Southern Girl...Southern World

Peach Custard Pie at the Hil

2011-08-18T07:37:00.001-04:00

I recently spent the day at a workshop with stellar photographer Tom England at Serenbe Photography Center. Most of the workshops they have there are on held on the weekends, which just happens to coincide with the brunches at the Hil restaurant next door. Both of these were definitely worth the drive from my Woodstock!

Summer Road Trip 2011 -- Asheville, NC

2011-07-25T15:31:00.008-04:00

Malaprop's Book Store

My little boy and I had just left Ohio on an early morning, heading away from my sister's house after my nephew's high school graduation. The weekend had been rushed and full, as the house had been filled with grandparents and my nephew's friends, and I was still exhausted from more-than-iffy sleeping arrangements. (We had to sleep on a leaky air matress in the only veritable "sound proof" room--the room with the hot tub--because everyone else stayed up deep into the night watching Nascar with the volume up so loud it shook the house.) Ugh. Now I may live in the south, but Nascar is just not a sport that I've managed to get into. At all. Watching loud cars going around in a circle just leaves me bored and wincing and longing for quiet, air conditioned libraries. So imagine.

So, although I love my sister and her family, I was ready to go.

We decided to take the long way back home (because as much as I was ready to leave, I wasn't quite ready to go home) through the Carolinas so that I could make a stop in Asheville, one of my favorite cities of all time. Asheville is surrounded by mountains and is filled with cafes, book stores, coffee shops, and non-chain restaurants. I had never been to Malaprop's Books, so I definitely wasn't going to miss it on this go-around.

So let me tell you something about my son. But before we do that, let me tell you something about me. I love books. I was an English major in college, and I could really just be happy reading all day. I was one of those kids under the covers with a flashlight at night so I wouldn't get caught reading.

I'm also a great supporter of INDEPENDENT bookstores rather than the huge chains. I love the personal service and the heart that goes into these places.

So.

That said, my child is not cut of the same cloth. He hates to read and hates books.

Imagine.

He excels at math instead, which has been my arch-nemesis my entire life. I think people who are good at math just might be sleeping with the devil. I'm just saying.

So.

Imagine my embarrassment when not only did he act extremely bored during my long-awaited and much-looked-forward-to visit to Malaprop's, he also yelled, at the top of his voice so loud that the owner could hear, "I don't WANT to pick out any books HERE! The only book I'll ever want is at BARNES and NOBLE'S, and that's only because LEGOS come with it!!!!"

Mortified, I tell you. I just stood there mourning the loss of the child that was SURELY switched at birth with THIS book-hating child that stood before me. So I did what any embarrassed mom would do in this case. I bought more books than I usually would, hoping that somehow I could repent for his sins, and then slunk out of there as quickly and gracefully as I could.

I love local-watching wherever I go, and Asheville never disappoints. I heart the straw hat.

I just happened to arrive on their anniversary...SALE! It really helped with my over-compensatory spending.

The Child at the O. Henry Monument, at which he tried for a good few seconds to pry the pocket watch from the sidewalk before I could stifle my good-natured laughter and tell him that it wasn't real.

The Gift of the Magi...define irony.

Shop Window Wonderful. It seems like everyone has one of these typewriters but me.

Double Decker Coffee Company; A cold comfort--no, really...it had air conditioning.

Milk Shake! This is probably the only thing he'll remember about the whole trip. He said, "This is better than Chick Fila's!" You have no idea how big a compliment that is for him to make. A success.

And then we went home.

Twain's in Decatur, GA -- The Dainty Saint

2011-07-08T18:58:00.008-04:00

The Dainty Saint: an iced, summery concoction of imported St. Germain and vodka.

I spent my birthday alone under Twain's wisteria arbor while the boys played pool inside.

Not that I'm complaining.

There's a thin line between alone and lonely, and it's hard to feel the latter when you're sipping French liqueur {made of fresh elderflowers picked in the Alps} on a balmy evening, watching Decatur, Georgia, start to come to life.

My precocious little son suggests Twain's whenever we venture out of the suburbs and head south toward the city, and usually, if time permits, we oblige him. I'm never without a book or some nice stationery and fountain pens, so I just while away the time and let them do their boy stuff.

Dean's Store--The Woodstock Visitor's Center

2011-06-18T18:55:00.007-04:00

There's a place you can go in my town's historic district to find out about all its going's on, both the official tidbits and those that are "off the record." In what was once the bus station and the first place you could buy Coke in Woodstock, Dean's Store is perfectly preserved and stuck in time to reflect its beginnings.

There are plenty of local brochures and magazines to help you navigate your time and way, but the best information can be found behind the counter while either Kyle Bennett or Juanita Hughes is on duty. They won't steer you wrong.

Dean's Store handed out American flags to a teary-eyed crowd along the funeral route of a fallen Woodstock soldier.

A group called "the boys" has been meeting at Dean's Store in the morning for years.

Old relics from a different time. This phone always reminds me of the phone scene in It's a Wonderful Life.

Enamored of.

Kyle always has cold bottles of Coke for visitors after a downtown Woodstock tour.

A Little Blue Today

2011-01-30T12:47:00.003-05:00

Even though the weather is gorgeous in Georgia, I'm still in my room feeling a little blue today. I asked the Husband, {excitedly}, to come with me to the new Anthropologie (one of my greatest happy places) in Atlanta, but he went to his parents' house instead. So I'm home, streaming Adele on Pandora, and sprucing up the place a little with Meyer's Lavender cleaners. The scent always brings me back to the fabulousness of {my}self. Like smelling salts for my soul.

Stuff of Dreams, Just Down the Road

2011-01-10T09:54:00.007-05:00

On the road to buy groceries, I always get to pass by this car lot with some of most beautiful, curvaceous pieces of machinery ever to come out of America's yesterdays. I stopped by to talk to the owner a few days ago to ask my WWWH's (Why? Where? Who? How?) for a story in the Woodstock Community Guide. He told me that when he was a younger man, he used to go there, then a gas station, for his RC Cola's and moonpies. When he saw it for lease, he knew what he had to do.

A String of Sarna Camel Bells ( A Gift to Myself)

2010-12-25T14:38:00.001-05:00

Merry.

