The View from West 58th Street and Broadway, New York City

Bruce and I are vacationing in New York City, following a wonderful time enjoying fall leaves in Connecticut. We had many little adventures, not the least of which has been that the report from my wonederful eye doctor, Dr. Gaudio, was fantastic. I went North thinking that I would have to have surgery in my right eye, following the repair of my left. What I found instead was that I received an excellent report, needed to come back in six months instead of three months and advised to, "keep doing what I've been doing." My eyesight has improved from 20/70 with contact lenses to 20/40...not too far away from perfect at 20/20.

Our pictures are all over the place, in the digi-cam, in the cell phone, and on the hard drive, so I won't be posting the trip in chronological order.

We're at our beloved Hudson Hotel in New York City:
http://www.hudsonhotel.com/#/photo_gallery/

I'll do a number of other entries, but right now I want to share about listening to that small, still voice within which is the Holy Spirit. One of my favorite paintings on earth is called Christina's World by the New England painter, Andrew Wyeth. I'm not specifically sure why I love it so much. It is poignant, to be sure. It evokes a sense of longing as I look at it, as well as a sense of triumph over personal struggle. The model for this picture was a neighbor of Mr. Wyeth's who was disabled due to polio. I also love the faded pink thirties-era dress.

Bruce and I visited the Museum of Modern Art today. There are many treasures there that I enjoyed communing with, not the least of which were Monet's water lillies, a self-portrait by Frieda Kahlo, and the exquisite "Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh. But Christina and her world remain my very favorite. I had no idea that this painting was at MOMA.

We reached the top floor and Bruce hit the button for the elevator for the ground floor after we'd finished looking at the art on the top floor. But that still, small voice said quietly, deep within, "You will miss something, take the escalator." And sure enough, as we turned the corner, there was Christina. I almost missed her.

Autumn House

I don't know that name of the woman on High Street in Western Branch who so lovingly decorates the exterior of her home for every season. But I feel like I know her and wish I had the nerve to ring her bell and tell her how much I enjoy her home.

Since I first saw it 11 years ago, I have made sure to go back and peep at it as often as I pass by. I find inspiration and feel her love for beauty and her sense of style. If I thought I wouldn't be caught, I'd be a peeping Thomasina so I could press my nose against the glass to see her living room decor. Don't you just know that it would be full of very special, homey things?

The Germans have a word that doesn't really translate well into English...gemutlich. Gemutlich is an adjective that means sort of cozy and homey, inspiring a feeling of warmth and family. This house makes me feel gemutlich. I feel grateful to the special person who decorates for the delight of the Portsmouth community. Please note the straw hat on the horse. LOL!

Life Imitates Art

I hope I can adequately explain what this is a picture of. Double-click on the pic to get a really good look.

I have a long, high-ceilinged, skinny hallway upstairs. Back in June, I was in Atlanta with my sister and we went to a Ballard's store outlet. Ballard's Designs is high end, but the outlet has amazing bargains.

What you see is a very tall painted canvas that I purchased there for $40. The effect is trompe l'oiel (fool the eye) and it really looks as though it is painted in on the wall. I've never seen anything else like it.

The table and chair in front are real, of course. The whole "scene" in the front, which echoes the canvas, was assembled from items I already had. I was amazed at how perfect a match the pitcher was.

Katherine - Anya Seton

I decided to post up my favorite books to the left here, because books are so incredibly important to me. I'd shrivel up and die without them.

One of my favorite books of all time is "Katherine" by Anya Seton. It is a fictionalized version of the true story of Katherine Swynford, one of the most remarkable women of medieval history.

Katherine was the third wife of John of Gaunt, a member of the Plantagenet royal family of England during the 1300's. Although John, Duke of Lancaster, was one of the most influential men of England, he was never king. Through Katherine, however, the entire royal family of England now traces its heritage.

Katherine is one of the most incredible love stories of all time. She was the daughter of a knight from Hainault (present day Belgium) who traveled to England with John's mother when she married his father. Katherine was s lady in waiting to John's first wife Blanche, who died very tragically and quite young. After her death, Katherine and John fell in love, but he remarried Constanza of Castile (Spain) for political reasons.

