The rectangles are tall and very plain and water runs down them thinly. Look again and you will see faces are projected on the rectangles. They are faces of random people in Chicago; young, old, men, women, kids. And the expressions change as you watch. And if you watch long enough, you will see the lips purse and a stream of water spouts from that place into the "pool". Kids shriek happily and run into the stream of water, laughing and shouting and playing. Then the faces change and we wait for the new expressions and the moment when the spout erupts again. It is a hoot watching the fountains, the faces and the kids and grown ups enjoying the water on a Spring afternoon. I did enjoy finally finding the Bean but I'm really glad Annie shared her fountain with me.
I'm also remembering that when I arrived, Luke was reading The Lightening Thief, the first in the series about a modern day boy who discovers he is related to the Greek god Poseidon. The speed with which Luke devoured the book and demanded the next in the series was only a slight surprise. I simply remarked to Luke that he had definitely come to the right family. But then I found that Luke was not content to just read the book series. He also wanted to find out about these gods and goddesses who were either characters in the books or were mentioned in passing. That led to a copy of a kid's book of Greek and Roman myths. That in turn led to books from his school library on the Greek and Roman gods, rather than just stories. Not to mention discussions with Gran, who happens to think myths are fun stories to read and talk about. At some point we found ourselves in a discussion about the founding of Athens and the competition between Athena and Poseidon for naming rights. We agreed that Athena's gift of the olive tree won the day but we disagreed on what Poseidon's gift had been. Neither of us, of course, were willing to just let the discussion end there. Luke went for his books and I dived for my iPhone. I loved the fact that we seem to have a budding research scientist on our hands and even more that Luke turned out to be right.
It's been a fun few weeks.
So one day Elly and Annie and I set out for the Bean. Annie was delighted to show me the way through the park and tell me all about how big the Bean is. And I loved it. It was fun, delightful, charming. I took pictures of the reflection of the skyline in it and my own version of a selfie, a picture of the Bean and if you look hard enough you will see a picture of me taking the picture reflected in the Bean. Sort of a Dotty version of Where's Waldo?
Then Annie told me that, while the Bean was nice, the really great place was the fountain next to it. She had a point. The fountain is not your ordinary fountain like Bethesda fountain in Central Park or Buckingham fountain here in Chicago. It consists basically of two large flat rectangles facing each other in a shallow pool type area. The rectangles are tall and very plain and water runs down them thinly. Look again and you will see faces are projected on the rectangles. They are faces of random people in Chicago; young, old, men, women, kids. And the expressions change as you watch. And if you watch long enough, you will see the lips purse and a stream of water spouts from that place into the "pool". Kids shriek happily and run into the stream of water, laughing and shouting and playing. Then the faces change and we wait for the new expressions and the moment when the spout erupts again. It is a hoot watching the fountains, the faces and the kids and grown ups enjoying the water on a Spring afternoon. I did enjoy finally finding the Bean but I'm really glad Annie shared her fountain with me.
I'm also remembering that when I arrived, Luke was reading The Lightening Thief, the first in the series about a modern day boy who discovers he is related to the Greek god Poseidon. The speed with which Luke devoured the book and demanded the next in the series was only a slight surprise. I simply remarked to Luke that he had definitely come to the right family. But then I found that Luke was not content to just read the book series. He also wanted to find out about these gods and goddesses who were either characters in the books or were mentioned in passing. That led to a copy of a kid's book of Greek and Roman myths. That in turn led to books from his school library on the Greek and Roman gods, rather than just stories. Not to mention discussions with Gran, who happens to think myths are fun stories to read and talk about. At some point we found ourselves in a discussion about the founding of Athens and the competition between Athena and Poseidon for naming rights. We agreed that Athena's gift of the olive tree won the day but we disagreed on what Poseidon's gift had been. Neither of us, of course, were willing to just let the discussion end there. Luke went for his books and I dived for my iPhone. I loved the fact that we seem to have a budding research scientist on our hands and even more that Luke turned out to be right.
It's been a fun few weeks.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Roads
A few weeks ago I was driving down a back road on one of the islands near Beaufort. I was really enjoying it. The live oaks arching over the road. The calm green and soft gray colors. That marvelous tunnel effect. I was thinking that this was the perfect atmosphere to drive through and just to be in.
Then I remembered that almost exactly a year ago I was driving on roads in Oklahoma and Arizona and New Mexico and thinking much the same thing but with different detail. I was loving the openness of it. The fact that the horizon was a thing of the far distance. The beiges and golds and immense sky. The Sangre de Christos at the edge. The exhilarating, freeing feeling that you could indeed see forever.
How different. And how wonderful it is that two things so different could make me feel great in different ways.
But I wasn't expecting much when I set out to drive from Beaufort to Chicago. I was surprised. I don't have any idea who's doing the planting but someone has done a huge job. For so many miles along my way there were the whites of dogwoods in bloom and the purples of redbud trees. Every time I thought it was over, another clump showed up. At first I thought they were simply wild growth but there was too much of it and it was too orderly. Not organized or landscaped but just too consistent to be Nature I think. And much more than I was expecting from an Interstate.
So to whoever is responsible for this program, "Thank you." It's the best project I've seen since Christo's gates in Central Park. And it reminds me that roads in and of themselves are a great thing and I need to keep moving because there are so many new and different ones to find and explore.
Then I remembered that almost exactly a year ago I was driving on roads in Oklahoma and Arizona and New Mexico and thinking much the same thing but with different detail. I was loving the openness of it. The fact that the horizon was a thing of the far distance. The beiges and golds and immense sky. The Sangre de Christos at the edge. The exhilarating, freeing feeling that you could indeed see forever.
How different. And how wonderful it is that two things so different could make me feel great in different ways.
But I wasn't expecting much when I set out to drive from Beaufort to Chicago. I was surprised. I don't have any idea who's doing the planting but someone has done a huge job. For so many miles along my way there were the whites of dogwoods in bloom and the purples of redbud trees. Every time I thought it was over, another clump showed up. At first I thought they were simply wild growth but there was too much of it and it was too orderly. Not organized or landscaped but just too consistent to be Nature I think. And much more than I was expecting from an Interstate.
So to whoever is responsible for this program, "Thank you." It's the best project I've seen since Christo's gates in Central Park. And it reminds me that roads in and of themselves are a great thing and I need to keep moving because there are so many new and different ones to find and explore.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Fried Chicken Adventure
A couple of weeks ago, when Judy was here, we stopped at Gullah Grub. It's a very nice restaurant in an old white house at the crossroads in Frogmore. (I say "the crossroads" because I don't really think it's big enough for more than one.) While we were there, there was a DVD playing with the chef showing you how to cook several dishes, including fried chicken. Unfortunately, fried chicken wasn't on the menu. As we were leaving, Judy commented that they would either have to change the DVD or start offering fried chicken. The young man behind the counter, who turned out to be the chef's son, went to get something for us and came back saying that he had told his Dad about our comment and Dad had said if we would call a day in advance, he would see that there was fried chicken for us.