2010-12-25T14:27:00.003-05:00

Mary Mac's Tea Room In Atlanta

2010-12-25T14:06:00.004-05:00

Did you know that macaroni and cheese can be listed under "vegetables?"

My first taste of Potlikker!

Mudbugs...

Fried Okra...Reminds me of my mama. :)

Fried Chicken, Mac 'n Cheese, Sweet Potato Souffle, Fried Green Tomatoes, Greens, and Sweet Tea. For Starters.

Bread Pudding with Wine Sauce

Mary Mac's Tea Room in Downtown Atlanta

Home

2010-12-02T13:23:00.001-05:00

Serenbe Photography Center in Palmetto, Georgia

2010-11-30T16:26:00.007-05:00

This is the top of the stairs of the Serenbe Photography Center...closed on the Sunday I went. I don't know what I would have done if it had been open. I didn't have enough money to sign up for any of their mind-bendingly awesome workshops. I guess I just wanted to stop by and say, "Hey, I think you're really great, and I'm glad you're here. And someday very soon you're going to teach me things that will help me to be the best photographer I can be and fulfill all my hopes and dreams." (Which probably would have come out a whole lot like: "Hey, do you have any brochures?") I walked away from the locked door and moved down the steps where the Little Guy was waiting for me on the Serenbe sidewalk.

Small strands of red consolations waited for me to turned the corner...

Brunch with the Little Guy

2010-11-24T08:23:00.001-05:00

Enon Historic Cemetery Tour in Woodstock, Georgia

2010-11-23T17:36:00.002-05:00

Linden in Woodstock, Georgia

2010-11-23T17:23:00.001-05:00

Cotton Mill Deli in Woodstock, Georgia

2010-11-23T17:12:00.001-05:00

Back to Dahlonega

2010-11-17T10:48:00.001-05:00

A Small Town Halloween in Woodstock, Georgia

2010-11-15T18:58:00.004-05:00

The Costume Contest in the City Park Gazebo

I think the whole town might have shown up...

Costume Contest was Rated by Crowd Applause...

The "Funniest Costume" Trophy went to this cute little troll-baby...

Handfuls of Candy-Goodness

Our Woodstock City Park in all its Small Town Wonderful P.S. My favorite little bookstore is right behind that Gazebo on the left!

A Good Dog and a River Boat...A Chattanooga Afternoon

2010-11-13T09:43:00.006-05:00

Afternoon Delight: A couple of dogs and a shared PBR at Good Dog on the North Shore; From Left to Right: the Dutch Frites Dog (frites sauce, frites and onion) and the Pimento Cheese Dog (Housemade Pimento Cheese, Frites Sauce, and Fresh Tomato)

The Belle of Cincinnati, heading out of Chattanooga on the Tennessee River at sunset.

The Belle of Cincinnati, taken from the Delta Queen

Relaxing on the deck of the Delta Queen...if only those cabins could talk...

The Delta Queen River Boat on Fall Afternoon; The boat is now an anchored hotel. I haven't been able to stay overnight yet, but I hope to soon.

The moonrise over the Tennessee River; Taken from a bridge on which I yelled, "Let me out of this car...I have to take this picture!"

J. Wanderlust is Born! (Have Camera, Lust Travel)

2010-10-29T12:15:00.004-04:00

It's been a long time coming, but I've finally launched my online travel photography portfolio. I still have A LOT of tweaking to do, but it's on its way. :)

Love those gypsy-jangle cowboy boots! Street Musicians in Dahlonega, Georgia. Her haunting Applachian tune brought tears to my eyes.

To My Friend Jeremiah-- A Prayer

2010-10-26T11:25:00.003-04:00

Jeremiah,

The Tibetans hang up these "prayer flags" every February, their New Years. They have prayers printed on them in ancient Sanskrit, and they purposefully don't hem the bottoms of them. They believe the threads of the flags represent prayers for their neighbors, friends, family, and even strangers... and when the wind blows, the prayers are released out into the world and into God's ears. THESE prayers, from my back yard to yours, are for you, my friend...

Red and Gold

2010-10-25T13:31:00.004-04:00

Autumn on my Front Porch

2010-10-24T09:05:00.004-04:00

Bubbly

2010-10-17T15:13:00.003-04:00

The Ghost of James Dickey; or a Weekend in North Georgia

2010-10-11T13:55:00.003-04:00

Friend

2010-10-06T22:22:00.002-04:00

Little Luxuries

2010-10-02T18:06:00.011-04:00

That furrowed brow when I say "walk" or "treat" is enough to make my heart sigh...

Another pay-day rolling around means that I've spent the day enjoying the little thrills of my beginning-of-the-month luxuries. I went to the grocery store today to buy a bottle of chilled Bohemian Highway Chardonnay, a bag of Peanut Butter dog treats, a bag of Nine Lives for the community orange tabby, and a bag of sunflower seeds for the backyard birds. (The latter of which most assuredly have felt very neglected lately.) The man in line behind me joked about the litany of animals I must have waiting for me at home. I told him that I seem to attract them...that they just know where to show up to be taken care of. I said that I enjoyed their loyal, loving natures...you need only feed them, and they're yours forever. If only people were like that, I said. He agreed.

At home, twilight descends on my little Georgia home, and the cardinal families have found their way back to the now-full feeders. I'm streaming "Frank Sinatra Radio" on Pandora, and the male cardinal takes pause, cocking his head to the side to listen to the melody of "Fly With Me." Don't be alarmed, I tell him..that's just us trying to be you...

Home; The Sleeping Hound

2010-10-02T16:15:00.001-04:00

Boudoir

2010-09-29T11:03:00.008-04:00

See the little silver coffee pot and creamer I picked up at a local thrift store for a steal? It reminds me so much of an overnight trip to Natchez, Mississippi, and my first taste of room service. I just remember how glorious it was to be made to feel that special...to have my morning coffee delivered to my room. It was one of rarest and best moments of my life. I wanted to bring that feeling home, even if it's now something I have to do for myself. I brew the coffee while the rest of the house still sleeps, and the I toast the sunrise as it illuminates my east-facing bedroom window.

