Portsmouth Spring

Tsunamis and More Mundane Matters

For a variety of reasons, I couldn't seem to fall asleep last night.  Perhaps it was my caffeinated Starbucks too late in the day.  My writing has been pouring out and I've reached a critical juncture.  Every time I close my eyes, I only see Westchester County, New York and the characters dance around on the movie screen behind my eyes.  There's a relationship on my mind.  Whatever it was, I was still awake with cable news on when the information on Japan and the tsunami headed for the US was broadcast.

My beloved Hawaii.  All I could think of was my friend Snow Jade.  I checked to see if she was on line, and then sent an email with love and prayers.  It was so good to have her email back in a few hours that she is fine in her high rise condo in Waikiki.  Snow Jade and I were Red Cross military caseworkers at Hickam Air Force Base so many years ago.  She was there the day a crazy woman came in and threated to "shoot fire out of her finger tips" at me if I didn't get her on a military flight.  I couldn't think of a reasonable response.  Snow Jade said, "go ahead" and picked up the fire extinguisher, just in case. Taiwanese people are not easily ruffled.

What does this have to do with Norfolk County Seed and Feed?  Nothing.  But this was the blog entry I'd planned before the devastation halfway across the world.   Norfolk County, the county, that is, existed from 1691 to 1963.  Norfolk County used to include the city of Portsmouth until it became its own city and county during the Kennedy administration.  And Norfolk County Feed and Seed was there long before JFK.  It is another thing I love about Portsmouth, with a resident cat called Skittles, wooden floors, and local spuds and eggs for sale.  We worried it might close when Walmart moved in across the street, but it thrives selling indoor and outdoor plants, odd hardware items, and yes...feed as well as seed.

Twelve years ago, a dog who is now in heaven broke the china shade of this antique brass lamp.  The lamp has a key feature to turn it on and off that I really love.  For all these twelve years, I've been looking for a replacement every where from New York to Atlanta.  Where did I find it?  A half mile away at Norfolk County Seed and Feed.

Thursday Morning

Greetings from cold and rainy Virginia, where a small, wet, white dog sits beside me hoping that a morsel will drop off my plate.  I'm eating a whole grain Thomas' English muffin with almond butter and Simply Fruit, raspberry. Sublime.  Lulu is a cute vulture with fur, I don't think Darwin could explain her. She's also waiting for the dregs of my cinnamon and cardamon-infused chai tea.  Good luck on that because I drank it down to the last dregs. 

You do know about the spice cardamon, right?  It is much more popular in Scandinavian countries.  Cardamon is lovely in any kind of baked goods instead of cinnamon, like apple pie or banana bread.  It has a lighter, almost citrus-y scent.  Sometimes I open the bottle and just sniff, as I do with whole vanilla beans and freshly-ground coffee.  Yes, I know, I need a life. Strangely, I also like the smell of gasoline.

I've got a pot of split-pea soup cooking.  Just that kind of day, I think.  I like mine spicy, with red pepper flakes, fennel seed, and cumin.  I start it early, because it tastes better after it sits a bit.

So my Dr. Pepper crate up there.  I've had that out in the garage for ten years.  I had no idea what to do with it, but I knew I needed to keep it.  I'm always fiddling for a pen and something to write on in the kitchen, as well as for the remote...et tout voila, an organizer.  I started thinking about this when I saw the link below on Junk Market Style:

http://www.junkmarketstyle.com/item/10012/great-crates

Why I Love Where I Live

There are many reasons why I love my little city, but here's one of them.  I heart my city police department. Wondering why?  Check this out.

So this morning I'm running to Starbucks for a vente three equal sugar free vanilla six pump soy latte before an appointment.  I have my go juice with me in the car, leave the drive through, turn right onto Green Street headed for London Street.  I look to my right to see:

This kind of startled me.  I know that the law says you need to leave a lot of room between your car and an emergency vehicle, but I wasn't too clear about a horse.  Okay, now I'm more than sure that not one of you saw something like this next to the Red Cross building in your town this morning.

Or this:

Because it is important that Pam's Hair Designs with the red marquee, and yes, ALL of Green Street is safe from varmints, rustlers, women of ill fame, horse thieves, and other malefactors.  I've seen some interesting things in my city concerning my police department, but this tops even the time that the transvestite counterfeiters were arrested by PPD and the Secret Service on Chesapeake Avenue in my neighborhood. I was never sure whether it was a lifestyle choice or a disguise.