John and Katherine had four children together. They eventually stopped seeing each other due to a deep sense of guilt over their affair. After Constanza died, John shocked all of England by marrying Katherine for love, a love that spanned 25 years, and making her his Duchess.

Katherine is still in print, many years after its first publication, but you can also easily find it in the library. You will be enthralled with Katherine and John's story, more meaningful because it is true.

The God Hunt

All of us have access to God, but each has different access. Our great chance lies precisely in our unlikeness. God's all-inclusiveness manifests itself in the infinite multiplicity of the ways that lead to Him, each of which is open to one person.

Martin Buber

Book Review - The Help by Kathryn Stockett

I just finished a book that was so fabulous, that I had to get up after 1 a.m. and write about it right away.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett is the best book I've read all year. I tend to follow book reviewes pretty carefully, but I've seen no advertising about this book at all. I picked it up at Walmart, of all places, for $17.34 instead of the list rice of 24.95. I'm sure it is on sale (gently used) on Amazon for even less.

The Help is a story about African-American domestic staff, the dawning of the Civil Rights movement and the white families who employ the maids. It is written from the perspective of three different women, two of them are the housekeepers and one is the progressive adult daughter of a traditional Southern family. The story is riveting and the dialog is superb, with an often ruthless look of the pettiness, as well as the deep cruelty, of racial prejudices. With such a serious topic discussed, The Help still managss to be very funny and entertaining. I literally could not put this book down, which is why I am up so late.

Part of the porgnancy of this book for me was remembering our housekeeper, Rose Brown, whom we hired in Virginia just at the same time period of the the book. Rose was a very tall woman, who had the most beautiful, long-fingered hands I'd ever seen. She wore a distinctive gold ring that formed a knot with a little ruby, her birth stone, on it.

Rose frequently spoke of herself in the third person, such as "Don't you kids be back-sassing Rose." She had very distinctive angular hand-writing. A few years back, I found a grocery list stuck inside my mother's New York Times Cookook,in Rose's handwriting which washed me over in nostalgia. Apparently the tunafish, baking soda, and celery never made it home.

She used to make really incredible peanut brittle that she smashed into pieces with a hammer. She had a big, plywood board that she'd covered with an old sheet so that we could do 1,000 piece puzzles with her while she watched her "stories" (Like sands through the hour glass, so are the Days of Our Lives...") She'd slide the plywood under a bed until the next time we worked on the puzzle. Rose moved with us from Virginia to Connecticut, but finally moved back home when my mother remarried and we moved to New York.

Pick up the book, you'll love it. Even if you didn't have the blessing of a Rose in yoru life.

Eliminate and Concentrate

In my favorite book, Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman, written by my mentor, Anne Ortlund, she makes an important statement about time management by suggesting that we "eliminate and concentrate" in order to get the most important things done.

Eliminating and concentrating can also work well for me in decorating around my home. My kitchen shelf, which is up very high, had become a catch-all for anything I thought was cute. My ktichen is black, white, and red...but there were all sorts of tins and other items that really didn't fit in with the color scheme.

So, I eliminated and concentrated. I removed about half of what was up there. I limited myself to items I really loved. I love the new look.

This is what smithereens looks like

Ever hear of breaking something into smithereens? This is what it looks like. Ever hear that Corelle is unbreakable? It isn't. Just sayin.

Main Entry: smith·er·eens
Pronunciation: \ˌsmi-thə-ˈrēnz\
Function: noun plural
Etymology: perhaps from Irish smidiríní
Date: 1829
: fragments, bits

Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

Good evening from Portsmouth, Virginia.

I've found a wonderful new blog from a woman in New York City.  I love New York City blogs, because I just love New York City.  Each entry starts something like the way I just started.  I find it so dignified, spare, and restrained...all the things I'm not, but I thought that I'd try the greeting on for size.  See if you enjoy Frances' blog as much as I do.

http://cityviewscountrydreams.blogspot.com/

If I was blogging as Frances does, I'd say that I spent a very enjoyable day today.  I slept in and had a cup of coffee out while reading a wonderful book about dynastic marriages in the 1200's in Europe.  (I'll go back to my Anne personae here and say, seriously, I really was.  No kidding. I always read books like that.   I just never tell people because I would sound like a freak.)  Back to channeling Frances. 