I passed by the window the other day in the morning light, and I noticed how the rising sun played a trick on my eyes, making the candle appear to be lit. :) My mind immediately offered up the St. Francis quotation: "All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle." That St. Francis and I might be cut from the same cloth.

Life from a different angle...a vanity topped with mercury glass and a tray of perfumes greet the morning...

I appreciate the shadows...I appreciate the light...I appreciate the entrance way into another day.

A Sunset; Another Day

2010-09-26T10:08:00.002-04:00

An old Studebaker beside Lake Allatoona in Woodstock, Georgia

A Sunrise over the Pines; Another Day

2010-09-26T10:07:00.002-04:00

The way those rays alighted on the water droplets of that wild, untamed shrub below it almost set my soul on fire. (Click to enlarge, and see what I saw.)

The October Supper Club at "Zest and Zing" with Chef Craig

2010-09-19T12:45:00.003-04:00

Creamy Pumpkin Soup with a touch of clove, nutmeg, and cinnamon...that creme fraiche spiderweb made my night! :)

Smoked tomato gazpacho...

Blackened Shrimp with sliced grilled peaches...

Apple Infused Pork Roast with Sweet Potato Hash...

Summer Apple Raisin Bread Pudding, served warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream...

In The Details

2010-09-14T11:06:00.006-04:00

I don't know how it began--my love affair with orange roses. I'm usually a tulip kind of girl. I guess, perhaps, it might be akin to Holly Golightly thinking diamonds looked simply divine on older women. Roses just have be "grown into." :)

The sunrise over my godethia flowers. Shipped in from Ecudor, these pinkish delights open up to look almost like a poppy.

My salvia is spreading. That sounds almost dirty. :)

The "Orange Crush" climber...and my husbands says my fingernails look like the Sidney Opera House. (I wasn't pleased.) :)

Have a great day, ya'll, and as always,

I am a Hopeful Romantic

2010-09-11T10:55:00.006-04:00

I leave travel magazines lying on my nightstand that nudge me toward forgotten stone villages in Italy and flea markets in Paris. I drink champagne from a crystal flute while I fold the laundry and listen to Edith Piaf on a record player when I load the dishwasher. I plant orange cosmos in a windowbox outside of my bedroom, roses beside my mailbox, and jasmine by my front door. I hand-write letters with fountain pens on pretty stationery, closing them up with a proper wax seal. I serve my husband his morning coffee in bed from a silver service, reminiscent of hotel room service in some far off destination. I regard sunrises, sunsets, moonrises, and moonfalls with wonder and awe and a sweet surrender. I feed the birds to lure their song to my mornings. I dream of train rides with vintage suitcases and window seats and hand-holding with someone who loves me. I journey in my mind perpetually to Jaipur bazaars and German Christmas markets and Moroccan party tents and Provence's lavender fields. I open my windows to let the wind blow the curtains, and I light a fire in the fireplace just to watch the light and the shadows it casts. This, and so much more...I remain the hopeful romantic...

The Bedroom Window Box; or Cosmos in the Morning

2010-09-06T10:37:00.000-04:00

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The Dawn

2010-09-05T12:12:00.004-04:00

I recently watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button for the first time, and because of this, I came to really appreciate the hummingbirds outside of my window. As in the movie, they've became the symbol of my true loves, just dropping by to say "hello." I open the window, despite the air conditioner being on, just to hear their wings.

Dragoncon Parade 2010

2010-09-05T12:03:00.005-04:00

My favorite picture of the day: A Charlie Chaplin that begs for a black and white photo!

This was my first ever experience with Atlanta's Dragoncon, so I threw on my blue velvet jacket, a fedora, and some Victorian lace sleeves and felt right at home. We got there a little late, which means there was zero chance of me getting to the front of the crowds for some good photos. But I had read the quotation, "Life begins at the end of your comfort zone," on a greeting card the day before, and that gave me the audacity I needed to "Pardon me, excuse me, please" to the front of the horde to stand beside a very forgiving lady and her son. It's not my natural state-of-being to feel entitled, so it was certainly a character stretch to assume myself into the front lines. It felt good, triumphant even, as I snapped photos, and I found that many of the paraders came to the side just to pose for my camera--God love them. I felt as if these people were finally getting a day to dress on the outside how they felt on their insides. At least that's how I felt myself. Enjoy!

Me and Them

2010-08-25T08:17:00.003-04:00

The titmouse is always the first to show up--I haven't discovered whether they are the most fearless or the most feeble-minded. I choose fearless.

A young goldfinch...

Young mockingbirds can be quite unattractive...this one's parents have been dive-bombing the poor community cat, Oscar Wilde, for months now...

The young cardinal...I can't help but wonder if this is one of the two that I rescued from a fallen nest ...

A goldfinch helps himself to my sunflowers...

The crow on the edge of my grocery store...

Goldfinch again, prefers the flowers to the feeders...

A shy hummingbird hides his face from my camera...:)

Breakfast at a Friend's House

2010-08-12T12:07:00.002-04:00

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Woodstock Farmers Market

2010-08-08T12:11:00.002-04:00

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After the Storm

2010-08-06T09:34:00.001-04:00

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Rope Mill Park in Woodstock

2010-08-05T08:38:00.004-04:00

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A Cup of Coffee and an Old Routine

2010-08-02T06:30:00.006-04:00

Oh, my. I awoke at six this morning to the luscious, chilly air of my new air conditioning unit and the harp-setting on my iPhone alarm. It's been a long while (a whole season) since I've felt that cold and heard that early harp...

I was groggy, but still overtly excited. It's my first-grader's first day of school today. All his supplies wait in two bags by the front door. His book bag already holds his snack for the day and his lunch money. His clothes are laid out for him...all that's left to do is wake him up. But I linger over my hot mug of coffee, listening to the birds outside telling me that they've been up for ages...and asking me where I have been all summer.