Quite seriously, police horses do important work. NYPD depends on their horses for all sorts of things,including patrolling Central Park.  All horses  need exercise.  It is important that police horses become used to traffic vs. being exercised in a ring or a rural area.  Our equine friends are highly effective at crowd control. They are used here for big football games and other community events. 

Another officer on a different horse named Knightmare (I think this horse's name is Max.  Knightmare is a cooler name) once caught a bank robber hiding in the bushes with the bag and the dye pack leaking all over the place.  Cops have a great vantage point on top of a horse.  Horses and their humans also serve during parades, particularly Portsmouth's Memorial Day Parade, the oldest in the nation.  I love Portsmouth's police horses, one of the wonderful things about living here.  Seriously.

Living Room Corner

I love this sunny corner of my living room.

March Marble Top

The marble top decked out for March.  The china you see is Franciscan Ivy pattern which once belonged to my parents,  It also once belonged to Lucy and Ricky Ricardo in their New York apartment. 

Faded Roses

I will live with the roses Where the sea of mem'ry flows
And each time I dream then a tear will gleam
On this petal from a faded rose

Signs of Spring

These daisies just make me happy.  I got the idea at this beautiful blog:  http://www.paintmewhite.com/

My Favorite Things

I've written about my church pew before, one of my favorite things.  There are certain areas, like my mantle, the marble top table, and the pew that I love to tweak on and change around for the seasons.   Click on any of the pics to see a larger view, if you like. 

I've had my eye on those two botanical prints. I fell in love with their delicate colors, as well as the unusual wicker frames. When I saw they were marked down to $11, I pounced.
 
Among our favorite family movies is The Sound of Music.  My sister, Kerry, holds the current family record of having viewed it 9,724 times along with every episode of Little House on the Prairie 10 times.  This is why she knew that the actor Patrick Laborteaux who played "Bud" on JAG was also "Andy Garvey" on Little House when he was a child.  You can see why I depend upon her for these things. But I digress. 

Sometimes I really like the texture of simple things, which is why I loved the balls of string in the bowl.  The Lenox bowl was a housewarming present from my cousin Marianne, who is actually more like a beloved auntie.  I use the bowl constantly.

I've been crazy lately for this font called "Veteran Typewriter."  Along with my obsession with naming things with Scrabble tiles, I also like to make old-timey looking labels printed on card stock using that font.  It is available on line free, just Google the name and download it.  Thus, the bowl has been labeled "brown paper packages tied up with string" part of the lyrics of  "My Favorite Things" which Julie Andrews sang in the movie. 

Just a glimpse into the strange workings of my mind.  Yes, I know, it scares me too, sometimes.  Oh the prints?  From Walmart.  And, no, I don't mind one bit if you want to run out and buy them, too.

Be Still

Good morning from sunny Virginia, where if you didn't like the weather yesterday (78 degrees), you may like it better 8 hours later at 38 degrees.  Just sayin'. 

That's why I woke up this morning unaccountably quite cold.  I flung open all the windows last night because I love the fresh air, but didn't check the weather report for today.  Not checking the weather is one of those cheap thrills I like to give myself, demonstrating my devil-may-care attitude about how many pills are left in the bottle, how far below half my gas gauge displays, and where my keys are at any given time.  I live life on the ragged edge.

So as I woke up this morning and pulled my blanket off Lulu (she had a fur coat) and on to my icy feet, I looked up to the Bible verse that has been over my front bedrooom windows for several years now.

"Be still and know that I am God," Psalm 46:10.  I don't know about you, but I have a terribly hard time being still.  I want to be running, going, jumping, and doing.  I want to tweak a vignette, call a friend, paint something, cook a new enchilada recipe, go to Starbucks or find something cool at Goodwill.  I need to use Murphy's Oil Soap on the hardwood floors, read for my graduate school class, and hang a load of wash on the line.  Being still is a hard thing for me, as is keeping my mouth shut.

My wonderful friend, Terry and I have been doing something new with Bible study.  It was Terry's idea.  We are not studying anyone else's thoughts (like Beth Moore or Kay Arthur, as fabulous as they are), but are instead going through shorter passages of the Word and looking up key words and phrases.  This technique has really been opening our eyes, even though we know the basic definitions of the dictionary words.  The practice illuminates many shades of meaning to what we read, especially in familiar passages.

I go to Dictionary.com, where today's Word of the Day is "masticate" in case you were wondering.  To me, "masticate" sounds far less appealing than what you do with a mouthful of birthday cake.  In any case, these are the definintions for still.  That is "still" the adjective, not the "still" that moonshiners use.

