Bowman's Part 2

So back to Bowman's on Saturday, as if all the flowers were not enough

And the statues

Bowman's has a dear little vintage green lunch wagon with vines painted on the side.  They use it as a kitchen to produce the best turkey Reuben sandwich I ever had (it was a panini)  The red potato salad came in a close second to my mother's...and that's saying a lot.  You can eat inside, with the beautiful decor and cut flowers, but I had to be out in the secret garden under a red umbrella.  I adore those vintage metal chairs.

I listened to the birds and marveled at the beauty, not 24 hours after a tornado had touched down in the nearby town of Hampton.

Secret Garden, Magical Saturday

Sometimes my best moments occur when I veer off my plan of the day and just go with the flow.  Saturday was such a day.  I went on a bike ride and ended up at Bowman's Garden Center in Olde Towne. 

Rich Bowman has created a Secret Garden where there was once a nasty 7-11.  Plants and garden items abound.

Even the smallest residents of Bowman's are magical

Like the bees and the buttlerflies...

Statues for the garden grace seclued corners...

Gorgeous salmon colored flowers

Wonderful shades of purple

As if all this beauty wasn't enough, Bowman's has another secret...

Memories Light the Corners of My Mind

I have such a strong sense of history and a love of all things vintage, back-in-the day, Little House on the Prairie-esque or Waltonian (as in John Boy).  A recent drive was suffused with all those things and some old-timey Virginia, as well.  The pics just screamed out "edit me in sepia!" so I did.  These are pics from late May of Surry and Suffolk, Virginia.  It is so interesting that the brave and adventurous settlers of the New World looked back to the old to name their cities: Hampton, Surry, Norfolk, Portsmouth, Suffolk...all named after their homes back in England.

I loved the textures of the back of this building in Suffolk.

I think the physician's office is still in business, but this should be in Mayberry.

This is the old train station in Suffolk, VA which has been lovingly restored and serves as a museum.  Some of the most wonderful old buildings around are railroad stations.  The station in Richmond, VA is magnificent.  The station in DC, where I will be next Thursday is completely AMAZING, so much so that I am leaving Portsmouth earlier than I need to so I can shop the Farmer's Market there and have lunch at the station.  Finally, there's the Queen of all stations, Grand Central, built by Commodore Vanderbilt and saved from demolition by Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

Peanut farming and production figured heavily in the history of this region, along with other types of agriculture and the military.  The Obici family has a strong presence here (including Obici Hospital, which they founded).  The Obicis owned Planter's Peanuts and Mr. Peanut was their idea.

The drug store is sadly closed, so Dr. Turnstall can no longer call in a prescription here on a rotary dial phone.

Oh, if I could do anything I wanted, money no object, I would buy this sad, neglected old building which probably once housed a small general store.  I'd paint it white again with pink trim.  I'd hang pink geraniums from the porch roof and set an old church pew out front.

I'd go to upstate New York,  find Debra's old blue bicycle, put more geraniums in the basket, and set it in front of the side door we never use.

Every day when I came in to open "Tia Annie's" (what my sister's girls call me), I'd take our old outbuilding wooden ladder and lean it against the wall next to the window on the left.  All my carefully collected linens, crisp and starched, would go on those rungs; tea towels, and embroidered pillow cases, table runners with flowers lovingly stitched, and an old quilt or two.

The store windows would be filled with vintage displays, like the old Victrola case I found left for the trash on one side and a stand-alone kitchen cabinet I rescued in the same way...filled with Fire King batter bowls sitting on doilies, and a wonderful old dictionary from 1930 sitting open to the word spectacular next to an old oil lamp.  Can't you just see it?  Well, maybe not, but I can.

Money being no object, I'd fix the grocery up, too, and could probably live happily above the store, just like Stanley Roman, my grandmother's butcher, did on Burnside Avenue, in East Hartford, CT.  Beausang's Grocery, after my grandmother's last name.  Really French last name, totally Irish background...no one knows why.

I wish my train to Washington would travel over the old-timey trestle, but I think that it is abandoned now.