We didn't make it back while Judy was still visiting, but I decided I would do this research on my own. I called to ask if the offer was still open. It was. I explained that there would be only one for fried chicken and that if it was too much trouble for just one person, I would completely understand. No, they said. They remembered the conversation and would be willing to make fried chicken even if it were just for me.
That, of course, could not be resisted. Yesterday I drove out to Frogmore again and was welcomed hospitably. The fried chicken duly appeared, along with butter beans and collards, as requested. I had to make myself slow down so as not to gulp it all down in a rush. It was that good. The collard greens and butter beans were better than I believe I have ever had, except maybe back when I was a kid visiting relatives in the South. I even got an explanation of how they got the chicken so crisp but light. I doubt I'll ever be able to come close to replicating it, but I will certainly remember it. Not to mention the good folks who were so kind and obliging.
We didn't make it back while Judy was still visiting, but I decided I would do this research on my own. I called to ask if the offer was still open. It was. I explained that there would be only one for fried chicken and that if it was too much trouble for just one person, I would completely understand. No, they said. They remembered the conversation and would be willing to make fried chicken even if it were just for me.
That, of course, could not be resisted. Yesterday I drove out to Frogmore again and was welcomed hospitably. The fried chicken duly appeared, along with butter beans and collards, as requested. I had to make myself slow down so as not to gulp it all down in a rush. It was that good. The collard greens and butter beans were better than I believe I have ever had, except maybe back when I was a kid visiting relatives in the South. I even got an explanation of how they got the chicken so crisp but light. I doubt I'll ever be able to come close to replicating it, but I will certainly remember it. Not to mention the good folks who were so kind and obliging.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Labyrinth or The Way in is the Way Out.
I've always liked puzzles so it isn't particularly surprising that I've read a little about labyrinths. They seem to me to be a rather intriguing type of puzzle. They are not Theseus and the Minotaur type labyrinths, of course. They are a pattern laid out on the floor or the ground. In a sense there is no puzzle because it's all laid out in front of you. No secret to discover. Just the center.
Nevertheless, I was interested in the idea of the labyrinth being a tool, a means to examine things and perhaps know a little more at the end of the process. So when I was checking the internet for a local church for Holy Week, I was surprised that a local Lutheran church had a labyrinth and was inviting people to walk during Holy Week. The idea at that point was, of course, irresistible.
The church was relatively new - about 50 years old - and the labyrinth was a path on a canvas, a copy of the one at Chartres, spread on the floor of a room that looked as though it were for overflow crowds on days like Easter. A very welcoming lady talked with me a bit about the labyrinth and provided me with some prayers and psalms if I cared to use them as an aid while walking the path.
A labyrinth is a convoluted, complicated circle maze that leads to the center and back out to the entrance. There were two people walking the labyrinth. I began walking as well. Labyrinths do not require you to solve the maze, only to follow it. It's the simplest thing in the world. Right? So I progress slowly, stopping to think, to look at the church banners decorating the walls, to read one of the prayers or one of the psalms. All very solemn. All very 'intellectual'. Then I look up and see that one of the other walkers is on the same section of path but heading toward me. How could this happen? I run my eyes quickly and as accurately as I can over the path that I have taken. What did I do wrong? Where did I make a misstep? And what on earth do I do now?
The first thing I did, of course, was to step out of the way and let the lady continue on her path. Then I tried once again to visually go over the path I had taken up to that point. Still can't see what went wrong. Can't figure it out, so I step quickly over to the beginning area and start over. Going more quickly and still trying to figure it out. Then it hits me. The way in is the way out. The path takes you to the center and then it takes you out of the center and back to the beginning. No one was wrong. No one had made a misstep. "And I am right and you are right and all is right as right can be. " There is truth in Gilbert and Sullivan and there is truth in the labyrinth.
Nevertheless, I was interested in the idea of the labyrinth being a tool, a means to examine things and perhaps know a little more at the end of the process. So when I was checking the internet for a local church for Holy Week, I was surprised that a local Lutheran church had a labyrinth and was inviting people to walk during Holy Week. The idea at that point was, of course, irresistible.
The church was relatively new - about 50 years old - and the labyrinth was a path on a canvas, a copy of the one at Chartres, spread on the floor of a room that looked as though it were for overflow crowds on days like Easter. A very welcoming lady talked with me a bit about the labyrinth and provided me with some prayers and psalms if I cared to use them as an aid while walking the path.
A labyrinth is a convoluted, complicated circle maze that leads to the center and back out to the entrance. There were two people walking the labyrinth. I began walking as well. Labyrinths do not require you to solve the maze, only to follow it. It's the simplest thing in the world. Right? So I progress slowly, stopping to think, to look at the church banners decorating the walls, to read one of the prayers or one of the psalms. All very solemn. All very 'intellectual'. Then I look up and see that one of the other walkers is on the same section of path but heading toward me. How could this happen? I run my eyes quickly and as accurately as I can over the path that I have taken. What did I do wrong? Where did I make a misstep? And what on earth do I do now?
The first thing I did, of course, was to step out of the way and let the lady continue on her path. Then I tried once again to visually go over the path I had taken up to that point. Still can't see what went wrong. Can't figure it out, so I step quickly over to the beginning area and start over. Going more quickly and still trying to figure it out. Then it hits me. The way in is the way out. The path takes you to the center and then it takes you out of the center and back to the beginning. No one was wrong. No one had made a misstep. "And I am right and you are right and all is right as right can be. " There is truth in Gilbert and Sullivan and there is truth in the labyrinth.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Beaufort Grows On You
Having spent a bit of time seeing the beautiful sea islands, I decided to concentrate on the center of Beaufort itself. This is, of course, another old, old town with a history to almost every building. In the "town house" where I'm staying there is an excellent book on Beaufort with several walking tours and lots of details on houses and buildings. Even the ones that look ordinary for this area (if there is such a thing) have histories and this book gives a few words on a whole lot of them.
Even the downtown shops go back to warehouses and stores that were here longer than you would think. In some cases, the old tabby walls have been carefully exposed so that you can see something of the original construction. I don't recall all the ingredients in tabby but it is a sort of concrete with sea shells as part of it and the shells are visible as shells in the structures.
I wandered in and out of shops and found in the process that there is an old fashioned ice cream parlor called Southern Sweets. Cute and it even has lemon custard ice cream, one of my all time favorites. I can see myself making quite a few stops here.
Continuing my walk, I found Waterfront Park. It seems to be the place of choice for walking your dog and, of course, in the good old Southern fashion, everyone has to say hi and ask how you're doing today. So I just sat in the sun.
What, by the way, is it about sunlight? How does this simple, normal, everyday thing make you feel so good? You sit there on the bank of the river, with the wind off the water and the warmth soaks into you. Muscles relax. Shoulders settle back. Even the "bad leg" feels the warmth and eases. Thoughts drift away. Winter and cold and the idea that you'll never get warm again are gone. There's healing for a lot of things in that warmth.