***

It's 9:15, and the child has been in school for exactly one hour and forty five minutes. I've come home, hung up all of his brand new little shirts in his closet, made a breakfast of soft poached egg on buttered focaccia, and lit my favorite Nouvelle Mahogany and Tobacco Candle. I've listened to the quiet. I talked on the phone for an uninterrupted twenty minutes to a friend I haven't talked to in over two months. I've given the dogs wet dog food mixed in with their dry, which I only do on rare, special occasions. They're sleeping so soundly now that it reminds me of the days that I brought them home from the pound. Animals do that when you rescue them from confinement--all that barking and clanging of chain link and stainless steel food bowls--then, suddenly, the pronounced quiet of their own homes. They do a quick sniffing tour of the house, and then they curl up and sleep for a very long time. I'm sure they feel almost like that now, with the absent din of Spongebob Squarepants in the background and with the contentenment of full bellies.

***

It's almost 10:30, and I've taken my first pink dose from an industrial-sized bottle of Pepto. I used to get a sour stomach on the first day of school when I was a kid, but now I get one on HIS first day, too. I'm logical enough to know that it's all psychosomatic, but change makes still me (physically) sick.

A Day God Made

2010-08-01T09:53:00.002-04:00

Poker Face

2010-07-28T17:06:00.005-04:00

That's a "you don't stand a chance" face if I ever saw one. I wonder what Da Vinci would have thought of Lady Gaga...I'd love to see them seated next to each other at the universal opera. Along with Bin Laden and Flannery O'Conner in a balcony box together. Now that would be a hoot. What current/historical people would you like eavesdrop on?

Back Porch on a Friday Afternoon

2010-07-23T19:12:00.002-04:00

I had never even heard of a "butterfly bush" before I moved to Georgia. I thought, "Surely that can't be the real name for it." But the longer I lived here, the more I saw of these beautiful plants that can grow as tall as a small tree if pruned at the right time of year. I love watching the butterflies and bees come back year after year to brighten my days.

A sunflower that my son and I planted at the beginning of the summer...near to bursting...

I've been filling this up with clean water for the birds every morning...such a dry summer leads them right to my back door...

This is the first ripe Juliet tomato from a plant my friend Jamie gave me...thanks, girl!

Wireless in Woodstock

2010-07-23T16:31:00.005-04:00

I am so happy to report that I've just found my new office, ya'll. My town of Woodstock has just procured free wi-fi access for the downtown City Park. This means so many things for my proclivity to propel my personal blogging thoughts out to the masses via a park bench or a blanket in the grass. With a thermos and a picnic, I'm a different person. A different writer.

We tend to live differently when we're outside, don't we? When we have the benefit of birdsong and breezes and human interaction, our words take on different forms. Better forms. We suburbanites lose that sometimes, holed up on our sub-divided, cul-de-sacked lives with our automatic garage door openers that help us avoid talking to the neighbors. Well, I, for one don't want to live that way. See you in the park tomorrow. I'll bring the coffee.

Dude.

2010-07-21T11:28:00.002-04:00

I'm not even kidding. Let me tally up the things that have fallen apart in my household in the last month. Ahem.

1. The brakes on my car. (Got those fixed.)

2. My air-conditioner in my house. (Still, as of this moment, broken.)

3. My vacuum cleaner. Which, by reason of #2, has become doubly inconvenient because the dogs have begun to shed like mad.

4. My washing machine. Dirty clothes have begun to pile up. In a house with no air ventilating through it. Yuck.

5. My weed eater AND lawn mower BOTH. SERIOUSLY? My yard is looking so Boo Radley-ish right now.

6. The cursor on my lap-top has taken on a mind of its own, flits about the screen, or is just plain unresponsive.

I need to start being grateful REALLY QUICKLY for the things that ARE WORKING so that my attitude can shift. Otherwise, I'm going to totally FUH-REAK out.

The Cracker Queen Herself...Lauretta Hannon at the Cracker Queen Porch Party

2010-07-18T21:11:00.009-04:00

A girl and her mama...Lauretta really knows how to laugh. She laughs with her whole self. And when she laughs like that, she makes me laugh that way, too.

Visit her here...

A girl, her mama, and the mayor of Powder Springs, Pat Vaughn...

The proper lighting...

How long has it been since you had an RC Cola? A royal crown--how appropriate for the occasion.

Yes, he's peeling a switch with a pocketknife for a misbehaving youngin'...you just don't get to see this everyday...I wish I did.

"She did WHAT? Well, bless her heart..."

The Indian Princess

When I finished reading Lauretta Hannon's The Cracker Queen, I was in a hotel in Charleston, watching my little one sleep. I think so many in the South are attracted to this book because she's telling our story. Southern people with high hopes and mitigating circumstances--isn't that what it always comes down to? Watching your people try so hard and almost win...and end up happy anyway. I had the pleasure of sharing tales with Loretta at the Right Wing Tavern in Woodstock, and I heard about the Cracker Queen shenanigans from Athens, Georgia, to Amsterdam. We've both had the pleasure of the seeing the world and then coming back home, which, in a lifetime, is all you can really ask for.

The Long Hot Summer; or There Are Weeds in My Roses

2010-07-17T10:41:00.006-04:00

Do you know what happens in late July in Georgia when the air conditioner goes kaput and you don't have the money for a new one? A lot of sweat on the forehead ala The Long Hot Summer and A Time to Kill. Both sweaty Southern stories. Disgruntled feelings also get carelessly thrown about toward the others closest at hand. The heat most surely can (and does and will) drive a girl mad and make her feel even more closed in (trapped!) than she already did.

The dogs are huffing and panting in front of the fans, and suddenly shopping malls and museums seem so much more appealing.

P.S. Crisis has been temporarily averted. A friend of the family brought over a window unit, and the afternoon rains have brought about some relief. My tempest-brewing-brain has settled for now.

State Botanical Gardens in Athens, GA

2010-07-15T20:42:00.001-04:00

Walker's Drive In in Jackson, Mississippi

2010-07-14T22:29:00.004-04:00

This a place that my friend Keetha mentioned on my impromptu jaunt through literary Mississippi. I arrived early for lunch (highly recommended) and grabbed a seat at the bar (close to the kitchen action) with my six year-old. I asked for the best thing on the menu, which turned out to be a special and not on the menu at all. It was a soft-shelled crab BLT (pictured below) a sweet tea, and some prime Mississippi reading material.

