Savannah!!

I started my weekend walking and immersion tour here - at the Mercer-Williams house, a block from my B&B. As it also begins and builds the story of "the book" - Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil - it was perfect. I returned several times during my weekend stay, and coughed up the $13 to tour the first floor. The house was built by architect John Norris in the 1850s for Hugh Mercer, the great grandfather of Johnny Mercer. Mercer never lived there, but they of course sell his CDs in the gift shop. Jim Williams, one of the main characters in 'the book' restored this house and much of historic Savannah in the 70s-80s. He gave two big Christmas parties each year - one for the elites of Savannah, according to his rotating list of who was in or out each year- and the other a 'bachelor' party. He collected and restored art and furniture from all over the world, some of which is still there.

Spring was one of my main reasons for escaping to Savannah in February. I expected something would be blooming - hopefully camelias. Aaaah, I was not disappointed. The squares, around which Savannah is built, are lush and green year round, with light filtering through the minority of deciduous trees in February. But the camelias shone like pink gems.

Thank heavens for Jim Williams and his archrival Lee Adler for preserving such amazingly beautiful architecture and homes. I suppose you could also thank Sherman for not burning the city down on his march southward. At any rate, there is a lot to revel in.
You could focus on windows, or roof lines, or arches, or the countless styles represented by stellar architects of the mid nineteenth century.

  

The pink house above was actually Sherman's headquarters during the civil war, 'offered' by a cotton barron as part of the bargain that he would save the city. Kind of fitting that it's the best example of Gothic revival.

Savannah College of Art and Design, founded in the 1970's, was also responsible for saving many beautiful buildings. The student artists and art is visible throughout the historic district, adding a nice layer of culture and color.                               

Perhaps nothing says Savannah louder than the towering oak trees laden with Spanish moss.
So it was a true escape from northern winter, a short tease of a weekend that left my senses swimming in..........well........ that alluring southern hospitality.

 

Winter whites.....

ahyup, it is beautiful............and cold........and wintry..........and, well, long...
My second winter here in Maine is a bit more of a reality check than last year's very mild dose, with an early and splendid spring. Partly, the novelty has worn off. And partly, it's just been, well, a lot more wintry. And it is still only February 6.

Granted, the groundhog predicted an early spring, and that would be welcome. Although my idea of early would be........next week. Or OK, next month would be fine. I like using my woodstove more. The splitting firewood (until my chopping block disappeared under the snow this past week) hauling wood (until the 4 foot drift forced me to dig out the woodpile), and stoking the fire (I'm getting really good at that!) I don't relish the shoveling, especially when I have nowhere to throw the snow but up on a four to five foot pile on all sides of my driveway and walkways.
But there are little perks along the way. The other day I found a great glider deck chair at one of my thrift store stops. And of course as my shed is also drifted in, i didn't really have a good place to put it until springtime. My mud room is full to the gills with all season stuff.....and I realized it would somehow have to go in there. but not before it just parked outside in the sun on a small patch of cleared decking. Whoa! kind of zen! I parked for a while to soak up the intense sun shining and bouncing off the snowbanks (which incidentally also blocked the wind). Nice! Ok, so I had mittens and scarf and hat on......but it felt wonderful on my face! Hmmm, maybe I'll try this with a cup of tea.....even better!
I find it ineteresting that such a high percentage of the classic New England houses are white. Decorated with twinkling white lights against banks of snow, and peopled with, well, mostly very white people. It always strikes me funny when people asking directions to my house say, "What color is your house?" to which I always reply, "White, but so is every other house on my street." There are of course a few notable exceptions. The little nearby town of Thomaston is lovely, and has a Main St lined with beautiful 19th century homes - all white. Until you get to a lovely victorian that is carefully painted in a trio or quartet of colors -forrest green, soft yellow, brick red.....and if I was standing in Thomaston I would probably see another color thrown in the mix. And because of color, it looks like it was relocated from somewhere else - San Fransisco, or Charleston perhaps. or maybe somewhere in the Victorian midwest. It's refreshing, as is the story I heard about it from a coworker who lives in one of the lovely white houses across the street. Apparently it was bought, restored, painted, and decorated by a rather high profile gay couple - who reportedly eventually moved on because the taxes were too high. But they were rather famous for their parties - especially Halloween, and the Titanic party. Looking up the history, I see that historic event - and no doubt the party- was in April. I thought the hitting an iceberg might fit better with February here - and hope that by April the frustration of winter and ice will be past. Anyway, it's a good metaphor.....and no doubt reason for a party.
Anyway, I digress. Somehow, I figure you have to find a way to add color to this winter landscape. Maybe that's why people knit........or quilt.......or felt......or paint.  Maybe i'll get around to something like that.......next witner. Meanwhile, I've booked a plane ticket to Savannah. Where hopefully there will be SOMEthing blooming.