Even the downtown shops go back to warehouses and stores that were here longer than you would think. In some cases, the old tabby walls have been carefully exposed so that you can see something of the original construction. I don't recall all the ingredients in tabby but it is a sort of concrete with sea shells as part of it and the shells are visible as shells in the structures.
I wandered in and out of shops and found in the process that there is an old fashioned ice cream parlor called Southern Sweets. Cute and it even has lemon custard ice cream, one of my all time favorites. I can see myself making quite a few stops here.
Continuing my walk, I found Waterfront Park. It seems to be the place of choice for walking your dog and, of course, in the good old Southern fashion, everyone has to say hi and ask how you're doing today. So I just sat in the sun.
What, by the way, is it about sunlight? How does this simple, normal, everyday thing make you feel so good? You sit there on the bank of the river, with the wind off the water and the warmth soaks into you. Muscles relax. Shoulders settle back. Even the "bad leg" feels the warmth and eases. Thoughts drift away. Winter and cold and the idea that you'll never get warm again are gone. There's healing for a lot of things in that warmth.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Navigation
When Judy and I were in Charleston, navigation was not so much a matter of finding the place or thing we were looking for (witness finding the pineapple fountain while finding the ice cream shop). It was more about finding parking. Charleston is an old city and that makes for narrow streets, few parking lots and generally adding in extra time to find a parking facility or other place to leave the car.
But Judy seems to have a gift for finding on street parking that may rival Nate's gift for the same thing. Even on Broad Street so I could pick up another needlepoint project. And King Street and Tradd where we had the House and Garden Tour. Best of all was the one that was steps from the Huguenot Church where the concert was. That one was so unlikely and we were so delighted that we grabbed it even though we had over half an hour before the concert and sat there talking about how we had probably just used up our luck for at least the next six months.
Apparently the gift has shifted a bit here in Beaufort, but not disappeared. It's now concentrating on grouping everything conveniently for us. Example: We had driven out to Hilton Head to take a look around and managed to find a restaurant right on our route that had good reviews. The reviews were right and we had a perfect lunch on the terrace. Checking our iPhones (what else do you do at lunch), we found a bakery/cafe that looked interesting and decided that that would be our next stop to get some goodies for breakfast next day. I entered the address on Arrow Street and looked at the map slightly puzzled. It was hard to see exactly what I was supposed to do next. Changing the range revealed that the bakery was right around the corner from our current position on Archer Street. Should have known.
Then there was yesterday when we decided on a visit to a yarn shop to get yarn for a Fiona project, a visit to check out an old synagogue, and a spa visit. All of them were on successive blocks of Scott Street. I do like how Beaufort seems determined to make things easy for me. And seems to know exactly what we're looking for.
But Judy seems to have a gift for finding on street parking that may rival Nate's gift for the same thing. Even on Broad Street so I could pick up another needlepoint project. And King Street and Tradd where we had the House and Garden Tour. Best of all was the one that was steps from the Huguenot Church where the concert was. That one was so unlikely and we were so delighted that we grabbed it even though we had over half an hour before the concert and sat there talking about how we had probably just used up our luck for at least the next six months.
Apparently the gift has shifted a bit here in Beaufort, but not disappeared. It's now concentrating on grouping everything conveniently for us. Example: We had driven out to Hilton Head to take a look around and managed to find a restaurant right on our route that had good reviews. The reviews were right and we had a perfect lunch on the terrace. Checking our iPhones (what else do you do at lunch), we found a bakery/cafe that looked interesting and decided that that would be our next stop to get some goodies for breakfast next day. I entered the address on Arrow Street and looked at the map slightly puzzled. It was hard to see exactly what I was supposed to do next. Changing the range revealed that the bakery was right around the corner from our current position on Archer Street. Should have known.
Then there was yesterday when we decided on a visit to a yarn shop to get yarn for a Fiona project, a visit to check out an old synagogue, and a spa visit. All of them were on successive blocks of Scott Street. I do like how Beaufort seems determined to make things easy for me. And seems to know exactly what we're looking for.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Houses and Gardens
The last few days in Charleston were a lot of fun. In addition to continued exploration of shops and galleries, we took advantage of Historic Charleston's House and Garden Festival. The tour we chose was Tradd Street. A beautiful, quiet street which was once very different because cargos from up river were unloaded and transported across this nice, straight street to wharves directly across the city where they could be loaded onto ships headed out into the Atlantic. We were able to visit several houses and gardens and they were beautiful. Charleston is, of course, full of beautiful houses but this was a chance to see the interiors. Every bit as lovely inside as outside.
For anyone who is a fan of the "tea shop mysteries" set in Charleston, it was very reminiscent of some of the affairs described in the books. Of course, we did cut things short as it began to rain very steadily. That just never happens in the book.
We were also able to enjoy a concert in the Huegonot Church (yes, there is a French Quarter in Charleston). Two soloists from the Charleston School of Music with wonderful voices. Just glorious.
For anyone who is a fan of the "tea shop mysteries" set in Charleston, it was very reminiscent of some of the affairs described in the books. Of course, we did cut things short as it began to rain very steadily. That just never happens in the book.
We were also able to enjoy a concert in the Huegonot Church (yes, there is a French Quarter in Charleston). Two soloists from the Charleston School of Music with wonderful voices. Just glorious.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Found
My friend, Judy, arrived earlier this week and we have been out finding things since then. I say "finding" because we seem to have a talent for first not being able to find them or, even better, finding them and then when we need to go back to that place we scouted earlier, not being able to get there. I should add, of course, that we always do seem to find whatever it is once again in the end.
Sometimes it's just that there are so many one way streets or even streets that change from two way to one way. I'm not sure that I've actually seen a street that switches from one direction to the opposite, but it certainly feels as though I had. Add construction to that and not finding building numbers or street signs to be able to check and it can take about a half hour to go "around the block". Somehow the block never seems to cooperate. I'm pretty sure the GPS thinks we're out to get it.
Of course, the problem is frequently solved by nice people who notice one of us standing and looking around in a slightly puzzled fashion. There was a very nice grey haired gentleman who did that yesterday and even told us why there was no one in the office and what the normal business hours were. I know New Yorkers can be and are very helpful but I can't quite imagine that volunteering to help in a busy NY commute. But perhaps I underestimate.
Things we have found: houses and condos and rentals just in case I find I can't live without Charleston's warmth, restaurants that were full when I tried them before, one more plantation, and way too many stores with way too many nice things. Also, the FedEX store, followed by the UPS store when we realized that the return envelope was for UPS. And something I have been looking for almost since I got to Charleston -- the pineapple fountain. This is, as I'm sure you've figured out, a large fountain shaped like a pineapple. Since both Judy and I like the pineapple hospitality image and since there is a family tradition/joke about us and the word pineapple, we just had to find that. And we did. By finding the ice cream (actually gelato) shop. We sat there eating our ice cream and realized we were about half a block from that fountain. It is a lovely thing and I will post pictures on Facebook since I still cannot get picture to upload to this blog. And, oh yes, the gelatin was quite good, too.