The food was fabulous, as was watching the skirts and suits walking into the place speaking in their beautifully slow, educated drawls. They didn't even know how much people-watching- pleasure they were giving this Georgia girl. If you're ever in Jackson, be sure to give the Fondren district of town, as well as this precious culinary gem, your special attention.

Coming Soon: Free Hugs

2010-07-13T15:21:00.000-04:00

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Mermaids on the Door; Six Feet Under Pub and Fish House in Atlanta

2010-07-12T16:24:00.002-04:00

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Gone With the Wind; Historic Oakland Cemetery, Final Resting Place of Margaret Mitchell and Bobby Jones

2010-07-12T16:09:00.003-04:00

Her Fearful Symmetry: The Swan House in Atlanta

2010-07-11T21:47:00.005-04:00

Click above to be there with me...

Saving Summer

2010-07-10T19:11:00.001-04:00

Who Saved Whom?

2010-07-09T14:26:00.001-04:00

A Sidewalk Mambo (Life's a Dance You Learn As Go)

2010-07-08T22:06:00.006-04:00

All along the sidewalks of the North Shore in Chattanooga, you'll find the steps to the most romantic dances cast right there in the cement. It brings to mind a time I missed by my age--a time when dancing was just "assumed" as a part of a girl's "education." I suppose in the world of cotillions and coming out and debutantes, it still is. Oh, to be a part of that world for just FIVE MINUTES, just as on onlooker with a dance card.

The closest I ever came to peering in on that life was when my Air Force community commander sent his daughter off to "etiquette school" after she was found, ahem, dethroned in the security police dormitory. Poor girl. Still, I bet they didn't teach her the mambo.

Cue Johnny Cash.

2010-07-07T22:22:00.001-04:00

Saving Myself (From Myself)

2010-07-06T21:25:00.007-04:00

The Very Long Engagement, or What I Was Watching at 3 a.m.
P.S. I heart subtitles...

Would you ever want to read a book whose protagonist keeps making the same mistakes over and over and remains in an obliviously unhappy holding pattern until the very.last.page? No, you wouldn't. You'd let the first couple of times slide, and then expect her to learn her lesson. If she didn't, you'd get frustrated and put down the book.

So then why is it so hard to realize when you're that protagonist? I mean, do I really want to experience something DIFFERENT? Then I should change my flippin' methods. Why has it taken so long for that little tidbit to actually sink in?

***
Case in point:

This morning while the rest of the world lay sleeping, I was wide-eyed and restless. I wandered to the living room couch, where the dog and I watched a French, subtitled film until 4 a.m. (See above) Hours later, I walked around my house in a tired daze until early afternoon, not really accomplishing much.

And then something in me snapped...I did the dishes, vacuumed the floor, made the bed, and made something to eat for my son. (This is the normal stuff.) But then, instead of escaping with a book or a movie or a Parisian blog, I went to my computer and switched it on. I gathered all the information I needed to build a resume. When I'd finished, I submitted it for a job. In another city. Do you understand how very liberating it was to do this--a thing I've put off for years?

If that weren't enough change for one day, I joined a three month weight loss challenge with thirty other women from all over the country. This involved posting a current picture and weight, which was the grown-up equivalent to finally gaining the courage to look under the bed to see if there were any monsters under there. Instead, there were just thirty women who are probably going to very grumpy people in the next few days. :)

It looks like my storyline may be starting to look up.

Allbooks in Chattanooga

2010-07-05T19:50:00.006-04:00

"This looks like my mama's house," a lady said with a giggle as she walked into Allbooks. Indeed, I too thought I'd walked into a hoarder's paradise. Books and Lady-of-Shalotty-looms were scattered about in its vast expanse, as well as bundles of yarn, Christmas ornaments, candle sticks, lampshades, etc. (And there's a lot in that etcetera.)

Still, I had the distinct, comfortable feeling of having been magically swept up into a modern day Dickens novel. I imagined that a slightly hunched over, bespectacled professor with a British accent was just about to step out of the shadows at any time. I unfortunately didn't get the pleasure of this fantasy-cum-reality, however...my six-year old claimed it "BOR-ING!" and whisked me away to the Chattanooga aquarium before I could properly investigate. Saving the exploration of this place for another day...

Click to enlarge this to its proper glory and BE THERE WITH ME. :)

The Terminal Brewhouse in Chattanooga

2010-07-05T19:45:00.004-04:00

How did this...

...lead to THIS?

Well, huddle up, and I'll tell you the story. It began with asking our server Zack at the Terminal Brewhouse, "What do you do for fun around here?" ("Here," meaning Chattanooga.) He told us that he'd grown up around Signal Mountain, and about a twenty mile drive away would produce a hike to a "secret waterfall." He said he'd spent a lot of time there when he was a teenager and that nobody really went there anymore. I was all in. He drove us a very accurate map, complete with landmarks and squiggly lines, on a receipt (think: treasure map) that led my little PT Cruiser up hairpin turns, the like of which it's never seen.

When we got to the Falling Waters trail, it was a short five minute hike to a beautiful view of the gorge and a stream that was cascading over the side of the mountain. It was running a little slower than normal due to lack of rain, but I just felt grateful to someone for giving me privy information to their "secret hideaway." I can't wait to re-visit this spot in the fall after the leaves have had time to do their thing. Thanks, Zack, for the Belgian White Beer as well as the trail!

P.S. The Terminal Brewhouse's menu describes beer as "the wondrous nectar that makes the bad man stop and life worth living." Indeed.

A Southern 4th

2010-07-05T18:45:00.006-04:00

Chattanooga, Tennessee (Happy 3rd of July!)

2010-07-04T23:59:00.004-04:00

On the Road...

2010-07-03T22:52:00.002-04:00

Saved Again: "Conditionally"

2010-07-02T17:37:00.013-04:00

"Could you ever marry someone who's not Catholic?" I asked my husband while we were still dating.

No, he couldn't.

"So here we go again," I thought at the time.

So after some classes on Catholic teachings (the communion bread is really Jesus and dogs don't really go to heaven), I had to get RE-baptized--"conditionally" this time, just in case the first one didn't take.

