Auntie Mame and the Police Academy

I've been trying to figure out how to sum up the police academy experience.

I accomplished things that I never thought I could.  I got OC sprayed (pepper sprayed) directly in my face and eyes and proceeded on to the required fighting without decontaminating first.   Being OC sprayed, without a doubt, was the most painful experience of my life.  It hurts terribly initially and then gets more and more intense.  No amount of washing it off seems to help much.  Only time really works.

After we all decontaminated and showered, we headed down to dinner. Most of our faces were on fire.  No one felt much like eating.  Some of the instructors put bottles of hot sauce down in front of us.  Ha ha.

I was amazed to see myself later on video on the big screen walloping a punching bag and hollering while I counted out the requisite number of hits.  I took down my defensive tactics partner (a male SWAT medic) three times.  He actually said "ouch."

My defensive tactics sergeant stopped the class and said, "Everyone, look at Annie."  My heart stopped because I thought he was going to ridicule me. Then he said, "Do it just like she's doing it."  There was only one person in my class older than I.

On the other hand, life with four women sharing two bunk beds and 8 women sharing a shower and a bathroom was challenging for me.  I abhor being in close proximity with a group of people I don't know. I crave privacy and down time.  If it wasn't for the three free hours we had a day and a one-hole bathroom at Starbucks with a door that locked, I think I'd be dead.

After not being able to sleep for two nights, I ended up going down to a bathroom that had a little lounge area on the first floor, near a big classroom that didn't seem to be in much use.  I get up frequently at night to use the bathroom (I pee, therefore I am) and cringed every time I had to flush loudly in the hearing of 7 other extremely tired women.  I would sleep with my clothes on, wrapped up in a quilt, trying to nod off while listening to Joyce Meyer podcasts from my cell phone.  Thank you, Joyce.  If I got two hours a night, it was a lot.

One night at four a.m. I woke to see three male trooper trainees standing in front of me - inside the ladies room. These poor slobs have the extreme honor of being charged with unlocking all the doors and turning on the lights before the rest of the trainees have to get up at 5 to go running.  They said, "Ma'am, we didn't expect to see a woman asleep in here," I said, "That makes us even because I'm not used to seeing three guys in a ladies room." They said they were turning on the lights.  I noted that they were already on.

Since nothing goes unnoticed at that institution,  I mentioned the incident to the Sergeant who was in charge of us.  He thought it was hilarious.  Later, he planned to razz them for not securing the "homeless" woman the bathroom.  This was funny, but I have to add that I had some miserable hours trying to sleep there.  Dark, scared hours.  This has nothing to do with the academy or its staff because people sleep successfully there every night, but more to do with my own chronic insomnia in tense situations.

A big shout out to the Chesterfield, VA Starbucks on Midlothian Turnpike (Route 60) who all kept my sanity.  I was able to get email, have a latte, and relax for a while.  Thank you to everyone there.

Many of my friends like Terry, Jim, my beloved Suzanne, Nancy, Lt. Jackson, Jason, and also my Mom, Dad, and sister were a huge support.

Another shout out to my Bruce who followed me up to Chesterfield to ensure that nothing happened on the way, came up Wednesdays with the dog to have dinner with me, and even drove up on a Monday to bring the mouth guard I had forgotten so my teeth wouldn't get punched out.  You think romance is about thong underwear, chocolate and champagne?  Love is...bringing a pink mouth guard north in a 3-hour round trip.  For the record, I have nothing against pretty underwear, a toast, or chocolate. Definitely not against the chocolate.

So even with the uncomfortable times, I was grateful to be chosen to be there. Going to police academy training at 51 is proof of God's grace, his sense of humor, and is proof that he does, indeed, give us back the years that the locusts have eaten (Joel 2:25).

I embark on a new career with the Sex Offender Investigative Unit in which I can use my education and my previous experience to directly affect public safety and be a minister of justice.  That is huge for me.

I guess I can sum it up with these lyrics from Auntie Mame:

Open a new window
Open a new door
Travel a new highway
That's never been tried before
Before you find you're a dull fellow
Punching the same clock
Walking the same tightrope
As everyone on the block
The fellow you ought to be is three dimensional
Soaking up life
Down to your toes
Whenever they say you're slightly unconventional
Just put your thumb
Up to your nose
And show them how to 
Dance to a new rhythm
Whistle a new song
Toast to a new vintage
The fizz doesn't fizz too long
There's only one way to make the bubbles stay
Simply travel a new highway
Dance to a new rhythm
Open a new window every day!

The incomparable Angela Lansbury as Auntie Mame sings it stirringly to her nephew Patrick here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v648wU0x63k


Ignore the stuff about Edison, just listen to the sound track.  I love show tunes. I always loved Auntie Mame, but now I get to be Tia (Auntie) Annie, which is even better.  Compliance Officer Tia Annie.

