tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193340091568205562024-03-05T02:12:59.334-05:00Wish You Were HereJanethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-32804160885159467142010-11-23T09:59:00.000-05:002010-11-23T09:59:10.429-05:00AfterwordWe all had our favorite things in New York. Setting aside the NBA Store as a standard other things can't hope to reach, we have Sarah and Asian art at the Met, Suz and dinosaurs at the American Museum of Natural History, Kathy watching her nieces, and me . . . looking at water towers.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_a_tiEjGdtQTbz_b3cbpTNIAGPeX5rJNxHZys3gf72Jyeijjm_ExCWJRN_lwLyBQwLTRFF_myhGgaWMQ6Ridwygo906ltQKW0GEkG8ptwn0JuikvbYaZZdgADrvpGkITQZdgsJpjYwk/s1600/water+tank+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_a_tiEjGdtQTbz_b3cbpTNIAGPeX5rJNxHZys3gf72Jyeijjm_ExCWJRN_lwLyBQwLTRFF_myhGgaWMQ6Ridwygo906ltQKW0GEkG8ptwn0JuikvbYaZZdgADrvpGkITQZdgsJpjYwk/s320/water+tank+2.jpg" width="279" /></a>Yes, pretty much all the world at my feet, and I am smitten by what are essentially large barrels on the tops of buildings. What is with that? The humble water tower, like this one on a building directly across from our hotel, is something human in a city that seems to thrive on mechanized. Its scale is all out of proportion to its usefulness. All buildings are required to have water towers, in order to maintain water pressure. Required. So on top of every building, great or small, hidden or not, there is a water tower.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Some of them, on the newer buildings, are either concealed as part of the architecture, or made to look like squat pieces of machinery, like the innumerable HVAC systems that sprout everywhere. But many of them are charmingly similar to barrels, great copper-bound wooden tanks, that apparently leak until the wood swells and seals them. These look like little primitive huts on the tops of great buildings. They're a small, organic touch in a city of colossae, unlikely African villages sprouting on the roofs, or yurts that have evolved to appreciate urban life. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>When I think of New York, the first thing I remember is not the cabs or the crowds, the press of humanity or the energy, but the water towers, perched on the roofs, benevolent little Buddhas, forgotten, but more necessary than the women in tall boots and the men in overcoats. The city would not miss one human in ten million, alas, but it would miss water pressure pretty quickly.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-46021210372670076912010-11-21T08:55:00.000-05:002010-11-21T08:55:13.419-05:00Favorite Things and Suz's Latent Talents<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiXmICTwYIWM0UJ0OwWq6HkX4kOjjdGPJnSeMwFrmYr-J6NVrjiKZUqT-uNUYDftV7KtelUSBESj2FF6R82o5Z6QJV2mEenC9RHFzpdjf_Iz2sVYqNnlx-ec161-RcVVZiDpilpChnUhE/s1600/Suz+and+TD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiXmICTwYIWM0UJ0OwWq6HkX4kOjjdGPJnSeMwFrmYr-J6NVrjiKZUqT-uNUYDftV7KtelUSBESj2FF6R82o5Z6QJV2mEenC9RHFzpdjf_Iz2sVYqNnlx-ec161-RcVVZiDpilpChnUhE/s320/Suz+and+TD.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We have been to the Met, to the observation deck on top of Rockefeller Center, and the Natural History Museum. We have been to St. Patrick's cathedral. We have watched people ice skating and looked at the monstrous tree on Rockefeller Plaza. Know what the girls' favorite thing is?<br />
<br />
The NBA Store. <br />
<br />
Yes, the reason Suz looks slightly glassy-eyed is that she has her hand inside Tim Duncan's handprint. This is the same look we saw when she looked at the dinosaur skeletons, and when she was taking a picture of Sarah with the triceratops. It's a look that hasn't changed in 24 years, and I hope it never does. Part of the fun of taking the girls on this kind of adventure is seeing the world through their eyes. Suz's are wide open. Sarah's probably would be, but she has a cold, and doesn't like to fly, something that's coloring her experience.<br />
<br />
One thing the chicks agree on is that cab rides are fun. It's like being in a giant pinball game where none of the balls ever quite touch -- they veer off at the last second. When we got out of the museum yesterday evening, it was closing, getting dark, and chilly. We could not get a cab for squat, until we flung Suz out into traffic, where she hailed one almost immediately. My daughter -- cab bait. Of course, since there were four of us, she had to sit up front with a man who turned out to be Mr. Smelly, but it was (for us in the back) a small price to pay. Sarah got to enjoy a lot of young men pulling bike taxies, a win all 'round.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-90143451512895056632010-11-20T08:58:00.000-05:002010-11-20T08:58:17.368-05:00Girls' Weekend in NYC<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQMwmeuVp67xA_ep9NwjTnjKxmHQbws4xtvKWBpuGu-5fgR16ZCqabfMj5Noob4yBj8yR45nulitZrOryxy8Lu2UW9gXoNU7wXye9r_gxZwYRfNRXXM4h-mdhU_0rEjOJtsXbXxNQfDC0/s1600/outside+the+atrium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQMwmeuVp67xA_ep9NwjTnjKxmHQbws4xtvKWBpuGu-5fgR16ZCqabfMj5Noob4yBj8yR45nulitZrOryxy8Lu2UW9gXoNU7wXye9r_gxZwYRfNRXXM4h-mdhU_0rEjOJtsXbXxNQfDC0/s320/outside+the+atrium.jpg" width="320" /></a>What am I doing in New York on a weekend in November? Because I couldn't be here on a weekend in August. Every year my sis and I take a trip together. We have prowled eastern Pennsylvania in search of gardens; we have been to the beach; we have mucked about in Kentucky horse country and spent a long weekend in a Shaker village. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>What we've never done is New York City, a place Kathy visits routinely for her job, but where I had never been. What an obvious choice. Then we decided this would be a fun thing to do with my daughters, and so the plan required really cheap plane tickets, thus, November.<br />
<br />