You see, in all the confusion, I couldn't remember if my first attempt at it amounted to what the Catholics call a "Trinitarian" baptism. I just couldn't recall as the pastor dunked me in the swimming pool if he'd said the words, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," a point about which the Catholics are very particular. I actually had to go through the humiliation of writing Johnny the Pastor an email in Iceland and had to be all like, "Hey, did you specify 'father, son, and holy spirit?" And he was all like, "Becoming Catholic is a big mistake and I renounce you. So there." So I had to forward this email to the Catholics, who said under the circumstances, I had to have a do-over. Not just a do-over, but a "conditional" do-over.

I've often wondered how much God really cares about semantics. And does he take into account when a person is "converted" to a religion by love or dominance? (Or both?)

And I often wonder now why I was attracted to men who only wanted me...the way they wanted me. Conditionally.

I know that my God doesn't love that way.

Saved.

2010-07-01T21:46:00.023-04:00

This is the first story that came to mind when I discovered that the theme for July's Nablopomo was "Saved." It goes a little something like this...

The day I was baptized, I was drunk before my hair dried. "What's your name again?" the Baptist preacher asked me as he dunked my head underneath the chlorinated, indoor pool. Full immersion. People gathered around pool-side in their Sunday-best and were watching me like it was a documentary. They asked me if I wanted to say a few words beforehand. "Speech? I have to make a SPEECH?" I thought. The whole experience was so anti-climactic and nerve-wracking that when the resident heathens invited me to a party when I got back to my dorm room, I quickly accepted.

"Wear anything but white," the preacher had told me. "For obvious reasons." (I recoiled at these instructions, but respected the connotations. I wondered how many poor women had worn white before he had to start giving these unfortunate instructions.)

So I wore all black, just to be on the safe side.

And yet, the healing powers of whatever they gave me at the bar afterwards seemed far more healing than that man (of God) who didn't bother to remember my name.

"I just can't marry you unless you're SAVED," my newly baptized fiance had told me at the time. I knew I loved him, and if getting dunked in a community pool was going to cement the issue, then I was open to it. He had "gotten religion" seemingly overnight after I'd left Italy, and he needed me on board so that he could feel good about loving me again.

But in the end, he married someone else anyway. A blonde over my brunette, and eighteen over my twenty-two. Her Italy to my Iceland. She lived where he lived, and I lived above the Arctic Freaking Circle. His letters started by mentioning her as a "friend," then a tennis partner, then shortly after, a wife. I didn't know whether to dance or have a nervous breakdown.

God and I, we had our thing long before and after the fiance. When I was in high school back in Germany, I used to skip school and hang out in the cathedral all day with the pious German ladies and the Pope Clement II sarcophagus. And, for my part, I did see God in the Northern Lights that winter, in the puffins nesting in lava rock cliff sides, in the black sand on the Arctic seashore.

I saw the fiance only in his apocryphal letters with his careful penmanship. Brown envelopes with practiced calligraphy. I hiked through snowstorms toward a military mailroom just for him to let me down easy.

I burned all of his letters, eventually, in the barbecue grill outside of my barracks. Then I threw some steaks on the fire, and tried to forget. Maybe I had gotten "saved" that day after all.

Puppy Love and Peaches

2010-06-30T11:39:00.007-04:00

I can't see peaches on a roadside without calling to mind my first Damn Good Dog. My mom and I were driving south from our home in Alabama towards the Gulf of Mexico when we spotted a stand with a hand-painted sign: "PEACHES." There must be fifty or more of these places on that stretch of road, but as luck had it that day, we stopped at the one where an an old Boxer mama was nursing the last of her pups behind an old shed. The man asked, "Can I help you, ma'am?" and to my surprise, my mother replied, "Only if you're giving away puppies."

I.nearly.died.

I'd been afflicted with the worst kind of puppy yearning for the entirety of my ten years but had always been denied because military life was way too transitory. Military pets often get left behind when you have to go to your next duty station, which was every two to three years if you're lucky. But there my was my mother, making a deal. If that little girl pup was still there when we returned from our day at Panama City's Shipwreck Island, then we'd take her. Of course, I thought of nothing else all day. There wasn't a waterslide around that could take my mind off that dog at the fruit stand. When it was finally time to head back to Alabama, I'd already named her. It was 4th of July weekend, so in honor of that, she would be called "Liberty."

That was the same year I read Where the Red Fern Grows for the first time, and as I wept at the ending, I climbed out my bedroom window, underneath which Liberty's doghouse had been strategically placed. (My mother was a crafty sort and had built the dog house herself using a heavy tin Coca Cola sign for the roof. This created the perfect venue for Liberty to jump onto and peep into my window when she wanted anything.) I lay there with her that night sobbing over the loss of Old Dan and Little Ann, and Liberty just nuzzled me lovingly like damn good dogs do.

Now the years have passed and I've had a few more dogs since her, but around this time every year, when the southern fruit ripens and shows up on the roadsides in bushel baskets, I'm taken back to that time with her. I still see that expectant dog-face looking in on me with those boxer wrinkles on her brow and hear the din of her tail wagging against her tin roof. I close my eyes and imagine those muddy paw prints still on my window pane. If it's true what they say about all dogs going to heaven, then I'm sure Liberty is up there with my mama, and they're both waiting for me under an angel-painted sign for "Peaches."

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Dear Garden & Gun Magazine

2010-06-27T14:40:00.009-04:00

...if you would hire me, I would be the happiest Southern Girl in the whole Southern world...With love and photos, SG

Garden & Gun is a magazine that never fails to inspire my "New South" sensibilities. Their writers and photographers are truly gifted at seeking out and capturing what I love most about living where I do...the cuisine, the literature, the characters, and the indelible Southern spirit that can't find its like anywhere else. Their glossy pages let me ride shotgun on the scenic route, and they don't mind stopping along the way. They are truly a remarkable read, from cover to cover, every single issue.

The Globe--An Athens Landmark Pub

2010-06-20T20:27:00.003-04:00

Whenever I'm Athens on a hot summer's day, you can count on my stopping by the Globe for a cool, sweating glass of something lovely. The dark wood paneling is a welcome respite away from the recoils of an unforgiving sun, and to sit at one of those thick pub tables with a Bass Ale or Guinness is nothing short of transporting. If you stop in hungry one day, I highly recommend trying their version of the traditional Fish and Chips. They serve them with a cayenne-laced tartar sauce on the side, and they fry the fish to such a startling perfection that would leave the mouths of British chefs agape. (Also, any place that bothers to hang a print of the bios of prominent Irish writers is just fine by me.)

