Leading Me Beside the Still Waters

Today I drove the back way from Portsmouth Police Department, detoured by road construction,  Things have been so harried for the past 48 hours, with a number of folks whom I work with having emergent issues needing my attention.  As my mind raced through what must be accomplished next, I looked quickly to my left and a creek so calm that the trees and buildings were mirrored in the water.

He leadeth me beside the still waters.  He restoreth my soul...

This is life today on Owens Creek, life as it has been for hundreds of years.  Egrets and sea birds feed in this tidal estuary  The tide is going out, out to the Elizabeth River, to the Chesapeake Bay, to the Atlantic Ocean.  

There's no need to be harried when I can refresh myself beside these waters, click some cell phone pics, and restore my soul.

We'll Have a Nice Cup of Tea

My grandmother, Helen, got me started on drinking tea when I was very young.  Her next door neighbor, Bride (an Irish nickname for Bridget) Tierney, would always have a cup of tea for us and some cookies, while Pinkie the cat delicately washed her face with her paw under the table.  

The light would stream in from the two windows that the table was pushed up against.  Helen and Bride would chatter away as I kicked red Keds against the chair legs.  Bride's kitchen clock was loud and that tick tocking punctuates my memories of that time and place.  Her husband, Phil, was a very kind man.  He cut my grandparent's lawn.  Bride always called him "Philtierney," as if that was his first name.

Bride was from Ireland and what with my grandmother's Irish heritage, they were fast friends.  Helen was a junk store shopper before it was cool.  She bought me a vintage china tea pot with roses on it and two matching cups when I was ten.  Somewhere along the line, maybe in move from CT to NY, that little set was lost.  But my affinity for rose teapots remains, as you can see above.

Ghost Sign: Uneeda Biscuit

I adore these old signs on the sides of buildings. City planners refer to them as "ghost signs."

This Uneeda Biscuit sign is in Richmond, across the street from St. John's Church in which Patrick Henry famously said, "Give me liberty or give me death!"  In some really enlightened areas, preservationists restore these old advertising remnants found in inner cities.

Uneeda Biscuit was a Nabisco product first produced in 1898,  Uneeda seems to be associated with health or considered soothing to eat during an illness. Graham crackers were thought of in the same way years ago. i don't need to be sick to have an excuse to eat graham crackers dipped in milk.  Nabisco stopped making Uneeda Biscuits in 2008. At least Twinkies are coming back...

These are vanishing bits of Americana.  Sometimes I wonder if we will be just like the ancient Egyptians. Long into the future, some archaeologist will attempt to decipher our old hieroglyphs.  There are so many of these kinds of ads for treats that they'll surmise we worshiped food.

 

Dairy Delivery

I am pleased by little things.  Whether it is the first time Pumpkin Lattes are available at Starbucks each year or looking Richmond's row houses while on a walk or the sound of the mourning dove, certain little things that others may disregard or not even notice, make me happy.

Anything that reminds me of growing up makes me happy.  Honeysuckle bushes at the beach that put me back at Black Point, maple sugar candy, red Keds...and home milk delivery.  We used to get home milk delivery on Knollwood Road in a box just like the one pictured above.

So imagine my total nostalgic happiness when I found that Oberweis Dairy now makes home delivery in my area.  And can I just say, that's some of the best yogurt and cottage cheese in the cooler EVER.

I do wish this wasn't a gray Coleman's cooler and a cool metal milk box, but I think I can fix this by visiting Ebay.

Mountain Dairy in Storrs, CT stopped delivering milk in 2012...they started in 1851.  According the milk industry analysts, as of 2005, less than half of one percent of all Americans purchased milk via home delivery.  When I was a kid it was about 30%.  

So while one can't get home milk delivery back where I started out, I can here. The milk box and the milk man (with the dread locks) don't look exactly the same, but I can revive an old tradition.  And that makes me really happy.  The glass milk bottles are amazingly nostalgic and I LOVE pouring the milk into my coffee.

