Bowman's Is A Magical Place

Sarah Sparrow supervising while Nora Spotted Dog checks a price for me. Any business with a resident dog is tops in my book.

Bowman's Garden Center is one of those magical places that makes me feel happy every time I step across the threshhold. Bowman's used to be a 7-11. I'm not a big fan of 7-11, apologies to all those Slim Jim and Slurpee fans out there. Bowman's magic took over on Green Street years ago, so all you can still see of the convenience store is the brick facade. There isn't a Slurpee in sight and you can't buy lottery tickets.

Behind Nora Spotted Dog in the top pic is one of my favorite people on earth, Sarah. My friend Pat calls her Sarah Sparrow. That isn't her last name, but I like it better than the one she has, a leftover from a husband who was very cruel years ago. However, Sarah is quick, darting and British, so Sarah Sparrow suits her,. Sarah designs exquisite floral arrangements, particularly the ones she lovingly prepares for the church altar each week. One Thanksgiving she decorated with artisan breads, fruits and vegetables..it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

As you can see, the colors in Bowmn's are wonderful, as are the display fixtures. Rich Bowman, the owner, has a careful eye for staging and detail. There are no metal stands of any kind leftover from the old 7-11. Rather he uses things like old shutters, armoires and chippy white painted shelving to display things to their best advantage.

I'm bananas for this blue background.

This bureau with the vintage mirror is also to die for.

These Mardi Gras mummers mask owls speak to me. I'm not sure what I'd do with them, being a little old to go out Trick or Treating... I think they might startle Bruce.

Here's a Bowman's spot which invites me to just pick up a book and sit and read for a while. The staff might think it odd, however. On the other hand, I think the staff already knows that I'm odd.

Please note the invitation for "free broom rides." I don't know about you, but aren't there certain times when you're in the car fighting traffic that you think that a broom might be a more appropriate mode of transportation...just based on your witchy disposition alone?



I think the sepia tones in this area of Bowman's are just lovely. This isn't a color which I typically gravitate to, but in this case, it just makes me think, "Harvest."

If you are in the Portsmouth, VA area, drop by Bowman's, 315 Green Street, Olde Towne, Portsmouth, 757-393-2070. You'll feel happy just walking in. Perhaps Rich will offer you a cucumber (yes, I said cucumber) soda or a latte. That special gift of hand made jewelry for a dear friend may be waiting for you. Sarah Sparrow will be happy to wait on you, just tell her Annie sent you.

Autumn in the Front Hall

I change the items on and around my antique marble top chest in the front hall for each season. This chest is wonderfully carved in the front, has many drawers which I store linen in and little brass rings that serve as drawer pulls. It belonged to my maternal grandmother, who left me some lovely Victorian things, but I have no other information about it. I wish I knew.

The cloche (or bell jar) to the left and the apothecary jar to the right tend to stay, but the garland around the mirror and other items change from shells to Christmas ornaments to fruit to candy corn to pine cones, depending on my mood. Right now, you can see some friendly scarecrows and fall leaf garland. I don't care for gruesome Halloween decorations.

The doorway leads to my kitchen. I adore the transom window over the top of the door. The wreath in the transom is made from feathers. I bought it from a magical place called Bowman's Garden Center in Olde Towne, Portsmouth. I'll have to do a field trip there soon so you can see.

The Old Mirror from Ghent

Ilove to restore or reuse old things. One night when I was walking in Ghent near the Donut Dinette, I found an old mirror left for the trash. I'd rather fix something that was trash picked than have someone give it to me new. It is also "green" and re-cycled... just think, the old mirror isn't in a land fill. The mirror reborn as a chalkboard sits over a cedar-lined built in storage "locker" that I just love.

Also trash picked is the pie safe you see at the end of the hallway. It was apparently an old chicken coop and had the chicken poo poo on it to prove it. I cleaned it, sanitized it and Bruce lined the doors with chicken wire. It is one of two real chicken coops I have in my house. Bruce finds this odd having grown up around the smell of chickens. I grew up around the smell of the subway, so I find him odd because he knows how to milk a cow by hand. That reminds me of a funny scene from one of my favorite movies, "Witness," but I digress

I've had a passion lately for chalk boards/slates. I think I first saw Kim at Daisy Cottage writing little messages on slates.

http://deardaisycottage.typepad.com/ I love them because when I see little quotes or things I want to remember, I have my own little soapbox to say what I will.

We pulled out the broken mirror, leaving the frame and spray painted it white. I traced the outline of the mirror's inside and used chalk board paint on the wall. I leave little notes for my husband or what have you on this little framed chalkboard.

The rest of what you see is my long, dark, narrow hallway that I painted a sunny yellow. It is also a TALL hallway, the ceiling is 11 feet high, so you can't even see the vintage lamp. The pic looks odd at that angle, but it is the only way to include most of the elements in the hall.

Autumn Fresh Flowers

I love this primitive yellow tool box with the "Fresh Flowers" on it. I've filled it with pansies and fall mums and put it on my front porch. If you look closely, you will see that the handle of the tool box is made of a spindle from an old staircase. The handle still has traces of wonderful old green paint on it.

The white you see behind it is mosquito netting that we use when eating outside. I don't like the look of screening on a front porch. I think it makes the front of the house look kind of blank. The netting looks prettier, I think.

Another one of my odes to Autumn.