Sometimes it's just that there are so many one way streets or even streets that change from two way to one way. I'm not sure that I've actually seen a street that switches from one direction to the opposite, but it certainly feels as though I had. Add construction to that and not finding building numbers or street signs to be able to check and it can take about a half hour to go "around the block". Somehow the block never seems to cooperate. I'm pretty sure the GPS thinks we're out to get it.
Of course, the problem is frequently solved by nice people who notice one of us standing and looking around in a slightly puzzled fashion. There was a very nice grey haired gentleman who did that yesterday and even told us why there was no one in the office and what the normal business hours were. I know New Yorkers can be and are very helpful but I can't quite imagine that volunteering to help in a busy NY commute. But perhaps I underestimate.
Things we have found: houses and condos and rentals just in case I find I can't live without Charleston's warmth, restaurants that were full when I tried them before, one more plantation, and way too many stores with way too many nice things. Also, the FedEX store, followed by the UPS store when we realized that the return envelope was for UPS. And something I have been looking for almost since I got to Charleston -- the pineapple fountain. This is, as I'm sure you've figured out, a large fountain shaped like a pineapple. Since both Judy and I like the pineapple hospitality image and since there is a family tradition/joke about us and the word pineapple, we just had to find that. And we did. By finding the ice cream (actually gelato) shop. We sat there eating our ice cream and realized we were about half a block from that fountain. It is a lovely thing and I will post pictures on Facebook since I still cannot get picture to upload to this blog. And, oh yes, the gelatin was quite good, too.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Finally
If I haven't been posting much over the last few days, it's because I'm probably engaged in the same activity you are: organizing tax records. This is one of those things that is a nuisance no matter where you are, but it is complicated by not being at one's more or less permanent abode.
First of all, it means carrying around a lot of papers and hoping you didn't miss any when you packed. Since I left in January, many, if not all, of the 1099s had not yet hit my mailbox and that means waiting for mail to be forwarded so that then the organizing can begin. That at least is familiar territory and involves primarily opening envelopes and sorting pieces of paper.
The issue is that the outside world is not familiar territory so where does one go to copy documents and ship them to the accountant. Or fax them, if we're talking about the one or two that got overlooked or the form that needs to be signed and back in the accountant's hands. Charleston is a lovely town but parking near the downtown FedEx store does not exist except in parking structures that do not feel close by when you're lugging a tote bag of documents. (I know, I used to do this sort of thing while running through airports on the way to Bermuda, but that was long ago and far away.) And there aren't a lot of alternatives on the peninsula.
But, of course, there is an alternative. It's just that you won't believe how long it took me to realize that my current world doesn't end at the peninsula. There are at least five bridges that connect the area we Northeners think of as Charleston to wider resources. Once again, thank heavens for Google. Once I looked farther down the list, I saw that it was really only a few miles (something I would think nothing of back on Long Island) to a whole bunch of FedEx and UPS locations. And wonder of wonders, they had parking lots (we need to remember that I have never successfully been able to parallel park).
Bottom line, it's all organized and in my accountant's hands and I may even get a refund. Now back to serious sight seeing.
First of all, it means carrying around a lot of papers and hoping you didn't miss any when you packed. Since I left in January, many, if not all, of the 1099s had not yet hit my mailbox and that means waiting for mail to be forwarded so that then the organizing can begin. That at least is familiar territory and involves primarily opening envelopes and sorting pieces of paper.
The issue is that the outside world is not familiar territory so where does one go to copy documents and ship them to the accountant. Or fax them, if we're talking about the one or two that got overlooked or the form that needs to be signed and back in the accountant's hands. Charleston is a lovely town but parking near the downtown FedEx store does not exist except in parking structures that do not feel close by when you're lugging a tote bag of documents. (I know, I used to do this sort of thing while running through airports on the way to Bermuda, but that was long ago and far away.) And there aren't a lot of alternatives on the peninsula.
But, of course, there is an alternative. It's just that you won't believe how long it took me to realize that my current world doesn't end at the peninsula. There are at least five bridges that connect the area we Northeners think of as Charleston to wider resources. Once again, thank heavens for Google. Once I looked farther down the list, I saw that it was really only a few miles (something I would think nothing of back on Long Island) to a whole bunch of FedEx and UPS locations. And wonder of wonders, they had parking lots (we need to remember that I have never successfully been able to parallel park).
Bottom line, it's all organized and in my accountant's hands and I may even get a refund. Now back to serious sight seeing.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Things I Learned From Plantations
1. These places are enormous. Do not even think about it unless you have pretty much the entire day to devote to it. It's not just the house. The whole place is huge and is well worth looking at and perhaps stopping every once in a while to just appreciate the space, the openness…. I believe it could be called atmosphere.
2. Gardens do not have to have flowers in order to be gardens. The English formal garden with its architecture and shape is an almost monochromatic invention that deserves being admired on its own. Some of the current gardeners at these sites have indulged more current tastes and have inserted flowers into spaces in the formal patterns. I can't really criticize because a spot of color isn't a bad thing but I'm almost glad that it's still too early for there to be a lot of color out. What these gardens really need is people strolling and children playing in them. In fact, one of the gardens I saw was specifically designed for children to play in. There were thick hedges to keep small children in, benches for the grown ups and trees just outside the hedges to provide shade but not climbing. The greenest, most inviting playground I can remember.
3. Plantations are farms. They may include sheep who are helping to keep the lawns mowed, horses, cows, chickens, ducks and sometimes resident dogs who are more like official greeters.
4. Plantations are also homes. Some of them actually still have connections to the families who owned them.
5. Plantations come in rows. As you drive out Route 61 from Charleston, you become aware that there are several plantations out that route. In fact, a row of three major ones. When the penny finally drops, you realize that this is because they are located along the Ashley River. And back in the day, it was a lot easier and cheaper to travel or to transport goods by water. All of these plantations will have or have had docks along a lovely river that served as their connection to the coast and to Charleston.
6. Enjoy plantations at your own pace and don't let someone else's structure dictate. This is a lesson that applies to many things, of course. I had decided on a garden tour at one of the sites. The guide was a nice lady but could have used a bit more experience or briefing. She misidentified some of the plants ( I did a lot of botany courses many years ago and some of it still remains, especially about tropical ornamentals, which this far South also grow outside in gardens), mispronounced names and that sort of thing. I followed along dutifully for most of the length and time. Then somewhere in there I thought: Tell me again why I'm doing this? My knees are starting to complain and I'm losing patience with this presentation. Why am I using time and depleting my walking resources on this? So I did one of the smarter things. I dropped out and headed off in another direction. As a result, I came to a huge reflecting pool where I heard about the alligators who sometimes come far enough to sun themselves on the banks of the reflecting pool. Of course, the alligators have to be removed. But they are not removed because of the tourists. They are removed because of the swans who live at the pool and would otherwise be eaten by the alligators. Clearly swans score over tourists. Tourists can just take their chances.