1. remaining in place or at rest; motionless; stationary
2. free from sound or noise, as a place or persons; silent
3. subdued or low in sound; hushed: a still, small voice.
4. free from turbulence or commotion; peaceful; tranquil; calm
5. without waves or perceptible current

Oh, if I could only learn to remain at rest, to be free from noise, to be hushed with a still, small voice, and without commotion!  God doesn't call us to anything which isn't possible, so if He says, "Be still," it isn't really a suggestion or an impossibility. 

I had been particularly busy and frenetic of late, doing my best impression of the Biblical Martha (Jesus said, Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things).  God can use everything in your life, though.  He has used health circumstances to bring me to an "all stop."  The most recent thing has been pneumonia.  I've been sicker than I've been in years.  But, it hasn't been a bad thing at all.  I've had to get still, slow down, and revaluate.  I'm thankful for a military heath care system that had me in a bed getting treated three minutes after I arrived.  I'm thankful for free prescriptions and effective medication.  And I'm thankful for the chance to be still and figure out what God wants me to do next. 

Just before I go, I want to share with you the other thing in my line of vision when I wake up, because no posting from me is complete without a vintage thing. My grandmother, Helen got me started on a love of tea, teapots, and tea cups.  These are on the bureau in the bedroom.  They look vintage, but both are newer.  I picked them up very cheaply at Goodwill. The plates are old and were purchased for under a dollar.  That's what I love about the cottage-y, shabby chic look. It doens't have to be expensive.

Stained Glass

My Mom has given me some truly memorable gifts.  She gave me was her flair for decorating, her exquisite timing in telling a story, and her highly developed sense of the ridiculous.  Last time she visited she brought this amazing piece of stained glass. 

Thanks, Mom!

Bird, Bird, Bird...a variation on Duck, Duck, Goose

For some reason, and I can't explain why, this pic struck me as very "Daisy Cottage Kim."  These aren't her colors, but when I think back to my decor about five years ago, I can see her esthetic, her influence, all over the house.

Wreath in the Cowboy Bathroom

White

White is not a mere absence of color; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black. God paints in many colors; but He never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white.  G.K. Chesterton

The Good Old Days?

Sometimes this world is so ugly that I find it difficult to live in it. This weekend is one of those times. As a result, I have the tendency to romanticize earlier times as the “good old days.” I have often expressed the wish that I had been born several generations earlier.

But were things so good in years past? Were things good in the 1960’s? Well, maybe, if you didn’t think about the assassination of our President, his brother, and Dr. King. Things were good unless it was your son or daughter who was dropping acid or addicted to heroin. Times were okay if you could overlook Russian nuclear weapons trained on our nation from Cuba, 90 miles away. Things were good unless you lived in East Germany and wanted to escape to freedom over the Wall. Things were so insecure that we were encouraged to build fall out shelters in our back yards.

Were things good in the 1950’s? Well, I suppose they were unless you were African American and wanted to vote in the South or were a woman who wanted to be a physician. Things were good unless you were an abused child or spouse and couldn’t get help. The world was shiny and bright unless you were a rape victim who was made to feel shame instead of receiving justice. Things were terrific, all backyard bbq’s and Leave it to Beaver, unless you were wounded in the Korean War. Those warriors were largely ignored when they returned home and had almost no veteran’s services.

How about the 1930’s and 1940’s? I love aprons and cookbooks from way back then.  I scout out the lamps and furniture from this period at vintage stores. However, the world was facing the rise of a maniacal dictator, a world war, and the killing of millions simply because they were God’s chosen people.  

What about the1920’s? Wellllllll, promiscuity was rampant and Prohibition was giving birth to organized crime. We had just lost millions of men in World War I. The Roaring Twenties were okay unless you were one of the poor Jewish and Italian immigrant women who perished in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in New York City because the owners locked you in from the outside. This was a prosperous era unless you were taken advantage of by an unscrupulous Wall Street trader who encouraged investing on margin. Sound familiar?


Well maybe it was better in the romantic South where women who glowed and fanned themselves sipped iced tea on the verandah in beautiful white hoop skirts? Sure, those were the good old days unless you were among those individuals who thought it was okay with God to own other human beings…or you actually were one of those who were owned.


The “good old days” were only totally good in retrospect. We have faced violence, inhumanity, greed, prejudice, disease, immorality, fear, political infighting,hate speech, and uncertainty in every generation.


What is our only constant? God. “Rock of Ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in Thee.”