Learn more here:

http://articles.courant.com/2012-10-26/business/hc-mountain-dairy-home-delivery-20121025_1_milk-truck-marcus-dairy-dairy-moves

The Scoop - Ten Random Thoughts in Ten Minutes

One of the highlights of my morning is when Bruce brings me a large coffee with milk and Splenda.  The other is that Lulu is the snuggling queen of the morning.  My life would be much less spectacular without her.

Sometimes I get the blues on Sunday night.  I think it is a leftover from when I didn’t want to go back to school.

My niece is a remarkable young woman…just saying.

My mother has done an amazing job since my Papa’s death.  I am really proud of her.

In the past few weeks I have been in the ER twice with a pinched nerve in my neck and a foreign object in my eye.  I’ve also had a cold.  And I’m done now.

My cottage garden is at its best just now.  I have to get a pic.

The other day we went to the Naval Hospital so I could go to a follow up appointment with the eye doctor.  We could not find our car in the very large parking garage afterwards.  Instead of freaking out and frantically searching for the car in the heat and humidity, this time I did something different.  We went back in and had scrumptious breakfast croissant sandwiches with bacon and eggs inside which nearly made me swoon at the Dancing Goat Café.  The goat is the Naval Academy Football Team mascot.  An “old goat” is also a term for a Chief Petty Officer, quite apropos in this case.  We read magazines from the NEX convenience store.  Bruce read about the surface of Mars.  I learned how to make Vietnamese steamed spring rolls.  Then we  called a cab.  Best eight bucks spent EVER.  We waited until the evening , drove back, and picked up the car when the garage was nearly empty.

I am no longer a rookie officer.  I finished my first year with very good evals.  I am proud of myself.

The other day was such a lovely day on the Eastern Shore with my family.  I am blessed, blessed, blessed to have them.  We went to Scoops, an adorable ice cream shop pictured.

Trip to Virginia's Eastern Shore

Virginia's Eastern Shore isn't too far, just a ride over the Chesapeake Bay-Bridge Tunnel, one of the wonders of the modern world

We started out at Starbucks for breakfast...Bruce, Mom, Piper (niece), and me.  Mom is a Dunkin' girl, so now I have proof positive that she has gone over the the dark side.  

Then we headed for the Bay Bridge Tunnel.  The traffic was a little dicey for a few minutes.  However, one can hardly complain about traffic when you have this view out the car window:

We drove through all sorts of quaint little country towns, past cornfields as high as an elephant's eye, and combines harvesting wheat.  

We stopped for lunch at 

This restaurant is in Nassawadox, VA, a very special family-run eatery with excellent service and Italian food.

http://francolittleitaly.com/

Mom, Piper, and me out front.

Then on we went, further up the Eastern Shore

This is the Inn and Garden Cafe in Onancock, VA.  Isn't it lovely?

http://www.theinnandgardencafe.com/

An Early Summer's Night Dinner

Looking at this idyllic shot, you might think that we were in some National Park or out in the western part of Virginia where people, cars, and buildings are more scarce than my Tidewater region.

Instead, we were at one of our very favorite spots, Kelly's at Great Bridge.  I should tell you that I don't get any freebies or rewards from mentioning businesses like Kelly's or Fresh Market.  I love to record my days and the special things that make my life grand, not provide product or restaurant reviews.

We were really right here, in what has to be one of the most beautifully-located restaurants in my area.  Something about it reminds me of the Podunk Mill Club, a restaurant on the Connecticut River which no longer exists.  Once when I was perhaps 7, I asked for ketchup and the chef came out and had a cow.

I had a pasta dish with crab and shrimp.  Bruce had a burger piled high with roasted red peppers and an aioli sauce. Fab.

You can almost see how humid it was.  This is the view from the porch along the Intercoastal Waterway, the 3,000 mile waterway which flows down the Atlantic Coast to the Gulf of Mexico.  We chose an inside table along the Chesapeake and Albermarle Canal here below:

The Canal was completed just before the Civil War and linked VA waterways with North Carolina and the Currituck Sound.