Virginia State Police Academy

Bad hair day.
   Terrible camera angle
        Lifelong dream realized


2,600 applicants
43 selected for further review and investigation
20 made it
I was one of them.

Let the Vintage Games Begin

I'm not sure who is more obsessed with Scrabble tiles, me or Judy.

Maybe me.  That's my Grandmother Dunn's high school graduation pic.  I don't think she minds being under glass.

If you look in the upper left, you can see a crack in the plaster.  I kind of like it there.  It is the calling card of that freak Virginia earthquake last year.  The living room floor kind of roiled and Bruce said, "Geeze, those trucks going down Booker Street get bigger and bigger."  Twenty seconds later, my phone started ringing off the hook.  I am apparently the seismic expert of my neighborhood, which would come as a huge shock to Mr. Pacquette, my earth sciences teacher.

A little borrowing from Mr. Dickens.

I cannot remember where the door knocker came from.  She's holding a pomegranate in her hand and has a ring on her finger.  We'd call her "Thing" like in the Adam's family, but it seems sort of overly-familiar and Cousin It just seems disrespectful.

Refreshed Summer Mantel

Happy Independence Day!

Feeling in a summery mood, armed with a 40 percent off coupon from Michaels and some cool stuff from the attic which I hadn't had out in a few years, this is what I came up with.  The extra shells I needed were whatever $4.99 minus 40 percent is.  My friend, Suzanne, who is reading this already knows how much that is.  I don't and I don't care that I can't.

I was looking through this book for inspiration and realized that the actual book would look perfect right here.  My friend, Nancy, brought me some peonies in that mason jar.

The bird and the sailboat were on my porch one year.  I like them better inside.

Andy Griffith 1926-2012

Oh, dear.  I know you are with your Lord, but I weep.  Every time I visited Manteo, NC not too far away, I felt happy to know that you lived there. Bye, Andy.  I will miss you.  

The link below is a real treat of Don and Andy talking about the show on Today years ago:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ahbyf9cbEU&feature=related

It has never been off the air since its inception, which says quite a lot.

Sound of Music Sing Along

I did the coolest thing when I was in Atlanta.

My sister and I were shopping in “Rustique.”  She typically listens to Christian radio, but a secular station was playing that morning.  And behold, the station broadcast tidings of great joy!  A sing along version of the Sound of Music was arranged at the historic Fox Theater in downtown Atlanta two days hence.

I love TSOM, but my sister is a demented fan and has seen it hundreds of times.  However, due to our big age gap, she had never seen it on the big screen the way I first did.

We started our special outing at Mary Mac’s Tea Room, an Atlanta institution since just after the Second World War, when women widowed by the war started little restaurants to support themselves.  

The term “tea room” was thought to put a little genteel finish on it; I agree that the term "tea room" has a certain cachet.

I had a noteworthy salad, and corn bread with “pot likker” for the first time.  My nieces had grilled cheese and chicken and dumplings, while Sis had country fried steak.  The service was superb,  I felt that I had a little slice of the past, a glimpse into a Southern world which really doesn’t exist anymore.

Then off the Fox, an Art Deco jewel.  

Imagine if you will, a huge theater of people warming up for the big event by singing, “Yodalay-hee, Yodalay-hee, Yodalay hee-hee, Yodalay hee” from the “Lonely Goatherd” song.  Before the big show, there were look-alike contests of everyone from Rolf (Nazi telegram boy) to the Baroness. 

We were given little goodie bags with signs to hold up, silk edelweiss to throw, and little poppers to make noise with when Georg von Trapp kisses Maria for the first time.  We “do a deared” and “climbed every mountain,” and “so-longed and farewelled.”  We booed Nazis and hissed at the Baroness.  And an incredibly good time was had by all.  All the lyrics were subtitled on the screen, but I doubt anyone needed them except maybe for "Something Good."

Can you think of a more perfect day?  And with that said, “Adieu, adieu, to you and you and you!”

Today's Blessing

Bless the LORD who daily loadeth us with benefits.  Psalm 68:19

Bruce went to our not-favorite-but-closest store this morning for peaches to put on top of our morning oatmeal.  As he checked out, the cashier asked him how we was doing.  He replied, "I'm blessed by the Best and prayin' for the rest."  Two bouquets were left at the check out area. She picked them up and said to him, "These are free if you want them."

He came home with these:

I added in a few things from the yard to bless three rooms in our home.

Fried Green Beans

Suzanne and I had a lovely day on Wednesday.  We went out to what is known as the "Northern Neck" of Virginia in her little Miatta convertible.  This is a rural country area with old homes and little summer cottages along tidal estuaries and the Chesapeake.

We stopped for lunch and some vintage shopping, where I got the "lawyer's case" for my office.  The restaurant is in the old Richardson's Drug Store.  I had lobster bisque and a salad, but Suzanne got kinda cra cra and ordered FRIED GREEN BEANS.