I  met a charming man who is very patient with me for a lunch along the river.  (It's Bruce, my husband, but still..)  Then I traveled to the old, cobblestoned area of town, to an elegant 1880's row house with a bay window featuring glass so old that the panes were wavy. It is a magnificent home with marble busts, tapestrries on the walls, and wonderful oil paintings.

I met with my employer, a dignified British man who is writing his memoire with my help.  We spent some time together in World War II during the Blitz of London when he was a boy,  I could nearly hear the sound of the air raid sirens droning on and on. (again true, but if I were being flippant ole Annie, I'd say, "You've heard of Tuesday's with Morrie?"  This is Sunday with Joseph.) We made great progress on our work together.

I then returned home and painted, appreciating the vibrant brush strokes of maize (on the wall, because Frances is a wonderful oil panter and I'm a mediocre painter of walls.) I cleaned up all my brushes and watched the paint swirl into the sink, down the drain and out in the Hudson River...(oops, too much of Frances, there) into the Elizabeth River.

I cut up some lovely vegetables for a simple pasta dinner with freshly-grated paremesan cheese and a small salad.  It was a a fitting end to a good day.  I listened to some classical music while I ate...(Okay, I listened to Law and Order Crimina Intent and daydreamed how I'd love to be an extra on that show when it shoots in New York City..)

Wait a sec...Did I tell you guys that Bruce and I are booked to go to New York City on October 22?   We will be going to an exhihbit of Vermeer paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  One of the masterpieces which will be shown is the amazing painting I've included here called "The Milkmaid."  We're also going to visit the High Line which Frances mentioned in a recent blog.entry.  Which is great.  Seriously. You must read it.

Best wishes to all.

23 Wind Road, East Hartford, Connecticut

My grandmother, Helen, was a truly amazing woman.  She lived at 23 Wind Road, East Hartford, Connecticut in an old seafoam green Cape Cod home with a deeper green door and shutters.

We moved around a lot when I was little, from Boston to Philadelphia to Virginia to Connecticut to New York. 23 Wind Road was a constant in my life.  My grandmother inspired my love of antiquing, of knitting, of flea markets...of salvaging something that others would think unusuable, from a Victorian Directoire sofa on the curbside to the ornery widow whose property taxes she quietly paid for many years. 

I have so many wonderful memories, The sound of her rotary dial telephone making a call.  The dry sink in the kitchen filled with plants.  The little porthole window over her bed.  Watching Elvis movies and Miss America with her,  The glow-in-the-dark rosary beads she gave me to keep me from being afraid in the dark, telling me, "Don't be afraid if you fall asleep before you're done because the angels will finish it for you."  Her ironing board that folded right into the wall.

Her knitting needles clicking row by row.  The sound of the storm door opening.  The breakfast nook. Her bed with the carved pineapple posts that's in my house now.  Her Beleek china with the little shamrocks on it.  The gorgeous cranberry glass in the living room.  Her pantry.  The crows cawing in the back yard.  Her spaghetti and meatballs, New England boiled dinner, pork roast, and homemade mashed potatoes.  Can you tell I still miss her?

The last time I visited her, she went up to the attic and came downstairs with the painting you see pictured here.  She had it painted years ago by someone who desperately needed work during the Depression.  She handed it to me and said, "Now you can take 23 Wind Road wherever you go."

When my father first visted me here in Virginia, we walked the dogs.  He kept looking up and down the street and finally said, in a bemused way, "You recreated Wind Road right here."  I'm not sure if that's because I have 23 Wind Road hanging in my dining room or because there are many houses here that look like hers...maybe both.

Doing Dishes

I found this great little quote from this month's Country Living, from a book called, "The Gift of an Ordinary Day" by Katrina Kenison

I magined a simple kitchen, a farm sink full of soapy water, a view from the window that would lift my heart, and time enough just to stand there, fingers swirling a sponge across a chinat plate.

Crosby, Stills, and Nash

I relived my childhood, or at least my young adulthood recently when I saw Crosby, Stills,and Nash at Ntelos Pavilion. It was David Crosby's birthday and it was the fortieth anniversary of Woodstock, which combined to make it a truly amazing experience. I haven't been to this type of concert in nearly twenty years.