Peeping Tomasinas and Keys

Did I ever tell you that I'm a Peeping Tom...or I guess a Peeping Tomasina? My goal is not to see naked people or even people at all. I want to see people's decor. I want to see their wall colors, their window treatments and how they hang pictures on the wall. On my evening walks, I'm always delighted with the people who leave their blinds up. That's why I love some blogs so much, because they are another way of peeping into someone else's house. So here's a peep into mine.

I've always been fascinated with keys, particularly skeleton keys. My grandfather, whom we all called "Father" to distinguish him from my own father (a man who I assure you could never be referred to as "Junior," though he is one) was an attorney. As an aside, you can see my father's sepia colored graduation pic in the round frame on the left hand pic I've posted.

Father had acquired a large number of skeleton keys from estates he had settled. They were kept in a canvas bag in the wonderful old pantry my grandmother had, third drawer down. How I'd love to have that pantry now! When I worked at the old church, we re-keyed after renovation and happily, I ended up with all those old keys.

I also have a precious key from "Pop" my other grandfather. You can see this key in the first pic, it is the one that hangs down lower than the others. My Pop had a kind, smoothing voice and sparkling blue eyes. He looked like Jimmy Cagney. He worked in at a pub called "the Hub" (which according to the key chain, celebrated its 50th anniversary in 1959!) after teaching all day so that my mother and Uncle Jimmy could go to college. The wonderful old Bakelite owl key chain with the key to that bar in Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania was found amongst his things after he went to Heaven.

So many keys found their way to me that I decided to use them in my decor, as a sort of chair rail border. You can also see an ancestor's old pocket watch. I also used some old things that I found in the yard, like a big old hook I found when digging a garden. You can also see my homage to Tina at Cherry Hill Cottage, in the little teapot with the flowers. She did something similar a few weeks back.

Jesus said that he gave us the keys to the kingdom of heaven, so I'm glad those hundred of keys hang there to remind me of that.

The Donut Dinette

This is the Donut Dinette in the Ghent neighborhood of Norfolk, just 4 miles from my house through the Midtown Tunnel. This tunnel takes me underneath the Elizabeth River which separates our two cities, something I contemplate as I frequently drive through it.

I often wonder what size of ship is actually navigating through the harbor right over my head there as I drive underneath. It could be a dear red tuggie, a Navy ship, a coal barge or even a Mickey Mouse ship, the Disney Magic, which was overhauled in the Titan drydock last month.



Ghent is an eclectic, trendy area of lovingly restored old homes, gorgeous apartment buildings from the the turn of the century with names like "Princess Anne" carved into the lintels, a bird sanctuary and all the hip restaurants. Ghent is so cool it has TWO Starbucks and and an independent coffee shop, too.



The Donut Dinette isn't contrived retro. It is just the way it has always been, with a vintage Coke signs that aren't just old-LOOKING, they've just been there for over sixty years. Authentic old-timey is so much better than "let's try to make this look old."

The "Donut" has only vintage stools inside and what used to be called a lunch counter. It is tiny and there is no room for any booths. These are the kind of stools I used to spin around on to make myself sick as a kid at Shady Glen in East Hartford, CT! In the temperate months, they have tables and chairs out front. However you have to go inside to step back into the past when it almost seems as though you could look down at the Virginian Pilot paper to see where Tommy Dorsey was playing live and learn that Mrs. Roosevelt was visiting in West Virginia to inspect working conditions in the coal mine.


The Donut is one of those places I've passed about a bazillion times and thought, "how cute, we should go there." One night, Bruce and I went for a walk in Ghent. As we passed The Donut, I noticed the that someone was inside the closed restaurant making donuts with his dog; a white dog with a big black patch over his eye curled up on the black and white tiled floor. Okay, the Health Department would have freaked, but I considered it perfection! I had to go.



The Donut's staff are perfect, too. In an age of sometimes surly serice, they are friendly and talkative. They seem to be throwbacks to another time, too. Customers come in, cheerfully teasing each other and staff, reading the paper and "talking story" (as they say in Hawaii. Is that pidgeon English term not a perfect word picture?)


The cooking grill is right out in the open, behind the counter. Two can have the breakfast special and coffee for under $20 with tip, which is A-okay in my estimation. Last time I was there I had eggs over medium and rye toast (no grits for this transplanted Yankee, read a vintage decorating magazine, spun around on my stool just a little, held hands with Bruce and thought of how sublime life can be.

Autumn at 256

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. ~George Eliot

George Elliot was the pseudonym of the great author MaryAnn Evans. I feel the same way she did about Fall. By early September, the landcape looks tired and dried up. I feel tired and dried up, too. It is a great joy to change my seasonal decor to concentrate on God's bountiful Harvest.

The first pic is of my fireplace mantle area. I finally got up the nerve to paint it white this Spring. It was one of the best decorating decisions I've ever made. Pssssst, I spray painted it!

The second pic is the area at the side entrance to 256. This is the side entrance that everyone wants to deliver flyers to. The census takers argued with me for a while about who lived there. I live there. The house was once a two-family during the war years, when it was considered a patriotic duty to divide your house if you were able, to accomodate the many shipyard workers who streamed into Portsmouth starting in 1941. 256 has been a single-family home for many years now.