I was intrigued, especially when she pointed out that onion rings aren't so very different.  These were truly delicious, with a spicy batter on them and more of a snap than onion rings.  How do I know?  She shared.

Home Depot's Personal Customer Service

Bruce's cousin Andy posted this on Facebook.  I thought it was hilarious.

Baggage – Metaphorical and Otherwise

I’m embarking on a new stage in life.  God’s given me a miracle and shown His incredible sense of humor at the same time.  The Virginia State Police Academy at 51?  You betcha!  He’s not kidding when He says, “I will give you back the years that the locusts have eaten” (Joel 2:25).  More on that later; the big day is July 9.    He is faithful to that promise.

So, I need a better home office and filing system as a result.  I will have case records and files which I need to store and carry to court.  I lost my work desk when I set up my breakfast nook and sitting on the couch with the laptop won’t cut it.  My friend, Joe, had some vintage suitcases which he dropped off to me…white with a red silk lining.  They got my creative juice flowing.

I went to visit my sister in Atlanta before entering the Academy.  We were visiting an amazing store called Rustique.  I found two more vintage suitcases, one with the coveted labels on the leather indicating the places or hotels visited.  

My Papa built the desk for me when I was in junior high.  I picked up the last suitcase needed, one designed for attorneys, with my friend Suzanne yesterday in a vintage shop.  She spied it first, but in characteristic generosity, handed it over to me.

I set up my office and then realized that there was an enormous metaphor for life among the “baggage.”

I’ve been working through some exceptionally painful issues from my formative past.  It has been hard, frustrating work in which I mopped up some of the dirt and crud from way back when, blew the cobwebs away, and started out with everything clean and fresh.

The chair belonged to my grandfather Galvin who died when I was 18. That chair has been vacant for a long time.  Father, as we called him, was a Yale law school graduate.  As I embark on my career with the law, I am occupying that seat 33 years later.  One chair wheel was broken, so Bruce replaced them all.

There was a kind of icky worn leather seat which I thought I’d use a cleaner on and perhaps put something else on top.  I thought the cushion was part of the chair.  I turned the chair upside down, cleaning away the dust and cobwebs from the bottom.  Then I used Murphy’s Oil Soap to clean the wood on the bottom and that clean smell permeated the foyer. 

I turned the chair right side up and the nasty old cushion flew off.  Underneath was caning in perfect condition.  I see it as my Grandmother Helen’s last gift to me.  Caning is a lost art these days, but she loved it on a chair.  She had a “man” who did her caning for her out of his garage.  She must have put the leather seat down to protect the caning.  I think it is beautiful.

Now I have an office that I love.  My Papa built my desk.  My husband helped stabilize and repair the chair, just as he does for me emotionally.  It symbolizes a family history of devotion to the cause of justice. My beloved sister and friends helped me create that suitcase stack. 

With God’s help, behold, all things are new again...even the old stuff that I love.

Suzanne and "The Irish Show"

Wow, I cannot believe I spelled Busch Gardens wrong in my last post.  I know that blog etiquette says I shouldn't go back and fix my error, but ha ha, I did anyway.  Good GOSH, how did I miss that for so many years? I guess you can believe me when I say I don't like amusement parks, I can't even SPELL amusement park.

My friend Suzanne is on the stairway with the accordion.  She truly is an amazing woman.  She plays so many instruments that I've lost count.

She's the Queen of Frequent Flyer miles.  Suzanne is the only person I know who actually likes to fly these days.  Earlier this year, she flew to Hong Kong.  Now if memory serves me correctly, she wasn't there even 24 hours.  She never stayed in a hotel.  Instead, Suzanne took in the sights, rode the famous cable car, had a great Chinese dinner and flew home.  You know what she does with the miles she accumulates?  Well, she sent her parents to Hawaii and she will donate frequent flyer miles to "starving artist" musicians who don't have enough money to fly to a promising audition.

Playing at Busch Gardens is something she does once a week just for fun.  She is also a gifted church organist and choir mistress.  She plays as a piano accompanist at a local university.  Suzanne composes music. She also plays the flute and the bassoon on a professional level.  Suzanne also sings beautifully. But Busch Gardens is just for fun, where she blesses friends with comped or discounted tickets.

Something in my DNA really resonates when I watch Irish step dancing and hear Irish music.  I'm 100% Irish and proud of my heritage.

Busch Gardens Part One

I am not a fan of amusement parks.  I don't need a park to amuse me. I amuse myself pretty well without having acres dedicated to my potential amusement.

However, my friend Suzanne is a musician at Busch Gardens.  When she offered me free tickets to see her perform in an Irish show at the park, how could I refuse?  I was gratified to note that Starbucks Corporation and Busch Gardens finally recognized what the true name of the famous coffee establishment should be.