A boat on the Canal...

Condos on the Intercoastal...

Fresh Market

The Fresh Market is a wonderful chain of smaller grocery stores that sell baked goods, prime meat and seafood, prepared foods to take home for dinner, and organic produce.

I don't shop Fresh Market as a routine practice, but stop in at the one nearby Mom's when she is in town. We meander around commenting on the giant artichokes, or the lovely little organic cucumbers, or whatever catches our fancy at the time.  

Yesterday, I was in with Mom to pick up some Revolution Earl Grey Lavender tea which is perhaps the best tea EVER.  So many gourmet and unusual foods abound that it is hard to take everything in at one time.

Yesterday Mom and I saw cucumber soda, blood orange soda, and lavender soda!  We picked up the lavender soda to give it a try. Both of us delight int that sort of thing, so I guess I came by it naturally.

One of Fresh Market's unique features are little "rooms" that they have up high near the ceiling.  Conventional markets often display lawn chairs and coolers or other seasonal items in such spaces.

Here is Fresh Market's take on it:

The produce is amazing...

Happy Independence Day

Pics taken during a recent drive to Richmond.

Our National Anthem - Second Verse

And thus be it ever

Where free men may stand

Between their loved homes

And the war's desolation

Blessed with victory and peace

May the heaven's-rescued land

Praise the Power that hath made  

And preserved us a nation 

Then triumph we must

For our cause it is just

And this be our motto

In God is our trust

And the star spangled banner

In triumph will wave

O'er the land of the free

And the home of the brave

LET FREEDOM RING

Leave Things Better Than When You Came In

Okay...full disclosure.  This pic I took has nothing to do with the post whatsoever.  However, it is a very gray day as I type this, so I added this as a little pick-me-up. I took this shot on a weekend drive.  I'm not positive, but I think these flowers were in Smithfield, VA.

My grandmother used to say that you should leave a room better than you found it.  What she meant was that you should do a quick visual sweep of the room to see if you could throw out the Hartford Courant that everyone had already read or pick up your sneakers and leave them on the landing to go upstairs.  My father would sarcastically remark about this idea, "And some people make the room better just by leaving it."

Anyway, I always remember that and her admonition to keep the sink clear of dishes because this was a key  to keeping the whole house clean.  To this day, I cannot leave the house or go to sleep with dishes in the sink.  As New Yorkers say, "It skeeves me out."

The other day, I was making a visual sweep of the dining room on my way upstairs. I had left my Bible on the dining room table. I felt the Lord speak to my spirit quietly saying, "Take your Bible upstairs with you and it will leave you better than if you left it here."  Which reminds me of the old saying that if your Bible looks spiffy on the outside, you don't look so good on the inside.  Conversely, those with the underlined, booked marked, highlighted pages and the spine taped with duct tape (a la my Papa) looked pretty good on the inside.

I will delight in the law of the Lord, I will meditate day and night.  Then like a tree, firmly planted I'll be - grounded it Your word.

Daddy Can We Hop, Daddy Can We Skip?

I was thinking this morning about the difference between the bloggers with sixty eleven gazillion followers and folks like Debra of As I See It Now and Judy of Anybody Home.  I'm not sure what kind of blogger you'd call either of these two wonderful ladies, but I guess they could be categorized as "Christian Lifestyle Bloggers" or something like that. 

Then there is Alex of Living the Small Life.  She's not a Christian Blogger, but she blogs about thrifty living and keeping fit.  So what's the difference between these three wonderful women and the glitzy bloggers with the perfect, ethereal-looking pictures of the charmingly-worn pitcher with the artfully arranged wildflowers and the curtain blowing ever-so-slightly in the breeze?  They're real.

And when I really think about it, these are the three that I read day after day.  All three have been plugging along for years, sharing their lives, and giving wisdom to a world of strangers they may never know.  They chronicle their lives, reflect, share their mistakes and idiosyncrasies and sometimes less-than-perfect pics that would make BlogHer peeps hair stand on end.