2. Gardens do not have to have flowers in order to be gardens. The English formal garden with its architecture and shape is an almost monochromatic invention that deserves being admired on its own. Some of the current gardeners at these sites have indulged more current tastes and have inserted flowers into spaces in the formal patterns. I can't really criticize because a spot of color isn't a bad thing but I'm almost glad that it's still too early for there to be a lot of color out. What these gardens really need is people strolling and children playing in them. In fact, one of the gardens I saw was specifically designed for children to play in. There were thick hedges to keep small children in, benches for the grown ups and trees just outside the hedges to provide shade but not climbing. The greenest, most inviting playground I can remember.
3. Plantations are farms. They may include sheep who are helping to keep the lawns mowed, horses, cows, chickens, ducks and sometimes resident dogs who are more like official greeters.
4. Plantations are also homes. Some of them actually still have connections to the families who owned them.
5. Plantations come in rows. As you drive out Route 61 from Charleston, you become aware that there are several plantations out that route. In fact, a row of three major ones. When the penny finally drops, you realize that this is because they are located along the Ashley River. And back in the day, it was a lot easier and cheaper to travel or to transport goods by water. All of these plantations will have or have had docks along a lovely river that served as their connection to the coast and to Charleston.
6. Enjoy plantations at your own pace and don't let someone else's structure dictate. This is a lesson that applies to many things, of course. I had decided on a garden tour at one of the sites. The guide was a nice lady but could have used a bit more experience or briefing. She misidentified some of the plants ( I did a lot of botany courses many years ago and some of it still remains, especially about tropical ornamentals, which this far South also grow outside in gardens), mispronounced names and that sort of thing. I followed along dutifully for most of the length and time. Then somewhere in there I thought: Tell me again why I'm doing this? My knees are starting to complain and I'm losing patience with this presentation. Why am I using time and depleting my walking resources on this? So I did one of the smarter things. I dropped out and headed off in another direction. As a result, I came to a huge reflecting pool where I heard about the alligators who sometimes come far enough to sun themselves on the banks of the reflecting pool. Of course, the alligators have to be removed. But they are not removed because of the tourists. They are removed because of the swans who live at the pool and would otherwise be eaten by the alligators. Clearly swans score over tourists. Tourists can just take their chances.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Plantations
It's not that I've run out of historic houses. I don't think there's any way you can do that in this part of the world. But I have started to branch out and get to some of the plantations. First up was Boone, still a working plantation in that it has crops which are grown and sold. The crops include pecans, although Hurricane Hugo did quite a number on their orchard.
This particular plantation emphasizes the Gullah Geechee culture. I found out that Gullah is actually a corruption of Angola and Geechee is a variation on another word for a different area in West Africa. In the area of this plantation, the main crop was rice back then and these were the areas from which the best rice farmers came. So this part of the world, along the Atlantic Coast from Georgia through the Carolinas became the Gullah-Geechee Corridor. It's a language and a heritage.
I learned more about the Underground Railroad and its signs and signals. It makes me proud that the farm in Old Brookville still has the black band around its chimneys to identify it as a safe house. I loved listening to some of the old songs, too.
I also learned that Michelle Obama's great-great-grandfather (there may have been another great in there -- not sure) was a slave in this general area. I realize that there are undoubtedly a great number of blacks in America who have similar family connections, but to hear a name that I recognize, especially the name of the First Lady. That stopped me for a bit. It's one of those times when you realize that we're talking history here, not fiction. This was truly real.
This particular plantation emphasizes the Gullah Geechee culture. I found out that Gullah is actually a corruption of Angola and Geechee is a variation on another word for a different area in West Africa. In the area of this plantation, the main crop was rice back then and these were the areas from which the best rice farmers came. So this part of the world, along the Atlantic Coast from Georgia through the Carolinas became the Gullah-Geechee Corridor. It's a language and a heritage.
I learned more about the Underground Railroad and its signs and signals. It makes me proud that the farm in Old Brookville still has the black band around its chimneys to identify it as a safe house. I loved listening to some of the old songs, too.
I also learned that Michelle Obama's great-great-grandfather (there may have been another great in there -- not sure) was a slave in this general area. I realize that there are undoubtedly a great number of blacks in America who have similar family connections, but to hear a name that I recognize, especially the name of the First Lady. That stopped me for a bit. It's one of those times when you realize that we're talking history here, not fiction. This was truly real.
Friday, March 7, 2014
On Being a Wimp
I know I haven't been posting much over the past few days and that's partly because I've been into this "being a wimp". Over the past several days, Charleston has been having what it considers bad weather. I keep hearing forecasts about serious cold and then possible flooding. Not to mention that we are still going on about the ice storm and it's aftermath.
I don't mean to be unsympathetic, but realizing what it's like in Chicago and the Hudson Valley and Michigan, I have a somewhat different understanding of those terms. All I can say about this spell of bad weather in Charleston is that I don't like chilly rain either, but on the other hand, the row of lilies-of-the-valley outside my window are still doing fine, completely undeterred by the weather whatever it may be called.
The result of all this, however, is that when I hear an awful sounding forecast, I tend to decide to stay in and avoid whatever they're predicting. This means that over the past several days, I have done laundry, organized tax records, and made some calls to figure out some issues with things like insurance and such. I have also done a lot of reading and knitting. I'm working on a cowl scarf for myself and trying to finish it so that I can see if I remember how to do needlepoint before I leave. So no complaints here. It was kind of nice and relaxing. And I don't feel that I'm missing out on anything because I still have a few weeks to check out plantations and theaters. So that's why there hasn't been a whole lot of exciting things to tell you about. But hang in there. It should be warm and at least partly sunny this weekend so I'll get back on the job.
I don't mean to be unsympathetic, but realizing what it's like in Chicago and the Hudson Valley and Michigan, I have a somewhat different understanding of those terms. All I can say about this spell of bad weather in Charleston is that I don't like chilly rain either, but on the other hand, the row of lilies-of-the-valley outside my window are still doing fine, completely undeterred by the weather whatever it may be called.
The result of all this, however, is that when I hear an awful sounding forecast, I tend to decide to stay in and avoid whatever they're predicting. This means that over the past several days, I have done laundry, organized tax records, and made some calls to figure out some issues with things like insurance and such. I have also done a lot of reading and knitting. I'm working on a cowl scarf for myself and trying to finish it so that I can see if I remember how to do needlepoint before I leave. So no complaints here. It was kind of nice and relaxing. And I don't feel that I'm missing out on anything because I still have a few weeks to check out plantations and theaters. So that's why there hasn't been a whole lot of exciting things to tell you about. But hang in there. It should be warm and at least partly sunny this weekend so I'll get back on the job.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Theatre
I had heard about the Spoleto Festival, of course. And I knew this was not the right time for it. So I was not expecting much theater in Charleston at this time of year, if any. But I did notice a number of theaters in my wanderings and started to wonder. One or two, especially with colleges in the city, didn't surprise me, but, with the help of the internet I found myself browsing through quite a number.
Then one day I noticed a sign for a production of The Great Divorce at what turned out to be a theater of the College of Charleston. Not a student production. A professional equity production. A quick look confirmed that this was indeed an adaptation of the C. S. Lewis book. Well, now I was really intrigued. Not only do I love that book, but I was having trouble imagining how you could possibly get it on the stage. So … I bought a ticket.