The third pic is an area to the left of my front door. The final pic is a close up of a sweet, sentimental vintage harvest picture bought at a junk store on a old-timey looking easel I got at The Dollar Store. I put up the vintage Scrabble letters just for fun.

I see a few leaves turning color and there's a slight nip in the morning air here in Virginia. God's breathtaking artistry as He paints with golds, oranges and brilliant reds is just a few weeks away. Soon we will lay a fire in the fireplace and have roast pork and warm applesauce with cinnamon. We will bundle up in jackets put in the attic last Spring and throw a colorful pashmina around our neck. We'll harvest the pecans in the backyard, bake hubbard squash and make pumpkin muffins. It is time for parnsips, chestnuts and maple sugar candy. And I can't wait!

Children of the Corn

My nieces are the joy of our lives. Since we've never had children of our own, it is such a treat to see the world from their eyes.

When Piper was 3 years old, she walked up to Famer Boy and said, "Tio Bruce, I have Jesus in my heart." Bruce always gravely addresses children as though he was discussing macro economics with Alan Greenspan, so he said, "Is that a fact? What is Jesus doing in there?" She thought briefly and very earnestly said, lifting her hands in the air, "He's vacuuming up all the bad stuff, Tio." This about sums up the Westminster Catechism, as far as I'm concerned.

Piper is thoughtful, very intelligent and thinks about things before she does them. I think she is going to be a risk management director for a major insurance company when she grows up.

Jaime, her sister, is her polar opposite. Jaime of the huge brown eyes, mischeivous ways...Jaime the outrageous who exited the rink from her sassy ice skating dance performance with the heart shaped Elton John sunglasses and the jeans jacket she chose over a little tutu number and said to my mother, "Gran they loved me!" I think she has already written her Academy Award speech.

Piper who keeps a confidence to her heart and Jaime? Well, as we say, "Telephone, telegraph...tell Jaime." You never know what Jaime will share in Show and Tell the week after you see her. Piper who never wants to get out of bed and Jaime who is smiling at you at 5 a.m. all ready to start the day.

They were here late this summer. We had quite the hilarious time at Water Country USA. Little kids are an excuse to act like a child yourself. They were amazed that Tia Annie wasn't afraid and wasn't screaming. We baked bread and I had planned to take them to the beach. They preferred to play in the sprinkler in the back yard, play in the corn and pick fresh vegetables in the garden.

Jesus said "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, for such is the kingdom of heaven." He was right.

Bad Blogger

I have been a really bad blogger. I almost quit blogging entirely, but I decided this morning that I wouldn't let a really terrible experience stop me. I hope you'll allow me some indulgence as I share with you the experience and, if you're so inclined, pray for me and the person involved.

I have a neighbor, let's call him George. He's a colorful human being with interesting ideas about life, neighborly behavior and how to keep up his property. I was once the Civic League President for my neighborhood and off and on for years, he has blamed me for calling the housing inspectors about his property. For the record, I never have...but they have sure called me to figure out how to deal with him.

George's colorful nature causes him to do things like building a tower on the side of his house with no city permit. We call it the gun tower. His neighbor says he uses it to look down into the neighbor's hot tub. This neighbor complained and then, suddenly, his little dog was missing until he saw it looking out from George's house. Then the dog suddenly returned after being missing two days. When he has construction debris to dispose of, he burns it in the front yard in the middle of a city. I think you get the picture.

Over a month ago, when my blogging stopped, I was out taking pics for both my and my Civic League's website. It was a lovely day. I was enjoying a walk with the dogs prior to leaving for church. I made the huge mistake of taking a picture of a fence George had installed on his front porch. George is a master welder and does beautiful work. The light was hitting this metal fencing in the shape of a sunburst just right, so I snapped a pic.

I had no idea that George had, yet again, been cited by the housing inspector for another infraction. He thought I was spying on him. He and my husband had words. My husband called him a "horse's ass" which he admits wasn't the most Christian response. George came out onto the street and challenged my husband to a fist fight. We walked home with him bouncing up and down with his fists raised, calling us names and following us for while.

The next day, my husband, Farmer Boy, left for Groton, CT for three weeks. Also on the next day, I was informed by my police officer friend Jason that George had filed a warrant with the magistrate for "threat to commit bodily harm." "You horse's ass" had changed into, pardon the expression, "I'm going to kick your ass." Farmer Boy has a top secret security clearance in order to work on submarines. I might add that he has never been in any trouble of any kind ever in his entire life. We were very concerned about how this would affect his clearance.

This caused us unimageanble stress and me a lot of fear while he was gone. However, we put it in God's hands. When Farmer Boy got back, he appeared in court and the charges were dismissed because George never showed up in court.

A week later, George went to another magistrate and filed another warrant for the same incident on the same day. Only this time, he said that Farmer Boy threatened him with a gun. This is a violation of double jeopardy (in addition to being a bald-faced whopper of a lie), so it cannot go too far forward in the court system, but again, it is stressful, sad and painful.

A local attorney and public official and my hero even though we are from differing political philosophies, has agreed to represent us pro bono and adivses that we have nothing to worry about. I know that legally this is the case. However, from a neighborly standpoint it breaks my heart.

I'm busy re-evaluating how I stay involved and contribute my fair share. It is my visibility as Civic League President is what started this whole thing. I'm bearing consequences with someone for calling city housing inspectors when I never did, soley because I volunteered to help make my neighborhood a better place.