And here we are, although perhaps Sarah wishes she wasn't, insofar as she took one look at the plane and would have backed out on the spot if she could have. New York, home of more people than the entire state of Virginia, is also home to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the big carrot with which we got Sarah up the steps and onto the plane. (Our pictures will follow just as soon as we get home and have a cable to upload them.) If there's one thing we all love, it's an art museum, and New York is full of them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-IlJxkZG0rB27He5zB9ysZ2dD0pIoFxiAtJyxHJS8ypMrrO96euiYGAKUL_qBeHoGHecHVWWHPlE8jS7jQM6qG6j1DABT8ZyqyGAUSj0pcutY2rt0JceHqHTwC1movboDmgjF8EoK2I/s1600/Sunflowers%252C+renoir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-IlJxkZG0rB27He5zB9ysZ2dD0pIoFxiAtJyxHJS8ypMrrO96euiYGAKUL_qBeHoGHecHVWWHPlE8jS7jQM6qG6j1DABT8ZyqyGAUSj0pcutY2rt0JceHqHTwC1movboDmgjF8EoK2I/s320/Sunflowers%252C+renoir.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>The Met is particularly lovable, because it contains millions of objects, carefully curated, and it's the best bargain in New York, otherwise known as home of the $3 Coke. Our favorites: Sarah -- Asian art; Suzanne -- Japanese armor; Kathy -- decorative arts period rooms; Janet -- Impressionists. But of course, we perhaps, in our six hours there, made it through a third of the collections. A lifetime might not be enough to sit in front of Renoir's sunflowers, or watch children react to the temple of Dendur, which has it's own plaza and atrium. We sat there, in the afternoon sunlight, looking at the colorful trees in Central Park, and thinking peaceful thoughts, while a class of what looked like eight-year-olds lined up in front of the huge statues for a group shot. One of them had his name tag on his forehead.<br />
<br />
After we'd museumed as much as we could stand, we grabbed a taxi back to our hotel, and the girls napped like they were eight years old themselves. At the recommendation of our concierge, we walked to a local restaurant, Luna Piena, for fabulous Italian food, including a fig and prosciutto appetizer that was out of this world. The blood orange sorbet was fine, too, and so we strolled back through the early evening, tired but content. A dose of urban life once in a while isn't a bad thing.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-89289051383035789622010-07-03T15:04:00.001-04:002010-07-03T15:05:42.611-04:00Leavin' for the Beach -- Eventually<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5hT_mPrImT6sa_ozZ5nisL_TEBDGHBBOGYV4kCPXmvJx5j4ykMtWnu0BDeO8JHuEE-UomOchvWP2R4qNV4l5BLcshUlQCq0us30TCTsl_7L1ZGy7g2dpbUgMWb5T9eTybJEnsXtTFek/s1600/lady+of+the+lowlands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5hT_mPrImT6sa_ozZ5nisL_TEBDGHBBOGYV4kCPXmvJx5j4ykMtWnu0BDeO8JHuEE-UomOchvWP2R4qNV4l5BLcshUlQCq0us30TCTsl_7L1ZGy7g2dpbUgMWb5T9eTybJEnsXtTFek/s320/lady+of+the+lowlands.jpg" /></a></div>It wasn't easy, all those months ago, to find a house in the Mirlo Beach section of Rodanthe for two weeks in July. This is the house we came up with; it'll probably work. Just thought it would be helpful to provide a backdrop for our adventures, if we ever get there, or have any.<br />
<br />
Hank and I are in Pulaski, waiting for him to finish a day shift in the ER. Sarah and Jeff are probably on Hatteras Island by now, but the 3.5 hour trip from Richmond took them almost six, thanks to the traffic. Dave and Pam are on the road, too, as are, presumably, Scott and Autumn. Guy will be meeting Chip at the airport in Charlotte on Monday, and bringing him down straight from there. Ashley will arrive on Tuesday, Suz and Brent on Wednesday, Kelly and Jill on Friday, and assorted Kilgores on the 11th. Meanwhile, Sarah has to go back to Harrisonburg to work Wednesday-Friday. My head is already spinning.<br />
<br />
I wish someone could just knock me unconscious two days before time to leave, pack me up with the luggage, and wake me up when we get there. No such luck.<br />
<br />
Further bulletins, believe me, as events warrant.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-65378236899517757912010-05-22T16:03:00.000-04:002010-05-22T16:03:25.731-04:00Takeout in Kettering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj00E1Y2_AbTPZ8g9Yi0ambKkUVHH3uPOLLuHSBnTGNLAtU3UeiUF_u3MCGF-IY-_cMAiyUz9UxDtg-nhu6jSZ1HxAtA5du3GxjIB7sJanM9DXYrSptngPNkobRQRJ3p75HelFSN78DgY/s1600/Lucks+two.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj00E1Y2_AbTPZ8g9Yi0ambKkUVHH3uPOLLuHSBnTGNLAtU3UeiUF_u3MCGF-IY-_cMAiyUz9UxDtg-nhu6jSZ1HxAtA5du3GxjIB7sJanM9DXYrSptngPNkobRQRJ3p75HelFSN78DgY/s320/Lucks+two.jpg" /></a></div>This morning we took the Luck's Mixed Beans and headed south on I-675 to visit Uncle Bill and Aunt Ann in Kettering. We wound up having lunch, and perhaps I'll talk about that, first. Uncle Bill and I went out to DiSalvo's Deli and Italian Store to pick up sandwiches of an unusually yummy and Italian variety. Hank stayed with Aunt Ann, and that was probably a good choice, because if he'd gone with us, he would have come back with 67 cannoli, some mousse, and seventeen slices of Italian lemon cake.<br />
<br />
Here's the amusing thing, though. I drove to the deli, which was maybe three miles from Westlawn Drive, and Uncle Bill backseat drove the whole way. It made me feel like I was sixteen again, and believe me, at this age, that's worth a lot. I just about laughed out loud, and then couldn't tell him what I was laughing at. He's been telling us all how to drive for 35 years. It's wonderful to know that some things never change.<br />
<br />
That's because many other things do change. I think of my aunt and uncle as they were when they were, well, my age. Now they're in their 80's; Uncle Bill has lost 30 pounds, Aunt Ann cannot safely go to the refrigerator in the garage because of her walker. Something about seeing these strong, capable, independent people struggling to manage in their own home makes me feel hollow. I make jokes about aging, but on a deep, primal level, seeing UB and AA makes me realize how much it sucks. And we all walk down that path, so the garage we used to haul everything out of and scrub becomes a place we can't even walk into.<br />