I was a little concerned. When I went on line to buy the ticket, I was offered amazingly good tickets. Basically very close and dead center. I began to wonder if I would be the only one or almost the only one there. No so. I wouldn't say it was sold out but it was a good house.
The production was darn good. Good acting. Imaginative staging. It's hard to watch a play based on a book that you love and have read multiple times. You've got it in your head. You and the author have created your own work, your own world. So how can anyone do it correctly? By catching you up in their imagination and their work till you get that wonderful moment called suspension of disbelief. Apart from a few sound issues, it was very good.
Now we need a brief flashback. A couple of years ago when I was trying to figure out what I would do if/when I sold the farm, Kit asked me what I really wanted in the place I live. I really thought about it. I thought about weather. I thought about bookstores and knitting shops. I thought about being able to walk to things. Then I went to a great production of Waiting for Godot. Truly great actors but I absolutely hate this play. It is the epitome of a plot where nothing happens. And I keep wanting to pick the characters up and shake them. I know, I know, that's the point. But then there was a conversation with the actors. I can't really figure out how to describe that conversation. It was a conversation with the actors but, more importantly, among the actors. I will probably never like that play but when we left the theater, I said to my friends, "I know where I want to live. I want to live where conversations like this go on."
So, when Great Divorce was over and had been suitably applauded, I was surprised to hear that there would be a conversation about the play for anyone who cared to stay. Hmmmm. Maybe not exactly a sign from Heaven, but enough to get me checking on those other theaters. This visit may now turn into more of a theatre sampler than an old house tour.
Then one day I noticed a sign for a production of The Great Divorce at what turned out to be a theater of the College of Charleston. Not a student production. A professional equity production. A quick look confirmed that this was indeed an adaptation of the C. S. Lewis book. Well, now I was really intrigued. Not only do I love that book, but I was having trouble imagining how you could possibly get it on the stage. So … I bought a ticket.
I was a little concerned. When I went on line to buy the ticket, I was offered amazingly good tickets. Basically very close and dead center. I began to wonder if I would be the only one or almost the only one there. No so. I wouldn't say it was sold out but it was a good house.
The production was darn good. Good acting. Imaginative staging. It's hard to watch a play based on a book that you love and have read multiple times. You've got it in your head. You and the author have created your own work, your own world. So how can anyone do it correctly? By catching you up in their imagination and their work till you get that wonderful moment called suspension of disbelief. Apart from a few sound issues, it was very good.
Now we need a brief flashback. A couple of years ago when I was trying to figure out what I would do if/when I sold the farm, Kit asked me what I really wanted in the place I live. I really thought about it. I thought about weather. I thought about bookstores and knitting shops. I thought about being able to walk to things. Then I went to a great production of Waiting for Godot. Truly great actors but I absolutely hate this play. It is the epitome of a plot where nothing happens. And I keep wanting to pick the characters up and shake them. I know, I know, that's the point. But then there was a conversation with the actors. I can't really figure out how to describe that conversation. It was a conversation with the actors but, more importantly, among the actors. I will probably never like that play but when we left the theater, I said to my friends, "I know where I want to live. I want to live where conversations like this go on."
So, when Great Divorce was over and had been suitably applauded, I was surprised to hear that there would be a conversation about the play for anyone who cared to stay. Hmmmm. Maybe not exactly a sign from Heaven, but enough to get me checking on those other theaters. This visit may now turn into more of a theatre sampler than an old house tour.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Public Transit
One of my latest adventures was local public transit. Charleston has a system of cute little green trolleys (along with more utilitarian buses, of course) called DASH. There are about four different loops and, best of all, it's free. What could be better?
It's been a long time since I took a bus, although I used to do it fairly often in NYC, and I had forgotten the whole social dynamic of travel by bus. First of all, from my reading I had anticipated something created for the tourist trade. That may have been the idea but the locals have certainly taken it up. Tourists were definitely in the minority but tourist or local, there's still nothing quite like going by bus. There's the wait for it to arrive. Not too bad the first time I got on but wait till later. Then there's the group that somehow always builds up near the front, followed by the driver asking everyone to move back. Then there's the person on a cellphone who apparently wants everyone to be aware of her social life. And, of course, there's the political/social discussion going on among three guys on the back seat at voice levels that would reach the last seats in any theater. Some things never change. But I do think Occupy Wall Street should be aware that it has at least three voluble supporters in Charleston.
One transfer and I got to Broad Street and set off for the historic house I had selected for today's tour. It was lovely by the way. After the house and stops at one or two shops in the area, I found the proper trolley stop and waited for the return trip. I do not know if this is a pattern or just my experience that day, but waits were much longer and trolleys more crowded. Maybe it was just that all those tourists I hadn't seen in the morning were now heading home to decide which marvelous restaurant to try. In any event, the trolley was so crowded that it was difficult to keep an eye out for street signs and I missed my stop and had to trudge (trudge is what you do at the end of a day of sightseeing) back to the transfer point I needed. Waiting for the trolley I needed then took longer than anything yet had. Every other line came by the stop multiple times and if I had wanted to go to the aquarium, I could have done it several times. The young lady sitting next to me at the stop, a student at a local college, and I had about decided that they had cancelled our line for the day when one finally appeared. It gave me a look at parts of the city I hadn't seen yet and it did get me home.
Thinking back on my transportation efforts, I calculate that I spent at least half my time that day waiting for trolleys and getting where I wanted to go. I have a new appreciation for those who have to negotiate cities that don't have subway systems. I've also decided that I will do my bit with recycling but it makes more sense for me to drive to the area I want to explore and park in a parking structure. Thank heaven there are lots of those in downtown Charleston.
It's been a long time since I took a bus, although I used to do it fairly often in NYC, and I had forgotten the whole social dynamic of travel by bus. First of all, from my reading I had anticipated something created for the tourist trade. That may have been the idea but the locals have certainly taken it up. Tourists were definitely in the minority but tourist or local, there's still nothing quite like going by bus. There's the wait for it to arrive. Not too bad the first time I got on but wait till later. Then there's the group that somehow always builds up near the front, followed by the driver asking everyone to move back. Then there's the person on a cellphone who apparently wants everyone to be aware of her social life. And, of course, there's the political/social discussion going on among three guys on the back seat at voice levels that would reach the last seats in any theater. Some things never change. But I do think Occupy Wall Street should be aware that it has at least three voluble supporters in Charleston.
One transfer and I got to Broad Street and set off for the historic house I had selected for today's tour. It was lovely by the way. After the house and stops at one or two shops in the area, I found the proper trolley stop and waited for the return trip. I do not know if this is a pattern or just my experience that day, but waits were much longer and trolleys more crowded. Maybe it was just that all those tourists I hadn't seen in the morning were now heading home to decide which marvelous restaurant to try. In any event, the trolley was so crowded that it was difficult to keep an eye out for street signs and I missed my stop and had to trudge (trudge is what you do at the end of a day of sightseeing) back to the transfer point I needed. Waiting for the trolley I needed then took longer than anything yet had. Every other line came by the stop multiple times and if I had wanted to go to the aquarium, I could have done it several times. The young lady sitting next to me at the stop, a student at a local college, and I had about decided that they had cancelled our line for the day when one finally appeared. It gave me a look at parts of the city I hadn't seen yet and it did get me home.