This wonderful old building still serves the city of Surry.  Every time I see it, I think of my grandmother.  My grandfather (if you look up curmudgeon in the dictionary, it says, "See J. Robert Galvin, Sr.") was an attorney and often had court papers to file.  My grandmother took care of that.  At East Hartford's Town Hall, there was a clerk who was always curt to her, bordering on obnoxious.  My grandmother, Helen, was about the kindest person on earth, so this bewildered her.  Obviously, this woman was just very unhappy and as with many frustrated people, shed that abroad to others.

Typical of my Helen, she strove to win over that woman, to kill her with kindness, as it were.  She'd quote the scripture from Romans 12:20,  "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.”

I never understood that until I was an adult.  The glowing coals phrase is symbolic of a sanctification process.  In other words, Helen was helping the cantankerous city employee become a better person.  Just like her. I probably would have filed a complaint.

Queen Anne's lace is one of life's free pleasures which I never tire of.  Did you know that is is a member of the carrot family?  And now, having posted a bunch of pics and happily remembered my Helen, I will say, as Sparky used to announce on the public address system in MASH, "that is all."

One Thousand Gifts

Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me. I cannot think of a single advantage I've ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing.... Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away.
― Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are

One Thousand Gifts is one of those life-changing books that you run across infrequently.  You know those kind of books; the ones that make you reread sections and marvel.   The books that you savor; the books that you never want to end.  One Thousand Gifts is that kind of book.

My church studied concepts in this book for a six week sermon series.  The bottom line?  Thankfulness in ALL things is a key to the close Christian walk.  The Bible is full of it, once you start to look.  Ann says it a lot better than I do, so I’ll leave it to her.

Ann’s blog is located at this link:

http://www.aholyexperience.com/

While thankfulness is her key topic, other gems are also to be found in her book - which brings me to the quote above.  I am always in a hurry...frustrated and in a hurry. However, when I view things from Ann’s (this Ann without an E) perspective, I realize that at least in my life, hurrying constantly is a sin that causes me to be sharp, sarcastic, and shrewish.

I’ve been making a intentional effort to slow down and take one thing at a time.  I need to pay attention during the journey, rather than focusing on the next goal, the next place to be, the next thing to worry about.  While hurrying, I miss one thousand beautiful gifts that the Lord wants to bless me with.  When I am successful, the things God shows me are truly amazing.

Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

 Last night I snuck out to see a movie at 10:15 p.m.  I haven’t seen a movie that late and by myself since I used to go to midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Greenwich Village.  Rocky Horror is a cult classic and, in New York City at least, audience members would dress up like characters from the movie, step to the front of the theater, and act out what was going on the screen. A Navy pilot named Doug Ord took me there the first time.

In addition to those who acted out Rocky Horror up front, there were certain moments during the movie when the  rest of audience participated by flicking lighters, holding a newspaper folded in half over our heads, and shooting squirt guns towards the front.  I never dressed up, but I was a mean shot with a squirt gun. They still show Rocky Horror like this every other Friday night at the Naro in Norfolk. The Marigold movie didn’t have audience participation except that I laughed in the dark theater where I was the only customer.

 I stepped up to purchase my ticket and a breathless young woman with an Afro ran to her place behind the glass, accepted my payment, and slid my ticket through the opening.   This always reminds me of purchasing a subway ticket back in the day before the ATM-style machines I now use when in New York. I entered the theater where the still breathless girl raced to meet me on the other side and took the ticket.   Somehow I found this comical.

The Marigold movie was a delight, a tale about British ex-patriots of retirement age, who due to reduced circumstances, need to find a lower cost of living.  It was a story of really radical, beyond coupons, downsizing.  The hotel looks glossy and inviting in the brochure, but the actual circumstances are less than ideal.  The incomparable Maggie Smith and the amazing Judi Dench as well as the other actors draw you into an engaging story.  The cinematography of exotic, colorful India was breathtaking.

There was an important Christian message in the movie, despite Hollywood’s best efforts to disguise it.  The same message as my last post, “Godliness with contentment is great gain.”  I was also reminded of the Apostle Paul’s letter written from prison in which he shares that he has learned to be content in all circumstances.

One character was jarred by the cultural differences and anger at the loss of her husband’s retirement account.  Her fear and pain manifested as a critical and repellent attitude.  Other hotel guests avoided her and she derided her husband with caustic comments.  She turned to sin to fill her broken life with disastrous results.