<br />
Okay, enough of the melancholy. The other funny story about visiting AA and UB is that a couple of their friends dropped in as we were leaving, and Mrs. Friend said, "Oh, you're the Janet who writes the funny column." Bwahahahaha. Maybe.<br />
<br />
This evening we're going to Middletown to have dinner with David and Brooke. I will, I promise, take pictures, because I know how boring it is to be reduced to looking at a can of beans.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-37508873023407531522010-05-21T21:06:00.000-04:002010-05-21T21:06:49.600-04:00Chillin' in BeavercreekJust a post to say that we will be making more noise soon. Driving down from Ann Arbor was a total breeze, in of road (straight) and traffic (negligible). In terms of boring, it was amazing. Let's just say, the road is neither long, nor winding, but it can make you lose your cookies, and we did. Further bulletins as events warrant.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-67247773295077932642010-05-20T16:10:00.000-04:002010-05-20T16:10:15.289-04:00Stones in the River<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzK4LB4XzFQ3aEyw568A0bAksFfzmGb1gHbH0focxYvlQDxXt-Ki43FHRHm3JKOF1wvtMgyW7WnKjLLcq609iO3xpJf5Y1pm4D6vUmjjBSJQGITfAVu0KfymzA6K40pHSR6p7EY0WZPuI/s1600/stones+in+the+river.ashx" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzK4LB4XzFQ3aEyw568A0bAksFfzmGb1gHbH0focxYvlQDxXt-Ki43FHRHm3JKOF1wvtMgyW7WnKjLLcq609iO3xpJf5Y1pm4D6vUmjjBSJQGITfAVu0KfymzA6K40pHSR6p7EY0WZPuI/s400/stones+in+the+river.ashx" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The run-up to this photo will take a while, so first let's just talk about it, shall we? This is the sculpture,<i> Stones in the River</i>, that lives under the stairs (I am not kidding) in the University of Michigan Museum of Art. When I saw it last year, for the first time, I was stunned, partly because it is beautiful, and partly because it makes me think of Dad. Every bit of it is wooden, from the hollow "stones" to the maple bench they rest on. <br />
<br />
Technically photography is forbidden in the museum, but a.) this is unfindable on the Web or on UMMA's website, and b.) no one was looking, and c.) I had my cell phone. I suppose I could add, d.) I really want to keep this piece in my brain. It's developed some kind of iconic status, possibly having something to do with a family history of woodworking and a longstanding fondness for rivers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72JHLuLg0fwKR-SwRRPxYK7B8_E91H_zwVjGvh7yfxd4dg5mq1vTGs7y8jwqiqtAgDprCQeMWX-kRTUm-WrEXwHlSIVEkzve9JhH3lsiSKseByGzzVF4eGFZmgUjG3AqbYhImRUMlsOU/s1600/Haori.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72JHLuLg0fwKR-SwRRPxYK7B8_E91H_zwVjGvh7yfxd4dg5mq1vTGs7y8jwqiqtAgDprCQeMWX-kRTUm-WrEXwHlSIVEkzve9JhH3lsiSKseByGzzVF4eGFZmgUjG3AqbYhImRUMlsOU/s200/Haori.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The art museum wasn't my intention today, because I've been there before. It turned out well, though, because it's hosting exhibitions of Japanese kimonos and ceramics that were stunning. I had no idea about the elaborate social language of kimonos, or the history of their beautiful lines, both in form and construction. The item on the left isn't a kimono, but an haori, a short jacket that shares similar construction details. There were also kimonos that featured Japanese tie-dying effects, called shibori. Thousands of small ties make a fabric that looks as if it has been intricately printed. They take months to make, and even though a shibori kimono would never be worn for a formal occasion, it can be more expensive than many formal kimonos.<br />
<br />
My original intention was to tour the UM Natural History Museum. That fell through because the city of Ann Arbor is using its federal money to make the streets around UM impassable. After I encountered my third detour, I gave up. I actually pulled into the bus parking lot for the museum, but didn't want to get towed, so I struck out for the library . . . only to have the same problem. Sheesh. The art museum has on-street parking, and that's how I wound up there, again. I like Ann Arbor; it's not a big city, but it does have the University of Michigan, 66,000 students, all of them driving according to the customs of their state/country/planet of origin. I was very glad to get back to the hotel.<br />
<br />
Hank has finished his meeting, so we're packing up to head to Dayton. We're staying with Bruce and Shirley, delivering beans to Bill and Ann, and everybody will wind up as blog fodder. Bwahahahaha. Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-58480305070480248582010-05-20T09:10:00.000-04:002010-05-20T09:10:45.412-04:00Ann Arbor and EnvironsYesterday was a no-post day partly because we were traveling, and partly because Hank had to work last night on EPMG requirements that he needed the computer for. Today he's in a directors' meeting all day, which means that I'm about to go out and play.<br />
<br />
But first, some travel notes:<br />
<br />
The trip from Pittsburgh to Ann Arbor probably takes about four hours and some change. We took five, because I had to stop every hour and a half or so and exercise the hip. Besides, that's a more pleasant and restful way to go. We left Pittsburgh at noon and were in our hotel room in Ann Arbor, unloaded and stretching, by 5:30, having spent most of the day on the Ohio Turnpike. <br />
<br />
The Ohio Turnpike is I-80, and we paid $11.25 for the privilege of driving on it. When you get on, just across the Pennsylvania line, you take a ticket that has all the exits printed on it; your entrance point is punched, and you can see how much it's going to cost you to get off. Further, the ticket warns you that if you get off at the entrance point, you will have to pay the full fare, which for a car is something like $25. So the minute you take that ticket, they have you. I felt a little bit like a hostage, but oh, well.<br />
<br />