Thinking back on my transportation efforts, I calculate that I spent at least half my time that day waiting for trolleys and getting where I wanted to go. I have a new appreciation for those who have to negotiate cities that don't have subway systems. I've also decided that I will do my bit with recycling but it makes more sense for me to drive to the area I want to explore and park in a parking structure. Thank heaven there are lots of those in downtown Charleston.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Not in Kansas Anymore
I was going to post about old houses and other historic stuff, but I told this story to a friend yesterday on the phone and she said I should post it. So here goes.
The place I'm renting has ample parking behind the house, but parking here does have one problem. I feel as though just about every bird in Charleston has left its mark on my car. I managed to clean most of the mess off the windshield. Although there were still remains, I wouldn't get arrested for impaired vision. But the top, the hood, the trunk, everything on my little red car was a spotted mess. BTW, this is not just me. Another renter solved the problem by spreading what appeared to be a sheet over the windshield and hood of his car and anchoring it in place.
Finally, I had to do something. This was clearly not going to wash off in the next rain. (Not that there's been much rain since the pseudo snowstorm. Charleston is all about sunshine.) So I checked good old Google for a car wash. It never occurred to me that car washes would have reviews but once again I underestimated Google. One of the closest ones included a review from a woman who had lost a ring with both sentimental and monetary value. She thought she had lost it in the car but had searched thoroughly and had not been able to find it. She took the car to this car wash and when she got into the clean car, there was the ring on the center console waiting for her. Thrilled, she found the attendant who had cleaned the interior to thank him and tell him how much it meant to her. The response was along the lines of Well, I found it and figured you had lost it and would like to have it back.
Clearly this was the place for me. Especially with my history of losing and finding and losing and finding a ring.
So I was only slightly surprised to see the sign for this place as I headed out for my next exploration and realized that I would be passing it on my way home. Looked like I needed to go there. It seemed a nice enough place, with the usual array of services (I even got to pick the scent of the air freshener to be used.) Then I paid and waited for my car. After a bit, it appeared but it wasn't placed with the other clean cars for detailing or whatever you call the hand drying and interior clean up. Instead it went on through the area and headed away to another area. A bit startled, I followed and found someone to ask what was going on. He explained that they hadn't been able to get all the gunk off my car so they were sending it through the wash again.
I walked away slowly thinking about this. I wasn't surprised that the wash hadn't taken care of everything. If I expected anything out of the ordinary, it would have been a quick comment that they had not been able to get everything off. I hadn't expected that they would do the job twice at no extra charge.
Not only am I not in Kansas, I'm sure not in Long Island anymore. Let's hear it for Southern courtesy and thoroughness.
The place I'm renting has ample parking behind the house, but parking here does have one problem. I feel as though just about every bird in Charleston has left its mark on my car. I managed to clean most of the mess off the windshield. Although there were still remains, I wouldn't get arrested for impaired vision. But the top, the hood, the trunk, everything on my little red car was a spotted mess. BTW, this is not just me. Another renter solved the problem by spreading what appeared to be a sheet over the windshield and hood of his car and anchoring it in place.
Finally, I had to do something. This was clearly not going to wash off in the next rain. (Not that there's been much rain since the pseudo snowstorm. Charleston is all about sunshine.) So I checked good old Google for a car wash. It never occurred to me that car washes would have reviews but once again I underestimated Google. One of the closest ones included a review from a woman who had lost a ring with both sentimental and monetary value. She thought she had lost it in the car but had searched thoroughly and had not been able to find it. She took the car to this car wash and when she got into the clean car, there was the ring on the center console waiting for her. Thrilled, she found the attendant who had cleaned the interior to thank him and tell him how much it meant to her. The response was along the lines of Well, I found it and figured you had lost it and would like to have it back.
Clearly this was the place for me. Especially with my history of losing and finding and losing and finding a ring.
So I was only slightly surprised to see the sign for this place as I headed out for my next exploration and realized that I would be passing it on my way home. Looked like I needed to go there. It seemed a nice enough place, with the usual array of services (I even got to pick the scent of the air freshener to be used.) Then I paid and waited for my car. After a bit, it appeared but it wasn't placed with the other clean cars for detailing or whatever you call the hand drying and interior clean up. Instead it went on through the area and headed away to another area. A bit startled, I followed and found someone to ask what was going on. He explained that they hadn't been able to get all the gunk off my car so they were sending it through the wash again.
I walked away slowly thinking about this. I wasn't surprised that the wash hadn't taken care of everything. If I expected anything out of the ordinary, it would have been a quick comment that they had not been able to get everything off. I hadn't expected that they would do the job twice at no extra charge.
Not only am I not in Kansas, I'm sure not in Long Island anymore. Let's hear it for Southern courtesy and thoroughness.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Tours
When you're in a city for the first time, I think it always helps to take a tour. It helps you get oriented and make a mental list of things you want to come back and see. And where else can you hear all the stories that apparently only tour guides know and tell.
Example -- did you know that the only deaths in connection with the bombardment and surrender of Fort Sumter occurred after the surrender. It seems that the officer who commanded the Fort and the General to whom he surrendered knew each other quite well and carried out the whole thing like the gentlemen they were. The problem was that when a cannon salute was fired, one of the cannon exploded and two gunners at that station were killed. The only casualties of the battle.
And speaking of exploding cannons, brings us to the Civil War. The battery in Charleston was indeed a battery in those days. A battery of cannons. When Sherman was on his way, the Southern powers that be decided that they could not let these cannon fall into Sherman's hands, so they decided to blow them up. Needless to say (see above), all did not go as planned. Apparently they saved the biggest for last and when they set off the destruction of the last and largest cannon, it not only destroyed the cannon. It also sent pieces flying in all directions and a number of them into nearby houses. The largest piece -- several hundred pounds -- landed about four houses over in the attic of the house. How it failed to crash through, I don't understand. But it did. It stayed in the attic and is still there to this day. It seems that no one could figure out a way to get the thing out without pretty much demolishing the house in the process. Talk about the perfect souvenir.
Example -- did you know that the only deaths in connection with the bombardment and surrender of Fort Sumter occurred after the surrender. It seems that the officer who commanded the Fort and the General to whom he surrendered knew each other quite well and carried out the whole thing like the gentlemen they were. The problem was that when a cannon salute was fired, one of the cannon exploded and two gunners at that station were killed. The only casualties of the battle.