P.S. Forgive the grainy iPhone photo...I left my "real" camera in the car with a dead battery. :)

Mississippi Bookstores; Rest for the Weary

2010-06-13T13:20:00.005-04:00

Lemuria Books in Jackson

Square Books in Oxford

The balcony overlooking the square at Square Books in Oxford

Square Books

Off the Square Books, Oxford

Lemuria Books in Jackson

Faulkner's at Sunset

2010-06-12T12:24:00.001-04:00

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Bedroom

2010-05-30T12:40:00.002-04:00

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Sunday Morning iPhone Photos

2010-05-23T08:55:00.004-04:00

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Fruit of Her Labors

2010-05-17T11:23:00.000-04:00

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Lying Under My Maple Tree; or Looking Up

2010-04-30T07:49:00.002-04:00

I was lying on my back, soaking in the reds and the blues, and listening to those birds talking about whatever birds talk about...and then I thought about you all...:) Crank the sound up and just listen to them...

On the Back Roads

2010-04-29T15:30:00.002-04:00

The Seaside Times

2010-04-28T16:14:00.002-04:00

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A Week in Dry County (Part 2)

2010-04-28T15:13:00.002-04:00

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A Trip Towards Dry County

2010-04-21T06:33:00.005-04:00

'Cause Even Doves Have Pride

2010-03-08T08:01:00.005-05:00

This dove aviary was the fruit of a long contrived plan of mine to have pet-wild birds. The cage will always be left open for them to come and go as they please while they still get used to my sunflower seed handouts. It's also the first thing you see as you walk up my front steps, so don't be startled by my mockingbird and cardinal friends...strangely, no doves yet.

These stringed-up, colored beauties are some Tibetan prayer flags that my friend Jacqui gave me. Traditionally, they're meant to be hung on Tibetan New Year, which coincided this year with our Valentine's Day. (If you don't get them up in time for that holiday, then you're supposed to hang them on a sunny, windy day.) They have Sanskrit prayers woven on to them, and are not seamed, so that when the wind blows, their colored strings (symbolizing our prayers) drift into the wind and away to the world. Pretty romantic, isn't it?

My summer hideaway "writing gazebo" is all frosted over in this picture...when the red curtains flap and flow on the wind's breath, I immediately think of some of my favorite scenes from the film Chocolat, when the strange wind picks up and she knows it's time to move on. Donning the red capes I covet, she and her daughter pick up and move to the next place. (Until they find they place the wind can't take them away from...)

This one doesn't move around much anymore, but when this year's snow came, he was dashing around like a pup. It was nice to see there was still some life left in him yet. I love the contrast of this photo...black and white, life and death.

This little titmouse friend has grown accustomed to the click of my camera. He trades a cute expression for a meal everyday of his little life.

Now filled with moss for a spring nester, this little blue house on my back porch was a flea market favorite of mine.

This is the gate we installed when our son was only two and gates actually worked with him. He's now a "don't fence me in" six-year old, and gates don't even slow him anymore.

My kitchen window and my pink tulips, thumbing their little petals at the cold outside...

I wish you only colors, prayers, and freedom winds to take you softly into spring...

Monday Morning

2010-03-08T06:55:00.000-05:00

Flowers in the Asking

2010-02-07T20:07:00.006-05:00

My husband called from the grocery store the other day to ask me if I needed anything. Immediately, my heart leapt toward the front of the store where I know the flowers are kept. There would be tulips! Of all colors. "I WANT TULIPS!" I wanted to shout through the phone. But I didn't.

Instead of talking to him, I sat back and listened to the little tete-a-tete erupting between my "ego" and my "higher self" that went something like this:

Higher Self: "Tulips sure would be nice on the bedside table."

Ego: "But doesn't it make them less special if you have to ask for them? Doesn't it make YOU less special? And there's so much more romance in the surprise..."

Higher Self: But there are so many more flowers in the asking."

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The Sunday Post

2010-02-07T12:00:00.005-05:00

Just a quick post before I dash off into the first day of sunshine we've seen here in a while. I took these photos yesterday to be saved for today--I pulled over on a familiar roadside where someone has erected a wooden cross where a new development had been planned and then halted. The field had been cleared of all vegetation, so it's sitting there defunct. (But for the cross.) I drive by it often, wondering if when the construction resumes, the cross will then disappear. But I've saved it, in my own little way. That's how I have to look at it.

Here's to saving what we can, however we can. Happy Sunday, everyone.

Linden

2010-02-03T12:06:00.005-05:00

There's a little boutique in downtown Woodstock that sells all the French-somethings that soothe my omnipresent, indominatably-aching wanderlust. I bought some sage velvet ribbon yesterday, along with some lavender-rosemary sea salt.

As I type this, there are Dutch potatoes roasting in my oven with said salt, and that ribbon is tied neatly around each place setting of Maroc silverware. These are the things I have to surround myself with, this intoxicating beauty that lets me see my glass half full. I know that people often say that you have to find beauty within before you can recognize it out in the world, but sometimes the world offers up beauty in such unexpected ways that it kindles the fire within as well.

Cemeteries and Libraries.

2010-01-23T21:42:00.011-05:00

I've always said that I could judge a town by how well they took care of their cemeteries and libraries. Reverence for elders and respect for knowledge always seemed like a good jumping off place when I choose where I want to be in this world.

I had happened upon this graveyard outside of downtown Roswell a couple of months ago, and as luck would have it on that day, I didn't have my camera with me. It was one of those places that we'd found quite by accident, taking what we'd deemed the "wrong road," and winding up way off our intended course. But as I had been let loose from the boys today, driving around with no destination in mind (but with a camera ready in the passenger's seat), I decided to drive back up and see if I could find it again.