The other thing about the Ohio Turnpike is that much of it is boring, boring, boring. It's like a deciduous I-64 between Charlottesville and Richmond, a green tunnel beyond which might be anything. You're never going to know. Fortunately, we had lots to talk about, but we didn't learn squat about northern Ohio except that it has trees. We did see Cleveland in the distance, but it's not that close to the interstate, so we took a pass.<br />
<br />
We went slapbang through Toledo, though, and both had the same thought. If you just added that tang of rotting swamp vegetation, you'd think you were in Chesapeake. They look exactly alike. Seriously. Drop me in Toledo, and I'll believe I'm in Tidewater. The Lake Erie area, both Michigan and Ohio, is as flat as Chip's feet. Flatter. The glaciers bulldozed it, dropped off the occasional drumlin, and skedaddled. I have no idea what rivers do around here, but I suspect they do it really, really slowly. I got all excited on U.S. 23 north of Toledo, because we went down something that was almost a hill; then I realized it was a man-made dip in the road to allow it to go under the rail line. Sigh.<br />
<br />
Call me provincial, but I want my geography to have some bumps in it. Pennsylvania is fine, with its rolling hills and gentle vistas. Northwestern Ohio is just a bit overwhelming -- it's all sky. I suspect the Great Plains are like this, too, which is why people build windbreaks and houses with small windows. All that sky sits on you like a lid. You can see clouds that are probably 150 miles away, and a thunderstorm can take all afternoon to arrive. I'm just more comfortable in the mountains, where even a contrail is an atmospheric surprise. I digress.<br />
<br />
This morning I'm going to shop for a pair of black shoes and then visit the UM library. Further bulletins as events warrant.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-22252892600372998652010-05-18T23:44:00.001-04:002010-05-18T23:44:57.384-04:00Alas, Poor Betty, We Hardly Knew YeExplaining how we became friends with artist, educator, and (currently) fisherman John Mowder would require ten years of history, much of it revolving around the Outer Banks, where John spends most of his summers. I'm going to skip that and just go straight to saying that spending time with John is ALWAYS a treat, and today was no exception.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc56Ff0j34mIK6yKhxk_Fwl43fl_xQCXQ3kySanb8TWCAda2w3-DMnNM9vfC0kUvGsiWjtm3ap3j-DdWmxjRAFwYsNppiVBLMOXJ62sWmS5ms0wp-XRCMSW9dcEbk-f_eHDJLY-0oCe_4/s1600/Toto.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc56Ff0j34mIK6yKhxk_Fwl43fl_xQCXQ3kySanb8TWCAda2w3-DMnNM9vfC0kUvGsiWjtm3ap3j-DdWmxjRAFwYsNppiVBLMOXJ62sWmS5ms0wp-XRCMSW9dcEbk-f_eHDJLY-0oCe_4/s200/Toto.JPG" width="200" /></a>John's house is his gallery; it's always changing, but the biggest change we noted today is the presence of his wheaten terrier, Toto. What a great dog! He looks a bit like a smaller Wowbagger, (which was bittersweet, because we found out from Chip today that the vet has diagnosed the Wowpuppy's problem as hip dysplasia; I digress.) He's just a soft, furry bundle of friendliness, so we spent a while at John's kitchen table playing with the dog and catching up.<br />
<br />
Then we were off with John to the Carnegie museum, and that's when we discovered that he no longer drives Betty White, his mom's old car. "She got too demanding," he told us. "Two weeks ago she needed even MORE money, so I told her she had to go." The last time we were in Pittsburgh, I saw most of the city from Betty's backseat. John's new car is a silver Subaru, Bernadette, but she doesn't have Betty's (admittedly neurotic) personality.<br />
<br />
The Carnegie pleased us, of course, but it actually surprised and pleased John. He hadn't been there in a while, and discovered today that the new curator has shuffled the collections, added some excellent pieces that had been in storage, and created some salon-style displays in several of the galleries. We had a wonderful time drawing on John's expertise. (Sarah, you really need to do this. We'll get you up here and let you rant to John about Seurat.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGd7CGQEd5ggsjvKmLVBig4pwIj1DM7fAo9xmGU-n6e1Wb0_yhm9AireQiHU7Nh6KLjEolXnTJN69bswZ-RUOPRYBULAqsNeTsbWmjrXC5pBpzHgz_oIWDD7cEK8h5cdNC8u7etUOTEbQ/s1600/bowman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGd7CGQEd5ggsjvKmLVBig4pwIj1DM7fAo9xmGU-n6e1Wb0_yhm9AireQiHU7Nh6KLjEolXnTJN69bswZ-RUOPRYBULAqsNeTsbWmjrXC5pBpzHgz_oIWDD7cEK8h5cdNC8u7etUOTEbQ/s320/bowman.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>While John and I were talking about color, line, and whether a person can look at any Edvard Munch painting for too long without going nuts, Hank was lining up shots like this one, where a Rodin bowman is about to shoot us. We also attracted the attention of a security guard who thought we might actually (the horror!) be touching a Mary Cassatt. Actually, we were just talking about whether mouths or eyes were the most expressive facial features, and the guard turned out to be quite friendly.<br />
<br />
That is one of the lovable things about Pittsburgh. Most of the people are friendly. They do not regard others with suspicion or hostility, as a general rule; I'm sure that exceptions exist, since the jerk is a ubiquitous species, but we haven't run into many.<br />
<br />
Tonight we had dinner with John and John Mannear (aka Other John) at Hokkaido Seafood Buffet. We could not find the place again if our lives depended on it, since we were once again whisked through surface streets in Bernadette. Dinner conversation was a lively combination of art, teaching, folklore, medicine, and the joys of Internet research. Other John gave me a book, <i>Population: 485, </i>written by the person who lead his visiting writer lecture series this year. It looks to be both funny and close-to-home for anyone familiar with the vagaries and tragedies of small town life.<br />
<br />