Fear not, Jesus said. For I am with you always, even unto the end of the age.

And I say, Amen...so be it.

Arizona

Jesus wept.     

John 11:35

MY KIND OF DECORATING

You know that room in your house.  C'mon, you know the one, the junk room. The room where you throw the books that you keep forgetting to take to the library sale and the clothes you meant to take to the attic when it got hot. The place where you shove stuff you don’t want to keep but can’t commit to throw away.

I had a room like that. My house started out as a
one family home. During World War II, it was made into two apartments, as many homes were in this military area. Another owner consolidated it into one house once again. The room I am describing is entered through pocket doors from the master bedroom. It was originally a nursery. It was a kitchen in the apartment era. An owner in the seventies turned it into a huge closet, with one wall of clothing rods top and bottom and built-in cedar lined bench storage units. Think very beige and lot of seventies track lighting. I loved the storage space, hated the room itself.

When I couldn’t stand it one minute longer, I removed the nasty wall to wall carpeting, painted the floor with high gloss enamel and turned it into a study/dressing area. I was stumped for a week on how to hide the clothes for cheap, cheap, cheap. Finally, I hung PVC piping from chrome chains anchored in the ceiling. The sheets are Mainstay twin sheets from Walmart, I just cut open the top hem and hung them. $4 per pair.

Almost everything else in the room I either had already, bought at Goodwill, or rescued from the curbside as follows:

Desk – my Papa made it for me

Dresser – Goodwill

Blue and red wicker storage bins – on sale Michaels

Globe – thrift store

Red Table – rescued from the curbside and painted.

Blue chair – belonged to my 3rd great grandfather who fought in the Civil War

Window seat stuff – Goodwill

Sailboat painting - Goodwill
Decorative items on open shelving - Goodwill
Decorative plates - Goodwill

FOOD: Wherein I post about a special dish; special because of convenience, taste, price or all three.

One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.  ~Luciano Pavarotti

I like to keep a package or two of frozen creamed spinach (in the boil-in bag) in the freezer.  It goes on sale from time to time.  I don't use a great deal of convenience food, but the calorie and fat count on frozen creamed spinach isn't too bad.   

Last night, I had an hour and a half to fold two loads of laundry, put in another bunch of dirty clothes, feed the dogs, make dinner, research how to make a headboard out of an old door, and get ready for Bible study.  Here's what I threw together for dinner.  The prep time took five minutes.  I used the cooking time to take care of all the other tasks.

Chicken Florentine For a Busy Night

4 boneless chicken breasts
1/2 t nutmeg
1/2 fresh ground pepper
1/2 t red pepper flakes
1 pkg frozen creamed spinach
Parmesan cheese

Brown the chicken breasts on each side. Mix spinach and spices. spread a small amount of creamed spinach on the bottom of an oven proof casserole with a lid. Place chicken in the casserole. Put creamed spinach mixture on top.  Bake with the lid on at 350 degrees for 35-40 minutes.   Serve with parmesan cheese on top.

I served the chicken with frozen mixed veggies and a baked yam to rave reviews.  I sliced the chicken up into bite-sized pieces, but you don't have to. 

I always have baked yams cooked ahead.  I bake 6 at a time and use them for lunch or for a side with dinner.

American Four Square in the Snow

He spreads the snow like wool and scatters the frost like ashes.  Psalm 147:16.

Abandoned Houses

Am I the only one who passes abandoned houses on country roads and wonders what became of the families who once built a life there? Virginia creeper vines insistently twist themselves into any crevice or crack, filling the vacuum that nature abhors. Neatly trimmed yards fill with weeds and trees self seed in a haphazard way. An occasional faithful perennial planted long ago by a young wife in a feed sack dress lifts its face to the sun or twines along a sagging fence.

How did the ties to the community grow loose and finally disappear? Did elderly parents pass away and educated children move to greener pastures? Doors stand open and windows gape blankly. The house remains silent.

Abandoned houses are best captured in black and white or sepia tones. They have their own stark and sad beauty. Does the house still contain the echoes of little feet and the growth marks in pencil on the pantry door? Did Grandma rock gently on that porch? Did a mother peer down the road waiting for a son to come home from war? Did the rain beat a tattoo on the tin roof as a young couple made love underneath? Did a middle-aged farmer sit on those sagging steps, wearily pushing his sweat stained hat back on his head as he read a foreclosure notice?

We will never know, because the abandoned house along a country road keeps its own counsel and shelters its own secrets.