However, I've decided that since I love blogging so much and since I love reading blogs that have enriched my life immeasurably, especially Debra's from "As I See It Now," http://debrasotherthoughts.blogspot.com/ that I won't let George take this away from me. If you're reading this, say a prayer for him that God will clear his mind and change his heart. And sends a plague of boils on him. Joke!

And since I ended up with so much grief over the pic I took, I might as well use it, so please enjoy it...LOL. As you can see, it is beautiful work. I mght add that this house was essentially a shack when George bought it. He does beautiful work and eventually, cleans up the property. It is too bad that his behavior doesn't match how attractive his work ultimately is.

I'm going back to my joy of writing and blogging. So you'll be hearing from me more often.

Anne

Laminin - The Glue of the Human Body

Have you heard about laminin? Lamimin is a protein found in the human body, which is used to connect cells together. It has been described as the glue of the human body.

Here’s the definition according to Wikipedia:
Basically, laminin is a protein found in the "extracellular matrix", the sheets of protein that form the substrate of all internal organs also called the "basement membrane". It has four arms that can bind to four other molecules.

The three shorter arms are particularly good at binding to other laminin molecules, which is what makes it so great at forming sheets. The long arm is capable of binding to cells, which helps anchor the actual organs to the membrane. The laminin protein is made up of three separate parts, called the A, B1, and B2 chains.

What to learn more? Check out this short video from You Tube. It will knock you over with its inspiration, humor and scientific evidence of God’s glory.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_e4zgJXPpI4

And may I add just one more thought to Pastor Louie’s wonderful presentation? Please note the last sentence from the Wikipedia definition; “The laminin protein is made up of three separate parts, called the A, B1 and B2 chains.” Or should we call them instead; “The Father, Son and Holy Spirit.?”

Is life hard right now? Are things coming at you so quickly that it seems difficult to stand up under it? Jesus promised that the Kingdom of God is within you. Has science now proven this in an actual tangible way, for those of us who have the figurative “ears to hear” that Jesus talked about? The glory of God is truly within us. Do you have a chronic illness? Take heart, because the triune God is holding you together. Literally. Glory to God!

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by him and for him. He is before all things, and IN HIM ALL THINGS HOLD TOGETHER. Colossians 1:15-18

Thou Art Graven in My Hands

I took my usual morning walk along the sea wall of the Elizabeth River. The walk begins in Olde Towne, with the gorgeous old houses, each one an individual jewel unlike all the others. Next comes Crawford Bay, usually with diamonds dancing on the very gentle waves as the sun shines on them. The sailboats sway in place where they are moored and the skyline of Norfolk is just across the water.

My favorite part of the walk is when I’m meandering along near the actual sea wall. Portsmouth is a gritty, working port and has been so continuously for over three hundred years. No contrived “re-creation” like those in New York City and Mystic, CT for us!

A paddle wheel passenger ferry takes commuters and visitors back and forth to Norfolk all day. I love the red Matson Company tugboats which chug, chug, chug along pushing coal barges and other vessels. I have a passion for the red tuggies and even have a model of one in my kitchen. The Titan dry dock usually echoes with the sounds of the chipping and grinding of a ship in re-fit. Huge cruise ships float by.

I pass the Lightship Museum and the Mexican restaurant. I finally double back around at the police station and head toward home around the same way, taking advantage of being along the water as much as possible.

The only items which I carry as I walk are my keys. My hand started to ache this morning as I was nearing the end of the walk. I realized that for some reason, I had been gripping the keys very tightly, so tightly that the imprint of one of the keys was left in my palm.


Did you know that the Lord holds on to you and to me just like that? It’s true! Isaiah 49:15-16 tells us, “But Zion said, The Lord has forsaken me, and my Lord has forgotten me. And the Lord answered, ‘Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yes, they may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have indelibly imprinted (tattooed a picture of) you on the palm of each of My hands.’” (Amplified Version) The King James version paints even a clearer picture by saying, “Thou art graven in my hands.”

The Random House Dictionary defines “graven” as deeply impressed upon or firmly fixed. God holds each of us so tightly that our impression is firmly fixed into His hands. When you have one of those days when you feel forsaken and forgotten, remember that our times are in His Hands. In those hands are not only the imprints from Roman nails, but also our own individual imprints, because he’s holding us that tightly.

Anne Ortlund and the Parting of the Red Sea

Did I ever tell you about the big miracle in my life? My loving God does quiet miracles all the time. However, I think God only gives the grace of “parting of the Red Sea” moments to weak people like me who occasionally need signs and wonders. Oh, unbelieving and perverse me! However, I accept these moments with the deepest of gratitude to a gracious Lord who knows my every weakness and even the number of hairs on my head.

I was in a job that was consuming me. One day I had made a mistake with the payment of a credit card, which I was able to correct at the bank in person. On my way to Towne Bank, I heard a voice in my head say, “You are worthless. Drive your Jeep into that tree.” I had no intention of doing so, but I realized that I needed some help.

On that very bad day, I came home to a newsletter from Renewal Ministries. Renewal works with pastors, missionaries and other church workers who need refreshment and a new perspective. Anne Ortlund and her late husband, Ray, founded Renewal Ministries. You can learn more about the ministry at http://www.ortlund.org/.