We left them this evening, promising to return to Pittsburgh ASAP, and this time to stay at the right Marriott, the one about a block from their house, instead of downtown, where we currently are. Tomorrow we head up to Ann Arbor, taking the scenic route past Cleveland. I can't wait, insofar as the Johns talked tonight about how Cleveland is now a ghost town. We'll see, I suppose.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-63268717226600593752010-05-17T22:38:00.000-04:002010-05-17T22:38:08.896-04:00Hip Schmip -- Mucking About in the New River Gorge<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGO7DP4ck62kssyNkWz3dSFBmWqOJxge-7VpitkWkFYe_wTch8T3Sfn4XgB-oYKWK-Gev-3-gDC0HY3HNOEv6NJWQN4Usb5gkoN5Ap-kuxL1NyjsPjVQle2CbP5ckgDZmRjKSyB23lR0/s1600/NR+Gorge+Bridge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGO7DP4ck62kssyNkWz3dSFBmWqOJxge-7VpitkWkFYe_wTch8T3Sfn4XgB-oYKWK-Gev-3-gDC0HY3HNOEv6NJWQN4Usb5gkoN5Ap-kuxL1NyjsPjVQle2CbP5ckgDZmRjKSyB23lR0/s320/NR+Gorge+Bridge.JPG" width="320" /></a>We were not in a big rush today, because we had to stop pretty often and let me stretch out the hip. The absolute best leg-stretching place has to be the Canyon Rim State Park, on the north side of the New River Gorge Bridge. I can't believe we've never done this -- we did try, once, to attend Bridge Day, but were too late for the festivities. Today, thanks to on-and-off showers, we had the place almost to ourselves, and it's amazing. <br />
<br />
Even though it was raining a bit when we stopped, we took an easy stroll to the overlook, and THEN went down 600 more feet to a really spectacular viewing platform. (For the record, my hip did fine, although I nearly popped a lung on the climb back up.) The bridge photo here just doesn't do it justice. The span is so unbelievably huge, and wide, but the scale is hard to discern because it is so beautifully proportioned. The river below just looked, today, like someone pouring coffee down a chute -- brown, high, and fast moving. Again, the scale doesn't register, or it didn't until we saw a tiny, tiny man fishing near a boat-launch ramp. He really was almost too small to see. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9LYxaADuZcZlXRv_Rf_iBY6Bnx9S45YnBXe2O7tYkyJVhY47yP3mPOYx60vCPusjjVMakr8OifHR469bQ-fX8PB9H8Oi3VEILcyiZwSkV-_MWpzjj0pP3dcP58NiRJcnfqgDrYBML2w/s1600/Overlook3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9LYxaADuZcZlXRv_Rf_iBY6Bnx9S45YnBXe2O7tYkyJVhY47yP3mPOYx60vCPusjjVMakr8OifHR469bQ-fX8PB9H8Oi3VEILcyiZwSkV-_MWpzjj0pP3dcP58NiRJcnfqgDrYBML2w/s320/Overlook3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Here, pushing through its final range of mountains, it's easy to see how old the New is, compared to the surrounding terrain. It does not follow the mountains' drainage pattern, easing down some valley. No, it flows across the range, cutting it in half. What a nasty surprise that must have been for early settlers moving south and west.<br />
<br />
The Canyon Rim park has a nifty visitors' center, with exhibits on canyon life, coal mining, and New River history. A good time was had by all, rain or no rain. We arrived in Pittsburgh before nine, discovered that Marriott had upgraded us to a suite, and are now happily swilling diet, caffeine-free Mountain Dew and watching basketball. Further bulletins as events warrant.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-44805244600861009852010-05-17T09:42:00.000-04:002010-05-17T09:42:28.815-04:00Confessions of a Pittsburgh Fan<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpc1HHSt0D-OxYztBdJ_3jyP05fRerjuY6x_tmzYFJW7LskelldC7Bg1qEDi8c7IfW7zPxQf5pzZt6DVgRx-Bl4BN0GRveSnP72jwm5wUYc2DoKt7lmzwl-W9xFPNJQADUFgfsxO_kIs/s1600/pittsburgh_2-800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpc1HHSt0D-OxYztBdJ_3jyP05fRerjuY6x_tmzYFJW7LskelldC7Bg1qEDi8c7IfW7zPxQf5pzZt6DVgRx-Bl4BN0GRveSnP72jwm5wUYc2DoKt7lmzwl-W9xFPNJQADUFgfsxO_kIs/s320/pittsburgh_2-800.jpg" width="320" wt="true" /></a>We're leaving this morning for our annual anniversary extravaganza, but while Hank catches a quick nap, I'm going to give this trip a quick prelude. Instead of our more usual planes or trains, we're driving this time, so we can make a large northern loop, see some friends, and attend Hank's quarterly ER director's meeting in Ann Arbor. The trip that usually takes him less than an hour from Roanoke is going to take us three days, because we're stopping for a while in Pittsburgh. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It's been about three years since we were last in</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">the former steel capital of Pennsylvania, but on that trip, among other things, Hank, John Mowder, and I broke into the Frick mansion and fondled the dishes before a docent caught us and politely, but firmly, directed us to a tour. I have been in love ever since. This photo, swiped from About.com, shows what you see when you pop out of the Mt. Washington tunnel. At night, it takes your breath away.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Pittsburgh has done a lot of things right. When it lost the steel business, it bulldozed the factories along the river and planted parks. It nourishes a bunch of colleges and universities. It has cherished its neighborhoods and its blue-collar roots. I'm looking forward to going back, maybe driving east to Fallingwater, and seeing John and Other John. Further bulletins as events warrant.</div>Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-59662276733785149912009-10-10T17:39:00.004-04:002009-10-10T18:01:27.200-04:00The Culinary Round-Up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0R5BBdihAaTmkYh7b_x7qcAF-gzn1aozXLOO2CiHLz73vcxdEitRHGjdy0QN4wm6q2ZBeD4eYbYX9FpUm8gwuqrK5QM9Hz-8qB1UXI-ZrAp9BT7pHcmvobUdidt6YbdFr2IIb1Y9AQpQ/s1600-h/Legal+Sea+Foods.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0R5BBdihAaTmkYh7b_x7qcAF-gzn1aozXLOO2CiHLz73vcxdEitRHGjdy0QN4wm6q2ZBeD4eYbYX9FpUm8gwuqrK5QM9Hz-8qB1UXI-ZrAp9BT7pHcmvobUdidt6YbdFr2IIb1Y9AQpQ/s320/Legal+Sea+Foods.