The other difference is that many of these bloggers, the glitzy ones that we sometimes envy...well, they burn out.  When every entry has to be a work of complete perfection, they run out of ideas, because life isn't perfect. 

One of my favorite, gorgeous ethereal blogs hasn't been updated in months.  The sweet girl who writes it let all of us know at Christmas that the perfect-looking life that I envied once upon a time was an illusion that she couldn't keep up any longer since real life crept in.

Another wonderful blogger is perpetually tied up in knots both because of life's truly difficult circumstances and a constant need to tweak, refine, and play with the blog that results in hard crashes of the site that already looked amazing.

Still others blog for a short time, with gorgeous pics and wonderful content, only to burn out later because everything cannot stay perfect all the time.

Hence, the imperfect pic above, which I would have discarded a few months back.  I'm done with not expressing myself because I can't live up to standards which I imposed upon myself, yet cannot meet.

I was waiting for some prescriptions at the Portsmouth Naval Hospital last night, a healing place I am truly grateful for.  A young Naval officer and his daughter were walking through the corridor hand in hand.  I suspect that Mommy may have had a new baby.  You can see her in the less-than-perfect pic in the little pink t-shirt.

"Daddy, can we skip?," she said, looking up at him with a smear of chocolate something across her upper lip.

He hesitated for a moment and looked around.  Then with an "oh what the heck" look to all of us,  Daddy skipped down the corridor with her.

"Daddy, can we hop now?"

And hop along to the parking garage they did. 

Somehow I think that kids would have better lives if more Daddies hopped and skipped with them, regardless of looking ridiculous.  To me, he looked like a hero, not ridiculous.

My firm belief is that kids already know the Lord at birth,  As Helen Keller famously said when Annie Sullivan spelled the name of God into her hand, "I always knew He was there, I just didn't know what to call Him,."  That's why kids skip for joy before the world tries to take it away from them.

Luke 1:14  The Message 

You're going to leap like a gazelle for joy, and not only you, but many...

Almost Time for Sugar Hill Blackberries...

Sugar Hill is a neighborhood behind mine, down Booker Street,  Sugar Hill is Portsmouth's last vestige of the "40 ares and a mule" promised to Southern blacks following Emancipation and the end of the Civil War.

Once there was a thriving black community  there, two little groceries, some churches, a "buttery," and a candy store as residents have told me.  Urban renewal in the 1960's decimated this community as a road was cut right through the middle which serves as an approach to the Mid-Town Tunnel under the Elizabeth River to Norfolk,

Did you ever notice that any street called "Martin Luther King" anything always seems to be around an area where African American's are exploited?  One never sees MLK Blvd near an elegant area.  I don't think this practice represents what Dr. King lived and died for.

In this case, the MLK Freeway was built right over Sugar Hill's graveyard.  Yet, the quiet community still lives on in a few houses and the old folks' memories former days.  One of them is my buddy, Mr. Curtis, a gardener and disabled Vietnam vet whose wife was born in the house they reside in.  He tells me that many of Sugar Hill's residents were porters for the Norfolk Southern railroad, black elite in their white gloves and uniforms helping customers in the sleeping and dining cars during days of posh railroad travel.

I still hear the trains chug past Sugar Hill, but the porters are gone and CSX halls freight instead of people.  Scotts Creek, part of the Elizabeth River, flows around Sugar Hill as it always has, endangered green herons nest in its trees as egrets stand feeding on one foot and Cooper's Hawks circle above.

As I ride through Sugar Hill, I always check this time of year to see if the blackberries are ripe yet.  As you can see from the pic above, they are not quite ready.  The blackberry blossom's intoxicating has me stop my bike on the way past to check.  Honeysuckle blooms there, some kind of purple flower, and Queen Anne's Lace which I gather and take home.

I'll check out Sugar Hill next weekend when I know I can gather some ripe berries in a white enameled pail with a red wooden handle, sharing my bounty with the little red foxes that live on the banks of Scotts Creek and the birds that swoop down to feed there.