new year, new decade...

2011. The new year rode in quietly here in Rockland, Maine. Ushered by a great jazz show on NPR....and on the heels of several naps on the couch between pages of a new Christmas book. The Maine motive of slowing life down clearly accomplished.
Looking back on 2010...... highlights...

• Corrina moves to Buffalo and starts grad school.
• Convert Virginia house to short term rental - and it actually works!
• daytrip to Monhegan island with spectacular views from cliff trail
• relentless beautiful weather in Maine
• seeing Obama on the mall in C'ville with a huge, diverse crowd
• walks and vistas on Mt. Dessert Island
• Countless walks across Maine
• Working with extraordinary early intervention team - and little people

Looking forward to 2011...

Rooftop poetry

The Balancing Act

At 2:45 I wrestle with my plan to attend the 3PM poetry reading

     in the rooftop sculture garden.

Mow the lawn...........?        Poetry.............?

     Poetry............?      Mow the lawn............?

Sunday afternoon, and the weekend

             is slipping

                         away.

The gallery is a ten minute walk

The grass is staring me in the face.

Will I have enough energy to do chores when I return?

At least enough to make the day  - 

          productive?

Curse this underlying work ethic!

At 2:52 I jump in my car,

Park in the town lot,

Amble up the block,

Enter the serene gallery space

Up the narrow staircase,

Through stunning sculptures.

Warm paintings calling -

                        Look at me!

Enter the sky

And those eyes upon me

A little late,

  A few seconds early,

    On time.

"Welcome"

As the words drift over and through me,

Leaving no marks,

Yet penetrating like

gentle breezes from the harbor

And lifting me

Into a Yes!

This is where I should be

   -Inspired

      -Arisen

         -And taken

Away



Breakfast with Lucy Kaplansky

Aaaaahhh, relentless beautiful summer............

Another splendid weekend. Another outside breakfast on the deck after a perfect morning walk to the harbor. It is hard not to gloat about the divine aspects of summer in Maine. It has been an unbelievable year.

So as the white light shines down on midcoastal Maine, bathing us in late summer vistas, I cannot say enough how lucky I feel to be living here.

I woke this morning to the most splendid sunrise over the trees and rooftops to the harbor. So panoramic that I ALMOST bolted from bed to grab my camera and the dog leash for an earlier than usual walk. Instead I just propped myself up with pillows, deciding to marvel and meditate my fortune at just being here.

An hour later, with sun up and glistening across the water, I did sit on a waterfront bench to deepen my meditation. A sole swimmer was standing waste deep in a mirrored reflection - arms raised above head with hands clasped as if in salute to a perfect morning before plunging into the water for a cleansing swim. A mental note - remind me to do that tomorrow.

I feel guilty taking time to sit at my computer to take any notes when it is a day for just being. But something tells me to write down and remember how it feels on the days when we wake up and all is truly well in the world.

Despite whatever.