I found a perfect CSN shirt to wear with my jeans, a retro sixites print with flowing sleeves It wasn't the tie-dyed, peace sign grubby retro garb which I don't care for, but retro in a sweet, tiny floral and paisley, purple-y kind of way.

CSN's harmonies have lost nothing over the years, in fact, I think they've probably been enhanced. The acoustic and electric guitairs were amazing. The atmosphere in the audience was electrifying.

They sang "Wasted on the Way," "Ruby Tuesday," "Teach Your Children Well," and "For What It's Worth." (Hey now, what's that sound, everybody look what's going down...") My favorite moment was hearing the unmistakeable beginning chords of "The Southern Cross," a very meaningful song to me. If you've never heard it, here it is for you from You Tube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlVNod_krsM

Got out of town on a boat
Goin' to Southern islands.
Sailing a reachBefore a followin' sea.
She was makin' for the trades
On the outside,
And the downhill run
To Papeete.
Off the wind on this heading
Lie the Marquesas.
We got eighty feet of the waterline.
Nicely making way.
In a noisy bar in Avalon
I tried to call you.
But on a midnight watch I realized
Why twice you ran away.

Chorus

Think about how many timesI have fallen
Spirits are using melarger voices callin'.
What heaven brought you and me
Cannot be forgotten.
I have been around the world,
Lookin' for that woman/girl,
Who knows love can endure.
And you know it will.
And you know it will.

When you see the Southern Cross
For the first time
You understand now
Why you came this way'
Cause the truth you might be runnin' from
Is so small.
But it's as big as the promise
The promise of a comin' day.
So I'm sailing for tomorrow
My dreams are a dyin'.
And my love is an anchor tied to you
Tied with a silver chain.
I have my ship
And all her flags are a flyin'
She is all that I have leftAnd music is her name

Chorus

.So we cheated and we lied
And we tested
And we never failed to fail
It was the easiest thing to do.
You will survive being bested.
Somebody fine
Will come along
Make me forget about loving you.
At the Southern Cross.

Before and After

I bought some new living room furniture a few months back which includes a big, cushy chair with matching ottomon. It's the perfect place for reading and reflection EXCEPT...there was no place to put a coffee cup or iced tea glass. Clearly unacceptable as you will all know. I cast about in my mind for some low cost solution. The spot didn't lend itself to a table. Then I remembered a little marble-top table, tiny really, that belonged to my grandmother. It is the perfect thing and cost me only a half a can of spray paint I already had and some gorilla glue. I love the way it turned out and the price was right.

Flood

I drove downtown today. It took me three and a half hours to drive home, a distance of a little over half a mile. I was in a meeting with the police chief when the skies opened up and enough rain for a month poured down in an hour and a half. As I left the chief's office and saw the cars floating in the back parking lot, I was thankful that I used metered parking right out front on higher ground.

I've been working out a lot for the past few months. Tonight I was very thankful that I'd been getting into better shape. After being stuck in traffic gridlock for two hours with both of our major tunnels completely shut down, I drove across a sidewalk and on to the grass. I parked my car on the highest ground in the parking lot, took off my sandals, rolled up my jeans, and waded home through sometimes waist-deep water. I wasn't even out of breath when I got home. I don't think I could have done that six months ago.

Julie and Julia

Every once in a while, I see a movie which is so wonderful that I don’t want it to end. Books can be like that, too, can’t they?

Julie and Julia is one of those movies. http://www.julieandjulia.com/. It brings together quite a few things that I feel passionate about: beautiful architecture, vintage clothing, cooking, blogging, and New York City, all in one place.

Julie and Julia is the story of two intersecting lives; that of the famous television star and chef, Julia Child and an obscure blogger from Queens who decided to cook every meal in Julia’s famous cookbook…even the dreaded aspic. You aren’t familiar with aspic? Think beef flavor Jello.

Those of us who grew up watching re-runs of the French Chef on PBS station will marvel at the amazing performance of Meryl Streep, who is able to convey the essence of Julia without making her a caricature. We see a different Julia than the familiar face with the pearls, the blue short sleeved shirt and the towel tucked into the waist. We see Julia the OSS spy who was stationed in China and Ceylon. Julia the world traveler and, could you believe, a sexy Julia passionately desired by her husband.