Ray was the pastor of the famous Lake Avenue Church in CA. They are the authors of many books (together and separately), including Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman; Disciplines of the Heart; Disciplines of the Home; Up with Worship; Children Are Wet Cement; How Great Our Joy; Joanna; My Sacrifice, His Fire; Lord, Make My Life a Miracle; Confident in Christ; You Don’t Have to Give Up; etc.

In my early years as a Christian, my husband was deployed a great deal. Submarine op-tempo can be up to 70% of the time at sea. Many the night would find me sleepless and propped up in bed surrounded by a spotted dog, rice cakes, peanut M&M’s and a pile of Ortlund books. Just in case you're confused, rice cakes cancel out the calories of M&M's, as does Diet Pepsi.

The “Disciplines” books are available as one volume. I am on my third replacement of this book and the third copy is getting pretty raggedy, rather Velveteen Rabbit-esque. Anne Ortlund has been my boon companion during a lot of long nights.

Another different and loving voice that tough day said “Call Renewal.” I couldn’t shake it. I thought being mentored by Anne Ortlund would be only for the super spiritual, which I was surely not. I read another blog of a much-published author who stated she had waited 7 years to meet with Anne.

Nancy Leigh DeMoss, a mighty woman of God and founder of Revive Our Hearts Ministries, has shared on her radio broadcast that she also met with Anne and Ray before starting her ministry. You can learn more about this ministry at http://www.reviveourhearts.org/.

God parted the Red Sea for me in January, when I was privileged to spend 2 ½ days with Anne in her home in Newport Beach, CA being “Titus 2:3-4’d”, if you know what I mean. Me. Flawed me.

I have a confession to make. The love of God had never been particularly real or present to me. I’ve never doubted that there was a God. Since age 24, I have believed that Jesus is the way, the truth and the life. The problem was that I used to see myself as being so incredibly damaged that while God could love all mankind in a general way, I did not see the triune God as loving me individually.

This is a big lie of Satan, a very successful ploy he uses with many Christians. No matter what we underline in our Bibles, we often do not see who we are in Christ Jesus. God sees me through Jesus-colored glasses. Nothing I can do personally will ever make me “unflawed” enough to appropriate the acceptance of God, but everything that Jesus did will. Jesus said, “It is finished,” as he died on the cross. At that moment, all of my striving was made as filthy rags and I was accepted in the Beloved.

Anne Ortlund helped me to feel the love of God for me, Annie, personally. He knew the exact miracle needed to help me understand that He sees me individually. Just for me, He would stop Anne from all her other activities so that she could help me see this.

It is a pretty terrific thing to meet your heroine. Do you know what is even more terrific? When your heroine is everything that you hoped she would be and a whole lot more. Anne had just had surgery on her scalp. Twenty eight stitches were needed, yet as you can see from the picture, Anne looked so beautiful in a wig that you’d never know it. She had recently lost her husband of many years and was giving sacrificially. Anne was a gracious, wonderful hostess who poured herself into us.

I speak with Anne from time to time and now call her my friend. I left my difficult job and the painful worship situation that came with it. We finally were released to attend Kempsville Presbyterian Church full time, where we had found respite during the dry years.

Just to show us that He is still personally interested in me, God showed me another little glimpse of the miraculous. The first worship song at our new church was called, “I Am Free.” Although she and I had never specifically discussed the church we longed to attend when we visited Anne, God confirmed that we were in the right place when I recently discovered that the same worship leader who sang “I Am Free” is Anne’s nephew.

God knows me intimately and personally. He knows you the same way. And you can take that to the bank.

Guest Blogger

I can't believe they did this to me. Just when I had developed a really nice fragrance by rolling around in the backyard and stealing the Noxzema face cloths out of the wash. I had just gotten
my fur into condition. They took pictures of this abuse. Can you believe it? Someone call PETA.

My parents stink. They're abusive. I'm not speaking to either of them. Little Bit

J. P. Morgan Didn't have a Clue

We enjoyed our trip to New York City right up to the last minute. As we were checking out, our bellman noticed the Bibles we were carrying. Greg let us know that three Guttenberg Bibles were on display at the Pierpont Morgan Library. We checked our bags at the hotel and took a cab cross-town to take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Johannes Guttenberg is the father of the movable printing press. Only 48 of the Bibles he produced in the 1400’s are currently in existence. Three very good copies are in the Pierpont Morgan Museum, two printed on paper and one on vellum. Printing Bibles was his life’s work. You can learn more about the Morgan here: http://www.themorgan.org/exhibitions/exhibition.asp?id=7

I was in awe of the three Guttenbergs on exhibit, the first ever mass-produced vs. copied by hand by scribes. I switch Bibles each year. I generally use paperback Bibles, because I write, highlight, underline, make notes and just make a mess of mine. That's a picture of my Bible up there with the page open to one of the Psalms I have a tooled leather cover with handles that I use to hide all the mess, since I don’t write all over that.

I held my Bible to my chest and tried not to cry as I contemplated the differences between my Bible and those that were displayed. The Bibles on display were exquisitely rendered with gorgeous type and initial capital letters. Each Bible was unmarked in any way. They were, however, also protected by glass, untouchable, terribly costly in their own time and priceless in ours.