The day was an overcast gray-black mess, with a cold mist that settles uncomfortably into Southern bones. I recalled the mighty oaks towering over this historic cemetery, where its Presbyterian founders were buried high up on a hill, and I imagined how starkly the branches would contrast with these winter skies. I found the road back pretty easily (I hadn't been driving the first time around) and lifted the camera to get a look at the place through the lens. Stark, raving, Southern Gothic gorgeous. An oak tree, a leaning bench, a little headstone with the name "Little Daisy" that lived to be "8 month and 8 days." I stood pondering over her for a while, reminded of my mother's love for daisies and her last little garden patch in Belgium. That woman planted daisies beside every house the military moved us to, and I imagine them there still, across this country and a few others. I was also reminded in an instant of Fitzgerald's Daisy Buchanen sipping old-fashioned's with Gatsby, life in the West Egg, and that green light looming across the bay that symbolized money to the young man. And in the end, my thoughts arrived back to their beginnings, to this infant girl with a bright, hopeful name beneath my feet that never got to grow up, but whose soul, might be watching me this.very.minute.

I always get a little creeped out walking among the headstones, but mostly I just wonder at the names and lives and dreams of these people. I wonder if they can see me from wherever they are, and do they mind my being there? The whole thing reminded me not only of ghost tours that I've taken in Augusta and Canton, but also of the hilarious passage in Lauretta Hannon's memoir The Cracker Queen when her mother, right before visiting an abandoned, haunted funeral home said to the group: "Before we go in, I have one question: Why exactly are we lookin' for something we dont want to find?"--dramatic pause--No seriously, can someone please tell me why we are hunting ghosts when we hope to God we don't catch any?" That's a wise woman talking. I bet I could apply that logic to more than a few of my life's little shenanigans.

As always,

Land of a Thousand Hills Coffee

2010-01-23T17:05:00.002-05:00

A Woman's Hands

2010-01-21T06:16:00.005-05:00

The Mother of my Mother...

The Artist

The Purveyor of the Printed Page (and Runner with the Wolves)

The Coffee Maven and the Thrift Store Secret Keeper

The Poet in Her own Right

Me...the Morning Writer

The Fledgling Photographer, who Keeps a Mojito Day Job

I've noticed from scrolling through some of my old photographs that hands--particularly those of my friends--continue to turn up as a recurring motif in my work. These are the hands that have held babies, books, pens, brushes, and baubles. These hands that have hugged necks, cleaned scraped-up knees, wiped away tears (both their own and everyone else's), braided tangly hair, picked blackberries in the brambles, and held out offerings of margaritas, coffee, and, yes, the hands themselves as a comfort, a salve to every day misgivings. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world? Indeed.

Blog Traveling (3 A.M)

2010-01-21T05:02:00.004-05:00

The iPhone proclaimed 3:17, and I could hear what woke me. A cacophany of snores from the husband and coughing from the child in the next room. The coughing only seems to come when he lies down to sleep, and they make a mama's heart ache inside. I lay there for minutes, and thought of coffee and alone and quiet on the other side of my split-level ranch. I also thought of you all...the writers...the blogs...the artists...and the cities you inhabit. "Is everything okay?" he asked as I rose. Yes, fine. But I was thinking, "I just need some coffee and a little Paris to put myself right again." Now it's 5:09, two cups of hot coffee later, and I've already been twice to Paris, once to Afghanistan, taken a trip to Bavaria, and visited a dear friend in Mississippi.

I have to say that there's nothing like blog traveling to let you know that you're not so alone in the world. Lord Byron once said, "Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company." I believe he would've approved of "blog traveling" with the same sentiment. (Are not our blogs our letters to world? Why else would they be called "posts?") :)

A Happy Birthday Post for Jane's-Mom-Jane!

2010-01-19T21:18:00.003-05:00

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There is a very special woman up in Michigan right now (BURRR! :) ) who I would like to wish a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I love to hear the stories of your life told through your daughter's (my friend's) eyes. I picked out these pictures especially for you today--the view of the sunrise from my kitchen window. How I love to see that new day dawning through the pines every morning...I hope you will, too. Happy Birthday, Jane's-Mom-Jane!

2010-01-11T13:41:00.004-05:00

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The Town's Got Soul

2009-12-21T23:44:00.003-05:00

I keep returning to this town every weekend, waiting for a house or a job to fall into my lap. Spicy Mayan Mochas are served up at the Jittery Joe's Roasting Company, Oatmeal Stouts at the Globe, and the best of Chicken Cubans and Fish Tacos are bestowed by Bruno at Cali 'n Tito's. I see a return is inevitable. I drive up the streets of Normaltown and Cobbham, just hoping for the sign: For Lease 706-...-....

Using Words.

2009-12-15T20:48:00.004-05:00

I don't remember when it was that I stopped writing. Maybe it was when some of my husband's family found this blog, and I was afraid that if I didn't shrink to fit back into that mold that I'd allowed them to fit me into, I might just (gulp)OFFEND someone's fragile sensibilities. That goes also for the some of the people in my southern suburban enclave that discovered my blog once I started a job in town. For years this blog had been relatively anonymous...I had friends who read it (friends who'd found me on the internet), like-minded souls and bloggers who discovered me by happenstance and while searching for people with the same interests. On my sidebar, I've dubbed them my "kindred collective." I felt I could speak plainly, openly. But as it would happen, and as I'm sure it happens to many bloggers, they're discovered by the very people that they are talking about. Their subject matter suddenly becomes their audience. Then, crisis-like, deer-in-the-headlights, knee jerk reactions occur. WE STOP WRITING ALTOGETHER.

But listen to that...it's the sound of dust settling. Or is it the sound of the calm before the storm? I'm finally starting to coax myself back into writing...starting to tell myself the same thing I told my son as a toddler when I was teaching him how to communicate: "Use your words...use your words..." I'm back. And I'm using my words, ya'll.

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Athens, Again (and Still)

2009-12-03T19:37:00.001-05:00

Love Lights Shine

2009-11-30T12:02:00.002-05:00

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Give Thanks

2009-11-30T11:57:00.000-05:00

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Thanksgiving--A Prelude

2009-11-24T14:15:00.002-05:00

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A Roadside Santa; Old Highway 20

2009-11-22T21:10:00.001-05:00

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All around her...

2009-11-22T09:08:00.000-05:00

The Sunday Morning Post

2009-11-15T09:08:00.001-05:00

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