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391094243297515090" border="0" /></a><br />As we get ready to pack our suitcases and print our boarding passes, it's time to wind up the week in food. Thanks to the recommendations of our concierge and a fantastic book on Boston's restaurants that Kathy got me at the Green Valley Book Fair, we have eaten well. Here are some highlights:<br /><br />Sasso: Upscale, attentive service, and a fantastic table by the window, whereby we watched Boston walk past. The seared scallops I had were particularly wonderful, as were the crab cakes I had as an appetizer. We'd go back.<br /><br />Legal Sea Foods: Yes, it's a chain, but it's a family-owned chain, and they do have a commitment to the freshest and healthiest seafood possible. It was fabulous. I had salmon, but the real winner was Hank's lobster. (We can't come to Boston and NOT have lobster, can we?) My only problem here was very inattentive service. We'd go back, but we'd pray for a different waiter.<br /><br />Fiore: By Italians for Italians in the North End. Fantastic antipasti (with the exception of the pickled eggplant. I think Hank liked it.) Great pasta and original sauces, plus, we ate in the courtyard, watching the panoply of humans and listening to the Italian family next to us. The staff was wonderfully friendly, too.<br /><br />We also had some great lunch and snack experiences that are worth a note.<br /><br />Finagle a Bagle. This one came from Kathy's book, and they're right, it's a delicious bagel topped with any one of a number of delicious things (I had lox once and regular cream cheese. Hank had sausage, egg, and cheese on a jalapeno-cheddar bagel. It can get complicated.) I just like to say "Finagle a Bagle."<br /><br />Au Bon Pain: This was so handy for us that we had lunch here twice. I LOVE their soups and bread. Yesterday's lunch was particularly nice, because it was cool and rainy, and the soup really hit the spot.<br /><br />Uno: The spinach-broccoli pizza was great, and the wildberry sangria wasn't bad, either.<br /><br />P.F. Chang's: Fried green beans. That's all I'm gonna say.<br /><br />The Boston Museum of Fine Art Cafe: Boston Clam Chowder is a specialty, and I had some, and it was great. Clam chowder is easy to get wrong. If the clams are tough, or the potato-onion balance is off, then it is pretty horrible all the way around. This was perfectly balanced, and, like lobster, you have to have some while you're here. (We also had Boston cream pie at Legal Sea Foods.)Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-65376899926590595482009-10-10T16:18:00.004-04:002009-10-10T17:36:39.170-04:00A Day in the North End<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyLTfM2Bx8gocm4ewFJiUvQ7O5pQ4yqhyErwLk1LLsuvNIJO6T5aBR2cY2rz8zFRDV0yv94d9Z8rZi_Us3sB3R9lIorce0jsqnoDdO1CWX3BHreZNZ3uLOcfS-kcs63_fqRr9oS_Hv2w/s1600-h/North+Church+Two.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyLTfM2Bx8gocm4ewFJiUvQ7O5pQ4yqhyErwLk1LLsuvNIJO6T5aBR2cY2rz8zFRDV0yv94d9Z8rZi_Us3sB3R9lIorce0jsqnoDdO1CWX3BHreZNZ3uLOcfS-kcs63_fqRr9oS_Hv2w/s320/North+Church+Two.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391070858759540658" border="0" /></a>A lot of people are interested in Old North Church because of Paul Revere. I'm interested in it because it dates to 1723, the oldest surviving Boston Church. Cotton Mather would have walked past it, muttering. It's interesting that an Anglican church, an absolute hotbed of British loyalists, would be the site of the whole "One if by land, two if by sea" thing, but apparently Revere had been a bell-ringer at the church and knew of the unparalleled view from its steeple.<br /><br />We heard this and a lot of other history today because we went totally non-native and took a trolley tour. This was the best money we've ever spent, because we got to see all kinds of places we would never have gotten to on our own, like the campus of MIT, Charlestown and Bunker Hill, Long Wharf and the waterfront, and, of course, the heavily Italian North End.<br /><br />The great thing about our trolley experience was that it's a hop-on, hop-off, so we spent the whole day looking at various areas. We walked down Long Wharf, first, and looked at the waterfront and at the view of the financial district from there. A short trolley-ride later, and we got off at the Boston Garden stop, to hike over to the Old North Church. (And here's an aside: We considered going to a Celtics game last night at the Garden, but the CHEAPEST tickets we could get, in the nosebleed seats, were $96. Good grief.) To continue, the trolleys can't go into the North End because the streets are really, really narrow. This is because they're pretty much the original streets. That doesn't mean that Franklin, Adams, and the rest would recognize anything -- Boston has had a lot of fires and calamity in its history. They'd recognize some things, though. Paul Revere's house is still standing, for example.<br /><br />Let's see. Here in no particular order are some Fun Facts we either learned or experienced on today's foray, with many thanks to Joe and J, our trolley drivers. (And yes, we got off and on more than once, but we kept getting Joe's trolley.)<br /><br /> 1. Boston has 290,000 college students living in the city on 88 campuses. We have been, (counting my travels earlier in the week) to Northeastern, Boston College, and MIT. We were in Cambridge, but elected not to take the MTA to Harvard. It's just as well nobody knew that we were from Virginia when the VT-BC score came through. We rolled past dozens more schools, and generally had a fine time.<br /> 2. When Franklin and Adams roamed the town, Boston was just the North End, connected to the rest of Massachusetts by a narrow peninsula. (Really narrow, like about 20 yards wide.) All of the Back Bay area, where our hotel sits, among other things, was underwater. The city dumped two of Boston's three hills into Back Bay to transform it into more Boston.<br /> 3. As an interesting side note to 2., we learned yesterday that Trinity Church is supported by wooden pilings sunk 40 feet into the fill gravel and kept underwater by pumps, so they don't rot.<br /> 4. Today we encountered a jillion cops and SWAT teams just south of Fenway Park. They had guns drawn and were ducking behind cars. We were fairly freaked out until we learned that somebody was shooting a scene for a movie.