My Bible, a paperback Amplified version, cost under $20, although it is priceless to me. Almost everyone can afford a Bible today. Any church would gladly provide a seeker with a free Bible. The Gideons give them away to motels. How thankful we should all be for the great availability of Bibles in our time. We have any number of direct translations, paraphrases, parallel Bibles with several versions in one, Bibles on CD and every kind of study aid imaginable. Many of us do not take advantage of these materials, but they are there for us to explore the Word of God in all of its richness and complexity.

I moved on to view J. P. Morgan, the financier’s, office. The Pierpont Morgan Library is his former residence. The office was vast and imposing with a soaring ceiling. The walls were covered in red flocked velvet. Treasures lined the walls and chair rails, from ancient Egypt to ancient China and the European Renaissance. It was breathtaking.

What do you imagine, in the midst of such treasure, that J.P. Morgan gazed upon as he sat at his desk working? The painting of Madonna and Child by a Medeival artist and monk? A priceless Chinese horse figure? A Renaissance tresure? J.P. Morgan looked at a very large portrait of himself over the fireplace in front of him.

J.P. Morgan apparently spent time looking at himself. He had many, treasures, but I think he might have valued them more for their monetary value than for their history or for what they represented. Let’s not make that mistake.

It is easy to make old J.P.'s error. The Bible talks about idols that are man made and have eyes that can’t see and ears that can’t hear. Our homes can become idols, our careers, our exercise time or anything else that comes before our time with God.

Let’s take our focus off making ourselves and our possessions our idols and seek us first the kingdom of God. Let’s look instead to the Author and Finisher of our faith.

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lords glory, are being transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord. Corinthians 3:18

The Bridge Thing, Part Deux

I told you all about my bridge phobia in my post about Mystic, CT. Ssssssh, don’t tell anyone, I’ll get embarrassed. My biggest bridge fear is walking across a really high one over water. Get ready for what comes next…

When I got to New York, I decided it was time to take positive action, so I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. Really. You know me. I never do things half way.

We took the subway to the Brooklyn Bridge stop and walked back across the bridge to Manhattan. It would be difficult to convey how terrified I was, but FB said it was like holding on to a vise grip lined with a sponge. If you ever wanted to see me completely terrified, that is a picture of me holding on to the park bench for dear life about halfway across.

Just went I got past the midpoint, I was struck the beauty of seeing Lady Liberty to my left and the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings to my right. While I didn’t exactly relax, I was at least able to appreciate the wonder of what I was seeing.

Fear not, for lo I am with you always, even unto the end of the age or the Brooklyn Bridge,whichever comes first.

Black Point

Black Point. Just the sound of that name brings to mind the mingled summer smell of honeysuckle and brine in the air, with Long Island sound’s gentle waves touching the shore. When I think of it, I get an ache in my throat and the tears come for what had been and is no more. Osprey Street and a knotty-pine paneled beach cottage where ribbons won swimming were tacked to the walls and the ticka ticka sound of Taffy padding across the kitchen floor looking for a Milk Bone hand out echoed from the kitchen.

I was the first grandchild in the family, so I had not only loving grandparents, but doting great aunts and uncles who loved me like a grandchild, too. My beloved great aunt Kit was one of those surrogate grandparents. She and her husband, my godfather Lenny, were so very kind to me when I was little. Kit was slim and elegant and Lenny had a shaved head before it was cool. He’d get mahogany brown by mid-summer and hang out on the small beach with his friends.

I was a precocious child. I talked early and haven’t stopped since. Lenny liked to show off all the cute things I could do when I was two and three. One day, I’d had enough and remained mute while he coached me. “Annie, tell them how old you are.” “Annie, tell them your address.” I picked up my plastic bucket and headed toward the water shaking my head saying, “Poor Lenny.”

I dearly loved Kit and Lenny’s three daughters; Joan, Peg, and Claire. They were attractive girls who were in high school and college when I was little. Joan was the smart, acerbic one with a quit wit. Claire was the sweet one with a quirky smile. And Peg was the beautiful one.

To a pre-schooler, Joan, Peg, and Claire were the ultimate in cool and glamour. They had pretty hair and pretty clothes. They used Noxzema to wash their faces. I still use Noxzema just for that reason. I think of them every time I wear a hair band. I was the flower girl in Claire’s wedding when I was six. I still remember dancing with my father to Blood, Sweat and Tears’ “Spinning Wheel” at the reception.

Joan, my father’s cousin, met my mother’s brother, Jim, during my parent’s wedding. They married, making their children both my first cousins and also my second cousins. I would often stay with them when I was small. I’m sure I must have been annoying parading around in Joan’s shoes while singing “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round” 9,431 time, but they never let on.

I read “Hide and Seek Fog,” my favorite childhood book, at Black Point. I won a costume contest at the Black Point Beach Club once in a cool muumuu my mother made me. Black Point was blueberry muffins, stopping at farm stands for tomatoes and swimming out to the floating dock. It was putting my bathing suit through the old wringer washer, hanging it on the line and rinsing sand off my feet. Everyone in that place meant the world to me.

My parents divorced. I moved away from Connecticut. The girls all married and moved away. I’d see Joan from time to time and received news about the girls from my grandmother. I moved even further away to Hawaii. My grandmother died and even the news stopped. Due to a series of sad events outside my control, I lost touch with “the girls.”

I’ve been traveling lately with Farmer Boy and his work takes him to Groton, CT, about twenty minutes from Black Point. I finally summoned the courage to return there with him. I was unsure if the cottage on Osprey was still in my family at all or how I’d be received if it was. My longing to see it all again was too great, so I drove back.