Judi Dench’s character was bewildered by the financial mess her late husband made, but brave and hopeful in facing the future with an open heart.  She ultimately found a new life in India, with adventure, friends, and loved ones.  Other guests wanted to be with her; they sought out her company.  Her sweet nature and life experience led to employment which she desperately needed and a new love in her life.  That employment stemmed from a painful experience which she used as a teaching moment in her life rather than a root of bitterness in her heart.

Two women, facing the same circumstances...the ultimate outcome all stems from attitude.

I should sneak out to the late movie more often, for God’s lessons await in the most surprising places.  “See to it that no one comes short of the grace of God; that no root of bitterness, springing up, causes trouble, and by it many be defiled”?  Hebrews 12:15

If Your Every Day Life Seems Poor...

Don't blame it, blame yourself, for you are not poet enough to call forth its riches.
(Ranier Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet)
 
I was disappointed, because the new Farmer's Market wasn't what I expected...too expensive, too homogenized. I suspect that things marked locally grown were not.  The last Farmer's makert I shopped in was in New York City, near the Flat Iron Building. Lush purple grapes, eggs from heirloom variety chickens in Martha Stewart colors, clover and lavender honey from New Jersey, aritsan bread and cheses from Upstate, and piles of fall squashs tumbling on top of each other on beds of straw.  Okay, I'm  Farmer's Market Snob, I admit it.

Godliness with contentment is great gain.  I looked for some contentment, for beauty, for something to photograph and found a magical nature trail along the path of the the Suffolk Coastline Railroad.  I would have missed this if I hadn't held my plans loosely.

 These lillies of the field grew on a slight hill along a street in Suffolk.  My day would have been diminished without them.  They were part of the richness that I enjoyed that day.

Bermuda Hundred

I am blessed that my family has a sense of history.  I know how and why my great grandfather, Thomas Beausang, came to the United States from Cork, Ireland on HMS Teutonic (fortunately not the Titanic), but the same White Star Line.  I sit on my grandmother Helen's green needlepointed chair every day,  I have an inside window box in my kitchen that was my grandfather Dunn's wooden toolbox.  And I have three chairs that belonged to my second great grandfather who served in the Union Army during the Civil War. 

Second Great Grandfather Galvin was captured by Rebel troops during the Battle of Bermuda Hundred in May, 1864, escaped and walked back to his home in Connecticut.  Yesterday, completely by chance in a meandering drive to enjoy a glorious spring day, I found Bermuda Hundred, outside of the state capitol of Richmond. You can see above that it was settled in 1613.  One of the original residents was John Rolfe, Pocahontus' husband. Amazing, no?  They walked there where I walked yesterday.

It is all peace there now; no echoes of the agonies or the blood spilled as Union troops tried to get a foothold.  Well, I call them Union troops, some local historic signs refer to them as "federal raiders."

However, 140 years ago, my second great grandfather and many others fought here to preserve the Union.  I cannot imagine his terror at being captured by the enemy, so far from home.  It happened to him on that spot where my sandaled feet felt the dust of the road and the breeze from that same river bank location fanned my own face.  My spirit resonated with his, perhaps because of our shared portion of DNA or perhaps because I had heard about him for my entire life.  A descendent he never thought about in a United States he could have never dreamed possible...walking where his boots had marched.

The current homeowners of this stretch of land along the river, the Gray family, keep bees here now where once the Civil War raged and the bees buzz about, unaware.

If you look closely, you can see a red tug boat beyond the bee skeps, across the water.  I dearly love red tuggies.

Library Way, New York City

I take joy in many small things.  I think it is a blessing, because life is truly made up of the little things, not the great ones.

There's a friend of mine, well, he and I have a complex relationship.  Yet hardly anyone makes me laugh as hard as he does.  He has a unique world view, a different way of expressing himself in words, and an innate sense of what makes me tick.

One night, he gave me a beautiful gift.  He teaches in the City.  Which one, you ask?  For those of us from NY there is only one.  I like to hear the song of the city through his cell phone, the sound of "Fordham Station, Fordham Station is next," and the clickety clack of the Metro North trains on the tracks.  The sirens, the rush of noise and activity, the ducking in a diner for a cup of cawwwwfee, as New Yorkers say.  All of it is beautiful and sentimental to me because it means "home."