<br /> 5. The religious makeup of Boston is 45% Catholic, which is down from 60% fifteen years ago. A lot of Irish and Italians in Boston, which would, again, make those Puritan fathers scream. They really didn't like Catholics at all.<br /> 6. The Big Dig (that project that put all the interstates under the city) cost 17 BILLION dollars and took 16 years to complete. It was projected to cost $3 billion and be done in five years. Oops.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhloV9yb9cjXixEe1HOfsoIQlTIDgRUftexsbRrsidFn7nnCdphDYQFI7n9aXq6232vqaIJ0oFOlas2JAEnLNkaav5Hphr5TY55jnhNtIBtj1Xy4-S3UHB2Meo-ezNpLZIjfAY6ghjag_A/s1600-h/Long+Wharf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhloV9yb9cjXixEe1HOfsoIQlTIDgRUftexsbRrsidFn7nnCdphDYQFI7n9aXq6232vqaIJ0oFOlas2JAEnLNkaav5Hphr5TY55jnhNtIBtj1Xy4-S3UHB2Meo-ezNpLZIjfAY6ghjag_A/s320/Long+Wharf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391084369380784850" border="0" /></a><br />This is me enjoying the breeze on Long Wharf. The financial district is behind me. Boston Harbor is what I'm looking at. We have to note that, as a port city, Boston hasn't really been one in a long time. In terms of shipping traffic, Boston ranks below Huntington, West Virginia. (Coal barges, dontcha know?) It actually ranks below a lot of places, coming in at the 31st busiest U.S. port by weight.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-68629570940320633392009-10-09T13:12:00.003-04:002009-10-09T13:23:02.061-04:00More (Legal) Fun in Churches<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTcWKf4lOoD6NVOqieCZn6z4pRlfc_py8D_CpI3nT86a4Ww0X1qQk-ufgwkzqwq2kU2cOxwDFgd-uVIRHjuoCSwL4v5IpQo_FcGXuqGGvnDEhz8IUxfFTI0Ooi-OYVrlNT3lsbziDfERI/s1600-h/Trinity+Church.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTcWKf4lOoD6NVOqieCZn6z4pRlfc_py8D_CpI3nT86a4Ww0X1qQk-ufgwkzqwq2kU2cOxwDFgd-uVIRHjuoCSwL4v5IpQo_FcGXuqGGvnDEhz8IUxfFTI0Ooi-OYVrlNT3lsbziDfERI/s320/Trinity+Church.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390650965556920434" border="0" /></a>This morning, after breakfast at Finagle a Bagel, we toured Trinity Church, which is quite near us on Copley Square. To say that it is beautiful actually doesn't meet the case. This is Hank's photo of the cross over the altar. The interior glass is mostly European, with a set of windows based on the Nativity designed by William Morris. They look like it, too. Fabulous. The central tower is brightly painted with figures by John LaFarge. <br /><br />The whole experience was breathtaking, and THEN we scored a free concert in their Friday Concert Series, an organist from Philadelphia who is incredible. She played two fugues, one Bach and one modern by Maruice Durufle. She also played an absolutely charming and playful piece by a composer named Ad Wammes, called Miroir. Oh, and she was 14 years old. We thoroughly enjoyed it, hence this immediate update.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-83645499823152215602009-10-08T20:41:00.003-04:002009-10-08T21:07:34.137-04:00Confessions of a Cathedral-aholicThis morning, as Hank finished his last few classes -- and some very good ones, I hear -- I hoofed it the .7 mile to the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. This is a serious cathedral, the biggest church in New England and the seat of the Archdiocese of Boston. We can see it from our hotel room, sitting in a leafy neighborhood to the south of us. Naturally, I was excited about walking down there (c.f. cathedrals everywhere else we have ever been.)<br /><br />Imagine my surprise, therefore, to find the place locked up tighter than a bank at midnight, despite the celebration of 9 a.m. mass, which must have finished shortly before I arrived. I have never, and I want to emphasize this, ever known a cathedral to be locked up. It's almost unthinkable. The cathedral is the one place you can be guaranteed a hushed, lofty peace in mid-city. I was completely disappointed, but not willing to give up hope.<br /><br />On a mission, of sorts, I set off around the church, where I found a door ajar. I slipped inside and, well, may or may not have impersonated a nun. I do not think that impersonating a nun is a crime, if you do it to gain access to a cathedral, and furthermore, I don't think God minds. I certainly use my time in cathedrals to talk to Him. I went up a short flight of stairs and found myself in the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, alone with one other worshipper, who was saying his rosary at the back of the room. I slipped into a pew, and tried to look sufficiently nun-like.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyra0Cm0RbL4lgKekSCNjk6bDLU5UB2dwSkbnMiRAK1h5aVYMpvgOMQ9YZeYSrRcM9j8Zkm0-LI6wScBvUCXfNF1-PvQUsXwPvtKjuAP7l8PG7IqmQTo0Im67VtFFvmHDoTVGcoq28jg/s1600-h/cross-in-the-chapel-at-cathedral.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyra0Cm0RbL4lgKekSCNjk6bDLU5UB2dwSkbnMiRAK1h5aVYMpvgOMQ9YZeYSrRcM9j8Zkm0-LI6wScBvUCXfNF1-PvQUsXwPvtKjuAP7l8PG7IqmQTo0Im67VtFFvmHDoTVGcoq28jg/s320/cross-in-the-chapel-at-cathedral.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390399948950205874" border="0" /></a><br />The chapel is a lovely room, as big as many churches themselves, but for some reason it is painted a deep pink. Its crucifix, at the eastern end, is said to contain a relic of the true cross. I was not about to inspect it, but include the Archbishop's own photo of it here; you can make up your own mind. The cathedral itself has beautiful glass, but a rather forbidding aspect. This could just have been my conscience.<br /><br />One of the advantages of being fifty, with sensible gray hair and an imperious demeanor, is that no one challenges you if you look sufficiently confident, and so it was that I gained a limited access to the nave of the cathedral, dim and somber in the morning light. It was at this point that I did feel like a trespasser (in so many ways) and hastened away, still endeavoring to appear as nunly as possible. It wasn't until much later, when I was telling the story to a horrified but seriously amused Hank, that he asked me, "So, what did you do with your wedding ring?" I stared at him in horror -- in the heat of the moment, I forgot to take it off.