I didn't go on any rides.  Not a single one.  Totally disinterested,  I really enjoyed my little train ride through the park and all the animals, though.

What a handsome boy.

Here he is chilling at the end of the day

The park has a habitat for magnificent rescued bald eagles.

And a wolf habitat.  This one is snoozing in the late afternoon.

He's in the upper left of the pic.  As laid back as he is, they keep him far away from these guys:

These birds don't even look real to me; they look like you need to plug them in or add batteries:

Irish Fyre is next!

Genesis

She moved in next door not long ago.  I learned yesterday that her name is Genesis.  She is only five, but knew exactly how to spell it.  I asked her if she knew where her name came from. She said, "my Daddy."  True enough, but not quite in the way that she meant it.  I picked up my Bible from the porch table and pointed out her name there right at the beginning. She was delighted.

The Bible tells us to make it our ambition to lead a quiet life and mind our own business.  I try to, I really try. But Genesis is out unsupervised on a busy street for more time than I am comfortable with.  Her mother is overwhelmed, I am sure, by two younger children.  However, leaving a five year old out unsupervised for 45 minutes to an hour scares me to death.  I am praying to figure out what Jesus wants me to do in addition to loving this child for Him.

So Genesis and I had a talk as we watched the butterflies flit around the cottage garden. That's all I could think to do yesterday.

Update:  I talked to my neighbors on the other side, wonderful Christians with kids the same age.  We decided that God must have put this young family in our midst for a reason. We agreed to be praying and help out whenever we could..  They invited the new family to a spaghetti dinner and dessert auction  at church two blocks away and the new family was glad to go.

Fishing in Edenton, North Carolima

I drove to Edenton, North Carolina on Thursday, not so very far from me. It was a cloudy day, or "a dull day" as Queen Victoria would carefully record in her diary, when she accounted for sunless weather in the Scottish Highlands.  My day was anything but dull, with an interesting glow behind the clouds and the Chowan River a particular gray shade like black pearls.

Edenton is a little jewel of a town, with a monument to Dr. Hughes, signer of the Declaration of Independence and friend of John Paul Jones as well as another monument to James Iredell, one of the first Supreme Court Justices. A town which raised two founding fathers of the United States is a wonderful place indeed.

However, I was just as pleased to make the acquaintance of Kahleel and his friends who were fishing from the Edenton Pier.  I walked down the pier, thinking to just nod and say "good morning" when Kahleel looked at me with a proud smile.  Kahleel is on the left in the pic, his buddies were much more shy and didn't give me their names.

"We caught some fish..."  There was a question at the end of his sentence, where his voice raised a little uncertainly.  Would I care that they caught some fish?  I did care.

"Can I see?"

We squatted down for some serious inspection as he pulled the red top off the cooler to show an impressive catch.

"What kind of fish are they?"

"Regular perch and raccoon perch...see the stripes, that's why they called raccoon."

"Do you guys eat them?"

"They's good eatin', we gut 'em, and fry 'em up in cornmeal,."

"What do you use for bait?"

"Whatever dey is.  We just ran out, called Grandma, and she brought some worms.

She must really love him.

Justice James Iredell said this:

For my part, I am free and ready enough to declare that I think the Christian religion is a Divine institution; and I pray to God that I may never forget the precepts of His religion or suffer the appearance of an inconsistency in my principles and practice.

James Iredell, Essay on religion, 1768

Okay, so I know I have a weird perspective on things...

But every time I pass this company in Port Norfolk on my way to ride my bike along the Elizabeth River, all I can think of is little, teeny tiny guys with pointed shoes and green peaked caps hammering shoes for miniature horses.  Sort of like the Keebler elves...

DC's Capitol Hill Neighborhood

I love big cities; Boston, New York, or DC.  I like big, old cities.  Do I want to play the tourist to shop?  Absolutely not.  I want to walk, and walk, and walk some more, take pictures, and absorb the places where people really live.  Then I find an outdoor cafe and sit, watching the people walk by living their regular routines and wonder what it would be like to live there.  I admire the architecture, the old growth trees, and savor the flavor of real life in that BIG CITY.

So that's what I did on Thursday in DC.  I explored the neighborhood around Capitol Hill.

DC has many magnificent row houses in this area, much like the row houses in my beloved New York City, but more colorful.

I stopped and sat on the steps of a Catholic church to talk to a friend.  The sirens of the DC Metro Police and ambulances, the horns honking in cars, the snatches of conversation overheard, "You know, he's a great candidate, Jeb already endorsed him"...the song of DC.   It's a different song of the city than you hear in New York.

Here's that church spire from a distance:

Then there were all the postage stamp sized cottage gardens in the front of the row houses.  This is a big difference from New York

Isn't this little cafe adorable? Tres jolie!