One night he was walking along here and describing it to me.  For all the hundred, no probably thousands now, of miles I have walked in NY, I'd never even heard of this place:

The street sign evokes memories of quiet rooms in towns in NY and CT, cool and dim with radiators that would suddenly clang, making me jump.  There was that indefiniable musty smell of old books and paste, that hushed air that is nearly like church, but not exactly.  The promise of a new (to me) author, the thrill of finding a new treasure from the pen of an old friend. My love affair with words and books began in the library.

I loved the old card catelogs, the purple ink pad, the metal stamp with the date, month, and year that always meted out the time in biweekly intervals, the thump and click of the date marked into the borrowed book, and the snap when the librarian closed the volume shut.

He started reading the words of famous writers which are marked into the sidewalk that New Yorkers walk over, most of them hurrying, also on cell phones but oblivious to the treasure trod underfoot.  I was entranced.  He read all the way back to the train station.  That was last year.  The other night, he read this one to me

Isak Dinesen was the pen name of Baroness Karen Blixen, a member of the Danish aristocracy.  I think I write, like she did, to secure the past; to secure it, so I don't forget it.  Maybe this is what all bloggers do. We secure the past or perhaps it is that we secure the present, we fix it, mark it down to be able to look back at it as it passes and never lose it.

Karen Blixen was portrayed in film by Meryl Streep, in Out of Africa, one of my favorite movies.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtX9iNlopbk

Sometimes I have a childish way of wanting to jump ship when I get frustrated in a conversation.  I say, "Peace Out" when I mean anything but.  I get teased about it.  I deserve it, I should be more grown up.  I was getting teased about it just today so I designed my own Library Way in front of 256:

Going Beyond Pics of my Latest Clever Creation

I don’t know if anyone is even reading this anymore, but I’ve struggled with why I haven’t posted.  Some of it is because there have been some troubles in my life that perhaps I didn’t feel would be edifying to others. 

The silliest perspective I had was, “Gee, what kind of pics do you take to illustrate that you feel totally frozen and have no idea what to do next?”  A big ice cube?  The inside of my freezer, illustrating that for several months I kept buying whole wheat tortillas for no apparent reason?  Cinco de Mayo?  A need to use up cilantro?  An attempt to prove my multicultural perspective? Who knows?  Maybe a picture of a dog, well, dog paddling…not sinking, but not going anywhere, either.  I have no idea.

I’m not as adorable in print as Frugal Girl.  I’m not as spiritual as Debra from As I See It Now.  I definitely cannot change my disposition by increasing my hot chocolate intake like she does.  I would need an IV morphine drip or an aerial spray of Prozac from a crop duster flying over my house for that.   Yeah, that might just work.

I’m not as whimsical as Judy at Anybody Home, but then who is? I don’t take pics as well as Brenda at Cozy Little House. Nobody is as talented as Daisy Cottage Kim and that’s the truth fo’ real fo’ real, as the kids I mentor used to say.  I wish she still wrote that blog, but I think something broke her heart.  Now she takes exquisite pics of sad swans.  I miss her cheerful red mirrors, grandma furniture, and back porch wash day posts.

I’m not cozy with a full pantry like Brenda at Coffee, Tea, Books, and Me.  I can’t abide mixing prints like Kasmira at What I Wore Today.  I’m not willowy like the writer at Not Dead Yet Style.  I am not as cool as Alex at Living the Small Life who can turn leftovers into some truly amazing fare. Should I even bother to continue blogging about anything?

All this finally brought me back to a book, now out of print, by Karen Burton Mains.  The book is a number of essays published as one volume.  I can hear the shouts of glee from all of you now, “Please, we’ve missed Thoreau and Emerson.  Give us MORE ESSAYS!”  

This is the kind of book that it is worth ordering from Amazon used.  It is called, “Karen, Karen…One Woman’s Response to the Whispers of God.”  Karen’s big deal book is “Open Heart, Open Home,” but I think the out of print book is her masterpiece.  I better order one and beat you to the punch because mine is now in three pieces.