I looked at the cottage from my car. It had been improved, but was still the cottage of my childhood. The character of Black Point has remained the same. Although there are a few newly-constructed, vinyl-sided summer rental monstrosities, the multi-generational family cottages with cedar-shake shingles and geranium-filled window boxes still predominate. Black Point has not become homogenized.

While drivng down to the beach for one quick look, I was amazed to see my cousin Peg. I was surprised at how young she looked. I felt tentative at first, but I was very warmly welcomed. She quickly invited me back to the cottage for drinks on the deck. It took Peg just a minute to recognize me, but her husband, Joe, recognized me immediately, even after 30 years.

I learned the sad news that my Aunt (and second cousin) Joan of those “wheels on the bus going round and round days” died last year. She had a hard life. Joan lost one son to crib death, one to suicide and my Uncle Jim when she was a little younger than I am now. She was a breast cancer survivor, but lost a long-term battle with smoking and emphysema when she died of MRSA last year. I know she is at peace now. I’m thankful for that, as well as her many kindnesses to me when was a child.

It is difficult to convey the rush of emotion that suffused me as I walked up those familiar steps. The living room was exactly as I had remembered, right down to the knotty-pine paneling and the red and blue swimming ribbons tacked up high near the ceiling. As I left that night, Peg said to me, “Come back anytime.” I’m not sure if she realized how much it meant to me to recapture a small bit of my childhood, but I wept all the way to dinner.

Peg always was the beautiful one. But can I tell you that I never saw her look as beautiful as she did when she was carefully tending to her disabled son in a wheel chair and welcoming back a wayfarer from a long time ago?

“Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her the reward she has earned.” Proverbs 31:30.

Mystic Pizza

I guess you’ve figured that I’m not at the house at 256 right now, but sharing my view from the road. I’m traveling with Farmer Boy, who works for Really Big Defense Contractor. I’m from Connecticut, so I come with him when he drives up to review work completed. I get to drive around, visit with my family, study and enjoy myself. Thanks, Farmer Boy, for inviting me to come.

Last night we went to Mystic Pizza in Mystic, CT for dinner. Contrary as always, I had a roast beef grinder. For those of you who are not informed about correct terminology, a grinder is incorrectly referred to as the following in other parts of the country: hero, submarine sandwich, po’ boy or a hoagie. But it’s a grinder.

Mystic Pizza is also a favorite movie of mine. Released in 1988, it was Julia Robert’s first big break and has become something of a cult classic. It runs on a continuous loop at the restaurant while people are dining. The director was spending the summer in the area in the late 1980’s and decided to set the screenplay about the lives of three waitresses right in Mystic Pizza.

Farmer Boy was just saying to me, “Did anyone else in this movie become famous?” In the midst of saying “no,” I realized that my favorite Vincent Donofrio from Law and Order: Criminal Intent was right on the screen. Detective Robert Goren himself, but I never saw him. I’ve seen that movie many, many times and never noticed that he was in it. Which goes to show you that we are frequently not fully present in our lives and miss a lot.

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

After dinner, we walked across the picturesque old draw bridge that runs through the center of Mystic. I have a bridge thing: they scare me. Really big, high bridges particularly scare me. I have nightmares about the George Washington Bride in New York and the Coronado Bridge in San Diego. This bridge is small and accessible, in addition to being not very far up off the water, so it didn’t bother me at all.

Just as we were crossing, a loud bell began to ring. A sailboat with a very tall mast was about to pass, so the bridge was opening. Danger, Will Robinson! I sprinted across; my nightmare horror of a bridge opening underneath me about to occur in real life.

Everyone had pretty much cleared the bridge when a couple, seemingly oblivious to the red lights, lowering bars as at a railroad crossing and the loud horn sounding, sauntered very slowly across the bridge, hand in hand, seconds before it opened.

What a metaphor for life! How many people are wandering into very dangerous territory, onto the shifting ground of sin, oblivious to the peril? How many warning bells and barricades are trying to alert us, but our focus is elsewhere? Get back to the solid ground on the other side as fast as you can!

On Christ the solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.

Alexandra Stoddard and Noah's Restaurant

I have long read and admired author and lifestyle philosopher, Alexandra Stoddard. Twenty three years ago, my friend Deana lent me a book by Alexandra entitled, “Daring to be Yourself.” As someone who frequently pretended to be someone else, this was big stuff. Alexandra has written about her vacation home in Stonington Borough for many years. To learn more about Alexandra, read about her here: http://www.alexandrastoddard.com/.


Stonington Borough is absolutely charming, just as Alexandra has written. It was incorporated in the 1700’s, with the iconic New England village green. Water Street is the main thoroughfare, with eclectic shops, bistros, well-loved homes and exuberant geranium-filled white window boxes.

I walked to the old lighthouse by the sea and back up Water Street to find lunch. Alexandra Stoddard writes often about the importance of color in one’s life. As I passed by Noah’s Restaurant, I saw Alexandra and her husband, Peter Megargee Brown eating at one of the window tables. What I noticed was Mr. Brown’s very bright madras suit jacket. Talk about serendipity!

I sat at a table a short distance away and ordered a meal for myself, as well as a take-out meal for FB. He was busy with schematics and phone calls back at our hotel. I tucked into some really excellent bread and read, catching discrete peeps at the gracious Miss Stoddard and the dapper Mr. Brown.