This is also the story of blogger. Julie and Julia examines why we blog, as well as the horizons which open to us when we pour out ourselves to whichever parts of our world want to read us.

Richmond House Front Series

Bruce and I love to explore around. We often drive to another city or region to walk around and absorb the ambiance of the community. We particularly like to explore in Richmond, VA. Richmond was the capitall of the Confederacy and continues on as the capital of the Commonwealth of Virginia. It has block after endless block of lovingly restored homes dating from before the Civil War. Although it was a warm Saturday, we were energized by the lovely architecture.

We stopped at an amazing Health Food Store called Elwood Thompsons for organic berries and a healthy bar of chocolate with the proper proportion of cocoa. http://www.ellwoodthompsons.com/

Sound Bite of the Day

Overheard amongst a group of teens at Walmart while buying moisterizer to avoid the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles:

"You lie, your feet stink, and you don't know Jesus."

That about covers it all. Just sayin...

Ancient Burying Ground, Hartford, CT

I am drawn to old graveyards and gravestones. When I was much younger, before I married, I worked in downtown Hartford in the insurance industry. The graveyard pictured below was closed in by a number of buidings.

Two of the minor buildings are now gone, which allows for much better viewing of the gravestones. You can access the cemetary directly from the street. When I would visit there in the past, I would have to go through one of the high-rise buildings to sit in the graveyard, which was totally wall-off to the outside except for the sky.

I love how the old gravestones are carved. I love the sentiments and warnings carved into such gravestones. The stones I took pictures of all have very interesting sentiments which can be seen if you click on each pic to make it bigger. For more information about this cemetary, which has been in Hartford since the 1600's, please click here:

http://www.theancientburyingground.org/history.htm

There was a wonderful teacher in the graveyard, Andrea Ader, with students who were being trained to care for the graveyard and to guide others through it. Visting with Andrea and her student interns was very special.

Public Policy and Musing About Harriet Beecher Stowe

I've always thought a lot about the Civil War and researched it. My fourth great grandfather, from CT, was captured at the Battle of Bermuda's Hundred during the Civil War and died from TB he contracted in a concentration camp called Andersonville that was run by the south.

Harriet Beecher Stowe, the Uncle Tom's cabin author, is also from my hometown in CT. I grew up touring her home and reading about her thoughts and work to help end slavery. You would be amazed at what Christian ministers from the South would say to justify slavery. It just blew me away to read it.

When I see how blind reasonable and educated people could be back then, so lacking in being able to interpret a very straightforward story in the Bible, I wonder if I could be holding on to an attitude that someone else might be appalled at in the future.

What will our descendents say about how we allow people to live in poverty in the inner city here or how we warehoused our eldery? How will our public policy, what we have done or not done, how will it be judged? Will people say in a hundred years, "You used to kill animals and EAT them?" How will the death penalty be judged as forensic science continues to advance and more people are cleared? Will we be heroines like Harriet Beecher Stowe, who significantly helped change US policy with her work, even though she could not vote?

Or will be be considered as unenlightened as some of the ministers I mentioned?As you know, I had one of my eye surgeries in CT. During my daily walk route three weeks ago, I walked through a public park along the river which has outdoor statues. One of them is a bronze of Mrs. Stowe and President Lincoln when they met at the White House. She was very short and when he met her he reportedly said, "So you're the little lady that started this big war."

Dum Tacet Clamat-The Forlorn Soldier

.

My father has a soft spot for this aging brownstone of a Union soldier located in the South End of Hartford, CT. We went to visit him last night.

The inscription reads:

DUM TACET CLAMAT (Though Silent, He Speaks)

Rejected after the Civil War for a faulty foot position, this brownstone Union soldier was acquired in 1895 by Michael H. and John Kelly, stone cutters and placed at the Corner of Charter Oak Avenue and Union Street in Hartford where buffeted by flood and brushed by vandals, he stood until 1968 when J. Michael Kelly, a grandson, oved him to a fairer site, restoring his battered entity with the loving care he had solong been denied.

http://www.chs.org/ransom/044.htm