And speaking of exploding cannons, brings us to the Civil War. The battery in Charleston was indeed a battery in those days. A battery of cannons. When Sherman was on his way, the Southern powers that be decided that they could not let these cannon fall into Sherman's hands, so they decided to blow them up. Needless to say (see above), all did not go as planned. Apparently they saved the biggest for last and when they set off the destruction of the last and largest cannon, it not only destroyed the cannon. It also sent pieces flying in all directions and a number of them into nearby houses. The largest piece -- several hundred pounds -- landed about four houses over in the attic of the house. How it failed to crash through, I don't understand. But it did. It stayed in the attic and is still there to this day. It seems that no one could figure out a way to get the thing out without pretty much demolishing the house in the process. Talk about the perfect souvenir.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Markets
It's not only Market Street. In Charleston shopping and markets are a universal. My first exploration was the King Street I had heard so much about. Strolling down King Street, there seems to be an unending row of restaurants and shops of just about every kind. There's one of my first and favorite finds, Glazed, a gourmet doughnut shop. It has incredibly inventive flavors. The apparent favorite is maple bacon and it's not bad. Needless to say, I am on a mission to assess all the available options.
Then there are the antique shops, the cool shop with fabrics from Southeast Asia, some of which become beautiful pillows that just might end up in Amagansett. There are, of course, all of the usual upscale brands you find everywhere. But then you get to Broad Street, which is one antique shop after another. Plus, of all things, a needlepoint shop. Do you know hard it is to find a needlepoint shop these days? Definitely a good omen. There is, also of course, a real possibility that I will add at least one more project to my ever growing stash. If my knees every totally refuse to let me explore, at least I will be well prepared.
Then there is the well known Charleston Market. It's been around since the beginning of Charleston and is a mostly open air market extending for blocks and blocks. People are sure to to tell you that it was never a slave market. The land was donated way back when for the sale of meat, grains and produce. Now it is basically a craft market. The sweetgrass baskets are supposed to be the big draw and they are lovely and every seller has or is someone sitting there weaving a basket. The thing that intrigues me is that the designs of the baskets are the same at every seller. Is there something about sweetgrass that mandates the way you can shape it or am I just being cynical?
And last but not least there is a charming little cheese shop just off Broad. Everyone is very knowledgeable and helpful and the shop has not only cheese, but wine and other goodies to go with it. I had no intention of resisting. Something tells me this could get to be a regular stop.
And did I mention that Broad manages to fit in some good restaurants? I had lunch at a pub called the Blind Tiger. (Blind Tiger was a euphemism for a speakeasy in Prohibition,) Good local beers and a hamburger that could make my personal 10 best list.
Then there are the antique shops, the cool shop with fabrics from Southeast Asia, some of which become beautiful pillows that just might end up in Amagansett. There are, of course, all of the usual upscale brands you find everywhere. But then you get to Broad Street, which is one antique shop after another. Plus, of all things, a needlepoint shop. Do you know hard it is to find a needlepoint shop these days? Definitely a good omen. There is, also of course, a real possibility that I will add at least one more project to my ever growing stash. If my knees every totally refuse to let me explore, at least I will be well prepared.
Then there is the well known Charleston Market. It's been around since the beginning of Charleston and is a mostly open air market extending for blocks and blocks. People are sure to to tell you that it was never a slave market. The land was donated way back when for the sale of meat, grains and produce. Now it is basically a craft market. The sweetgrass baskets are supposed to be the big draw and they are lovely and every seller has or is someone sitting there weaving a basket. The thing that intrigues me is that the designs of the baskets are the same at every seller. Is there something about sweetgrass that mandates the way you can shape it or am I just being cynical?
And last but not least there is a charming little cheese shop just off Broad. Everyone is very knowledgeable and helpful and the shop has not only cheese, but wine and other goodies to go with it. I had no intention of resisting. Something tells me this could get to be a regular stop.
And did I mention that Broad manages to fit in some good restaurants? I had lunch at a pub called the Blind Tiger. (Blind Tiger was a euphemism for a speakeasy in Prohibition,) Good local beers and a hamburger that could make my personal 10 best list.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Just in Time
As I drove South I realized that I had timed my departure to miss two major problems -- the Superbowl traffic and the next snowstorm. Not bad for a start. Then it got better. It started getting warmer. The winter jacket was in the backseat as I hit Virginia. The sweatshirt joined it in North Carolina. By the time I was unpacking in Charleston, I was looking for a cotton shirt and by the time I got to a late lunch. I was rolling up the sleeves. This may not last but it sure was a nice welcome.
The place I'm staying is an old house and appears to be in a gentrifying neighborhood, according to one newspaper description of what a cool neighborhood this is. Fortunately, gentrification has already included some great restaurants within a couple of blocks. The Hominy Grill was amazing. A fried green tomato BLT. Really? Not to mention curried kale with sweet potatoes. Check out Facebook for pictures. And I almost forgot to order iced tea. It wouldn't be a Southern meal without that. I'm already making lists to be sure I don't miss any of these great opportunities.
Next up will be a walkabout to see what I find. The excuse is that I forgot to buy coffee at the grocery store so I expect I will be keeping my eye out to see what coffee shops are like hereabouts.
The place I'm staying is an old house and appears to be in a gentrifying neighborhood, according to one newspaper description of what a cool neighborhood this is. Fortunately, gentrification has already included some great restaurants within a couple of blocks. The Hominy Grill was amazing. A fried green tomato BLT. Really? Not to mention curried kale with sweet potatoes. Check out Facebook for pictures. And I almost forgot to order iced tea. It wouldn't be a Southern meal without that. I'm already making lists to be sure I don't miss any of these great opportunities.
Next up will be a walkabout to see what I find. The excuse is that I forgot to buy coffee at the grocery store so I expect I will be keeping my eye out to see what coffee shops are like hereabouts.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Made It
Apart from a short episode of freezing rain that began when I crossed the George Washington Bridge on my way into and across Manhattan (is there an omen here?), I made it without incident all the way to Amagansett. Everything is in good shape and the heat is functioning, so what is there to complain about? Especially when the today is 51 degrees.
Best to all of you with the snow and the horrific cold. Right now I am thankful for the Atlantic and the Sound and their ameliorating effects. Stay warm.
Best to all of you with the snow and the horrific cold. Right now I am thankful for the Atlantic and the Sound and their ameliorating effects. Stay warm.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Window of Opportunity
Now that New Year's celebrations -- in Michigan this year -- and the latest snowfall are over, I'm headed home. Given the blizzard warnings for Long Island, I first called some friends in the Amagansett area and asked them to check that I still have power. Sandy and one or two other hurricanes have made me cautious about how long LIPA can take to get folks back on line. I figured that if there were problems, I would follow my long-standing custom of hanging out at Kit's house until it was all fixed. Reports were that the weather hype had exceeded the bad results for the Hamptons, at least.
Having checked the weather forecasts for Michigan and Long Island and a number of places in between, I concluded that there was a window of opportunity to return home. So I am en route at this point. Now if I can just outrun the forecasted freezing rain. Or, of course, they could be wrong again. As they say, more later.
Having checked the weather forecasts for Michigan and Long Island and a number of places in between, I concluded that there was a window of opportunity to return home. So I am en route at this point. Now if I can just outrun the forecasted freezing rain. Or, of course, they could be wrong again. As they say, more later.
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