Karen loved decorating her home with flea market and vintage finds just as I do.  And one day, as she was seeking out God and doing her housewife thing, she felt Him move in her heart saying, “Karen, do you want the most cleverly eclectic house in the whole church or do you want to know Me?”

And that’s what I’ve been hearing from God lately myself.  He’s not so interested in my latest coffee filter wreath. We are downsizing.  I feel God right straight out telling me that I only need to go to Goodwill to drop stuff off.  My house makes my husband feel comfortable in it and it speaks about who we are to others.  That’s huge.  I’m all for that, but I don’t think that God particularly wants me to try to emulate another blogger, or have pics as lovely as hers, or to try to have the most cleverly eclectic house on Constitution Avenue.  He wants me to know Him.

A Window Box...Finally

I think it must have been over twenty-five years ago when I read a book by Alexandra Stoddard in which she described her first apartment in New York City.  I was charmed to read that she had window boxes on the inside of her first little home.  If I remember correctly, she filled them with red geraniums at one point and also with blue hyacinths.  She had a tight budget at that time, but flowers were more important to her than lunch, which she would do without to buy the flowers.   Ever since then, I've had the idea of a window box hung on the inside of a window in the back of my mind.

You may recognize the window box as my Papa's tool box.  Before that, the tool box belonged to my grandfather, Jimmy Dunn.  Pop was an amazing man who used to dance with us standing on his feet.  He started out life as an orphan who worked in the mines in Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania at age 7.  They liked to use young children as labor because their hands were small enough to reach into crevices where adult hands couldn't fit.  He went on to be his high school class valedictorian to college to graduate school to teaching to school administration.  He wrote and edited math textbooks.  He loved his wife dearly, his family, the children he taught, and ice cream.

I'm not too sure whether he got the paint on the tool box or my Papa, either one of them is fine with me. I also have my Pop's Scottie dog tie tack (all the rage during FDR's administration when Fala, his little Scottie, was in the news), a cool key and ring from The Owl Pub where he worked a second job to help put my mother and uncle through college, and his high school year book.

The window box is in my kitchen nook area.  The red glasses were a wedding present to Nana and Pop.  They look like juice glasses, but they were actually for wine. You can see the Art Deco influence on them. 

The wooden heart on the window is an odd thing.  I was walking my dogs on Sandpiper Drive one day and there were some wooden-handled kitchen tools, an amazing red checked apron with black cross stitching, and that heart in the gutter.  I guess they fell out of a garbage can on pick up day. 

When I saw the red tulips in Walmart last night, I had to put them in my new window box.  I must go, my dog's boyfriend is banging at the back door.  He wants to see Lulu and have a cookie, not necessarily in that order.

Getting Ready for Snow Yeehaw!

Do you have any friends who live in Florida?  I do.  One of the things they seem to delight in at this time of year is telling someone who lives further north what the temperature is.  Do you know what?  I don't care!

I confess it; I love snow.  Perhaps this love is kindled by the fact that we in Virginia rarely see it.  However, I've loved the snow since I was a kid in East Hartford and in New York.  I would make snow angels and forts with my brother.  We had a wonderful long driveway in East Hartford which started up higher, curved down around our Tudor-style 1920's home and ended at the double doors to the garage.  What a wild ride on our red-trimmed wooden sleds and round silver saucers!  We would come in red cheeked, with cold-pink hands for Campbells chicken noodle soup with Saltines crushed on top.

Lulu is all ready for the snow.  I think dog clothes are absurd for the most part and absurdly expensive.  However, my little peanut has very short hair and she gets cold.  I looked at an appropriate-sized coat at PetSmart but was staggered at the price.  Later the same day, I went to Old Navy and found this jacket on sale at Old Navy.  Apparently Lulu is a size 3 Toddler.  The sleeves have to be short enough that she doesn't fall over them and the business end needs to be clear of fabric.  This jacket was perfect and the cost was under $5.

Winter and yet...

By this time each year, all of us are totally over winter.  I consider camellias a true blessing, since they bravely bloom during the coldest Virginia months.  In fact, it seems that they thrive on the colder weather.

These white camellias are perhaps less spectacular, but more beautiful in a purer sense.

I found a few of these purple flowers sheltering near the back door under a rose bush. I'm not sure why a few of these are blooming...perhaps just a gift from nature to make me smile.