Do you ever get that frisson of doubt in the pit of your stomach when you realize that you’ve made a mistake? I get that quite a bit because I make a lot of mistakes. One of my major malfunctions is misplacing my wallet, my cell phone, keys and/or my sun glasses.

Wouldn’t you know that the day that began with a flat tire would find me in the presence of Alexandra Stoddard, so at home in her own skin, cool and pretty in pink…totally flustered about my wallet? I left, telling my server, Judy, that my wallet was in the car parked two blocks away on Harmony Street. It wasn’t there. It was back at the hotel.

I decided that I’d maneuver my way out of the narrow streets which weren’t paved with cars in mind, head back to the hotel and call to advise I’d be longer than I thought. I was so rattled that I couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant and my cell phone was chirping low battery anyway. Then I remembered that it is illegal to converse on a cell phone while driving in the state of Connecticut.

I returned an hour later to the very gracious Judy, who accepted my apologies with good humor and served us the delicious bratwurst lunch I’d embarked on an hour before. I brought FB with me because I was too embarrassed to go back by myself. Alexandra was still there sipping white wine, looking elegant.

May I tell you that Alexandra Stoddard does not leave home without her wallet? She wouldn’t be flustered about it if she had and she certainly would not have forgotten the name of the restaurant. Alexandra does not get hot and bothered. She resonates at a zen frequency.

But I’m me. Alexandra is a friend and follower of His Holiness, the Dali Lama. I’m a follower of Jesus Christ. In my scattered and sometimes stupid ways, I fit right in with the apostles. This is not because of any great spiritual wisdom or holiness on my part, but because Jesus chose the foolish to spread his word. Not by might and not by power but by my spirit, says the Lord.

I am like Jesus’ follower Peter, impulsive and impetuous. I’d like to think that I wouldn’t deny Jesus three times, but sometimes I can deny him with my behavior without any threat of Roman power hanging over me at all. Do you sometimes feel like me? Flustered? Trivial? Silly? Out of control? Rejoice in knowing this truth: God’s power is made perfect in weakness. When we are the weakest, God shows himself mighty.

I’d highly recommend a trip to Stonington Borough WITH your wallet. Noah’s is a wonderful restaurant. Reservations will be helpful for you. The staff is quite understanding, but they’d really appreciate your letting them know if you have to leave for an hour to go back to your hotel.


Noah’s Restaurant
113 Water Street
Stonington Borough, CT
860-535-3925
http://www.noahsrestaurant.com/

The Old Shea House at 256

What can I say about my beloved Shea House at 256 on a street unnamed for blogging privacy? Think 256 Main Street, 256 Oak or Maple or 256 Independence Street and you will have the flavor of my street name.

The first time I saw Shea House was on line, six months prior to moving to Virginia. For years, I had driven with my dog from my apartment in the Point Loma neighborhood of San Diego to the Mission Hills neighborhood to take walks. As I passed each historic home, I would dream of the home I would own and restore someday.

As I contemplated the move, I started looking at homes on line. There was one particular home in Portsmouth that tugged at my heart. I looked at it many times. Described as a “Four-Square American Colonial Revival,” it was everything I wanted. My dream home had to built prior to 1945, with a fireplace, in an established neighborhood with hardwood floors and enough distinguishing features that my home was different from all the others.

I rid myself of two real-estate agents who steered me toward developments with silly names like the “The Windmills at Chesapeake Hills” and street names like Bellechase Court and Leatherstocking Lane. My brother refers to such places as, “Pretensions at Broken Wind.” No, no…no arched windows for me, no fakey gas fireplace, no homeowner’s association rules that I can’t hang clothes on a line.

Finally I found Susan, my very dear realtor who led me to…guess where? My dream home was still on the market six months later! I walked up to the porch which extended the length of the front of the house, saw my built in bookcase with the glass doorknobs and the pilaster around the dining room chandelier. I knew I was home.

The Shea family experienced Black Tuesday and the Great Depression at my house. Flappers danced the Charleston, the Hindenburg exploded into horror, Pearl Harbor was bombed, FDR died in office, men left for the Korean War and 256 witnessed it all.

The house was divided into two units to support the war effort at Portsmouth’s Naval Yard, which worked three shifts to defend our country from Hitler. Men needed housing and Portsmouth met that need. The Korean War ran its course, JFK was assisinated and we lost our innocence.

The house stood as the school across the street was desegregated over the objections of many. It stood as men and women left for Vietnam. During the eighties, it was converted back to a one family house. 256 stood through the energy crisis of the seventies and still stands during our current energy crisis.

As I study the Bible and drink Earl Gray at the table in the corner of that old porch, shaded by a trumpet vine with ancient, gnarled roots and look over to the school which now houses the elderly; I think of those families who sat on the steps drinking sweet tea, waited for the kids to come in from school, rocked on a porch swing and caught fireflies right here where I am now.

It is 9 years that we’ve lived in the old Shea House at 256. It is a new roof, central air-conditioning, 30 new windows, two hurricanes, a cottage garden, many prayers and lot of dirt and sweat later. After many meals, lots of paint, jumping kids collapsing the plaster in the dining room…here I am.

As Psalm 16, verse 6 says, “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.” And 256 still stands and let’s me call her home.