Over breakfast, I wrote my to do list for the day:

• Plant mums
• Mow lawn
• Bike Ride
• Swim
• Write
• Bake banana bread
• Buy notecards
• Put a tall birdfeeder outside the kitchen window

And I expect that will be clearly 'enough'

Before I change the blade on my mower and tidy the yard, I leave with a few lines from Lucy Kaplansky

"But I'm old enough to know

Old enough to understand

All these things I carried here

Belong in a child's hands"

Open Windows

There is a well-known Andrew Wyeth painting - Wind from the Sea - of a lace curtain blowing in an old house window. For anyone who has spent a summer in Maine, it is one of those essence of place images. Like the fields of Lupine, or harbors filled with sailboats, or rock beaches.....except very up front and personal. Scent and sensation added to the visual dimensions.
When I moved to Maine, I was lucky to find several lace curtains, and I bought them all. My two bedroom windows face east to the sunrise - and to the North Atlantic. They have been open and bringing me sea breezes for a good two months straight now. Although I have metalaise currents over them at night, I delight each morning in opening them to peak through the lace and over the rooftops at the sunrise. And watching them flutter in the sea breezes.
As I watch the temperatures soar in most parts of the country, including triple digits again today in Virginia as a new renter moves into my house there, I am so greatful to be living here. I can breathe. I can think. I can sit on my deck or in my yard to read or daydream. I can stroll to the harbor and sit on a bench and be lifted like my lace curtains by the breezes coming off of the great Penobscot Bay. Life is good.

Yard Art

After decades of spending most of my non-working, non-parenting time in the gardens, I am trying to take the yard surrounding me a bit less seriously. Perhaps it was being given a copy of the movie "Grey Gardens" by my daughter for Mother's Day a couple years back. That was kind of scary. But for whatever reason, I've come to think of needing a different kind of comfort zone in the green space surrounding my house. My time in the garden has always been my self-proclaimed therapy. I love seeing the succession of season and profusion of blooms, however short-lived and temporal. Or perhaps it is living in a place where the big enviromental picture is so incredibly beautiful that is seems a bit of folly to think that you could improve on Mother Nature in this neck of the woods.

For whatever reason, my gardens have decided to add whimsy as one of their defining features. Now flowers and plants can have whimsy - but you have to be a seasoned grower to get the humor in a curly willow or waving petunia. I think I'm going for a more instant smile or chuckle here. Life is short - laugh often. Plus, my passion for garden centers is somewhat matched by my love of cruising thrift stores for buried treasure. Wallah! - a seemingly perfect match.

While a few pieces of art in my garden are true pieces of sculpture, most are returnable, exchangeable gifts from the Goodwill. I say exchangeable because if this 'habit' becomes addictive, I'm going to have to rotate images to avoid turning into a cluttered roadside attraction. When did the pink flamingo become overly silly?

Cheshire Cat: If I were looking for a white rabbit, I'd ask the Mad Hatter.
Alice: The Mad Hatter? Oh no, no no...
Cheshire Cat: Or you could ask the March Hare. In that direction.
Alice: Oh thank you. I think I'll see him...
Cheshire Cat: Of course he's mad too.
Alice: But I don't want to go among mad people.
Cheshire Cat: Oh you can't help that. Most everyone's mad here.
(laughs maniacally, starts to disappear)
Cheshire Cat: You may have noticed I'm not all there myself.

...............Well, so.......if you enter the Purple Slipper Gallery and Garden..... my hope is that you will smile as you share a glass of wine or cup of tea. Afterall, gardening can't be all tilling and planting and weeding. Flowers are flirting and fleeting and fun. I guess that's the message I see now. They can inspire laughter as well as deep inspiration or profound thoughts. Life needn't be so entirely serious, or the toil of our passions so fully consuming that we forget to indeed stop to smell the roses.

I encourage you to click on the pictures for a closer sniff :)

I inherited the gardening gene from both of my grandmothers. I expect that means it will always be a part of what I was, am, will be. A window to my soul......and a glimpse of how I see the world around my homes. Yet it needn't be all that serious..or time consuming. We are afterall temporal, like the seasons we pass through. Virginia - and Annie Dillard in one of the essays she wrote there- taught me about felicity and fecundity. Maine will have other lessons to teach and learn.

When I closed on this house three years ago this week, I was delighted to arrive to the surprise of a bed of bright poppies spilling across the front of the house. What a happy flower! Now they are popping up in my driveway or between sidewalk stones. Delightful! Though I have added some lillies, sage,  starfish, and such to keep them company, they will, perhaps, always be the landmark expression on the face of my homefront here.

“That we find a crystal or a poppy beautiful means that we are less alone, that we are more deeply inserted into existence than the course of a single life would lead us to believe.”

-John Berger