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-70003410631397007222009-10-07T15:41:00.004-04:002009-10-07T16:29:33.645-04:00Under the Influence of ArtThe Boston Museum of Fine Arts is just a mile up Huntington Avenue from our hotel, but knowing that I'd be walking miles in the museum, I took a cab anyway, even though the rain had stopped. The MFA's claim to fame is its Impressionist collection, which is pretty spectacular: three van Goghs, an assortment of Monets including a particularly lovable one of Camille Monet in Japanese costume, one not very distinguished Cassatt, a Renoir, the obligatory Gauguin, and a number of lesser illuminati.<br /><br />The museum itself is undergoing massive construction and renovation, so a number of galleries were closed, to my disappointment. It also has that highly disorienting layout that makes so many art museums so confusing -- gallery leads into gallery, which doubles back onto gallery, and pretty soon, you're going around and around the same statue of Buddha, which is why I tend not to visit the Asian art exhibits. (I DID, however, enjoy the gallery of antique Chinese furniture. Very simple and beautiful.)<br /><br />Anybody who wants to tour the place can start at the MFA's fantastic website, http://www.mfa.org/index.asp. I have some observations to make that aren't exactly museum-specific.<br /><br />1. Asia, India, and Indonesia must have produced craptons of "art," because every museum I have ever been in has had rooms and rooms of it. One wonders if there are any votive statues, family altars, antique porcelains, bronze Krishnas, or statues of the Buddha left anywhere in Asia. I think I saw all these same artifacts in Seattle, so I skipped through.<br /><br />2. Why do middle schools insist on bringing three busloads of seventh graders to museums when I am there? Why, in fact, do they do this at all? The middle schoolers run shrieking through the galleries, waving the lists of questions their teachers have given them, and pooling their answers. They're having a blast, but it's so LOUD.<br /><br />3. And that leads me to my next question: why are we so hushed and deferential in the presence of Art? It's not like we're going to wake it up or something. Certain pieces have left me speechless, for deeply personal reasons, (Mary Cassatt's "Baby Reaching for an Apple," for instance, and Titian's "Daniel"), but I'm not exactly sure why the middle schoolers shattering the quiet should be considered irreverant. The Appreciation of Art is, apparently, best conducted <span style="font-style: italic;">sotto voce.</span><br /><br />4. Finally, where is Sarah and that convenient art history minor when I need her? She's better than a museum guidebook, plus, I can make comments to her that I probably couldn't make to anyone else.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKn1kGL9o24_wVAHvM3XgaZoi-io_8HzwWN6I-KCd6-FcLjxrrdtbo_ogEZJ-6zW9KaAo-d0Ox2RJkjeCPf1vYxetNstlY2DOGTtVBh8ga8_SURyH2_iFb_YQJUtvscSAcEi5rZGsuNv0/s1600-h/sombrero.0&wid=400&cvt=jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKn1kGL9o24_wVAHvM3XgaZoi-io_8HzwWN6I-KCd6-FcLjxrrdtbo_ogEZJ-6zW9KaAo-d0Ox2RJkjeCPf1vYxetNstlY2DOGTtVBh8ga8_SURyH2_iFb_YQJUtvscSAcEi5rZGsuNv0/s320/sombrero.0&wid=400&cvt=jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389956569028687762" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Some of those comments are pretty irreverent. For instance, Theodore van Loon's 1620 "Adoration of the Shepherds," portrays a creepy scene where Mary lifts the blanket off of a blond two year old, so a bunch of people leaning over him can have a closer look. Where do we get these ideas? Then there's Aert de Gelder's "Rest on the Flight into Egypt," above, where Mary appears to be wearing a sombrero. Perhaps she was trying to be incognito? In Antonio de Pereda's "The Immaculate Conception," Mary is standing on a disturbing pile of baby heads. I need to stay out of the 17th Century European galleries.<br /></div>Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-27079378778004193422009-10-07T10:09:00.002-04:002009-10-07T10:16:53.037-04:00TeddyEven though he has gone to his eternal home, Teddy Kennedy is ubiquitous in Boston. He is the reason I-90 runs under our hotel and not beside it. He is the reason John Adams' library is not still in storage boxes. He is the reason the MBTA is one of the best public transportation systems in America. He funneled billions of federal dollars into Massachusetts, which is, I suppose, one of the functions of a senator. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Boston</span> magazine did a surprisingly balanced retrospective of his life that stinted neither his hard work nor his flaws. It also listed his projects in and around Boston, and I have to say, whatever else his legacy may be, he's going to be remembered around here for a long, long time, as one of the city's greatest benefactors. He wasn't, according to people who are supposed to know, as bright as his brother John, or as passionate as his brother Bobby. He was, however, a tireless plodder, and those people can get quite a long way, indeed.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-63781549396110461972009-10-06T15:25:00.003-04:002009-10-06T15:53:45.360-04:00In Search of John Adams' Books<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKCgsBkQsuIrpKMGiSusOkmBzZk9zRmoLzDrI61VdFoVZRJriGkGwxNpgBWWZjeT3LWWFjsblZbGNmCX_WP9e5jXnET7yA9Kjk24Oj__vBcq5zz55Ew54Dn3JBvgEMlwdSYtKGdKuC8E/s1600-h/Boston+Lions.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKCgsBkQsuIrpKMGiSusOkmBzZk9zRmoLzDrI61VdFoVZRJriGkGwxNpgBWWZjeT3LWWFjsblZbGNmCX_WP9e5jXnET7yA9Kjk24Oj__vBcq5zz55Ew54Dn3JBvgEMlwdSYtKGdKuC8E/s320/Boston+Lions.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389574846948910322" border="0" /></a>I have, unfortunately, come to Boston and fallen madly in love with the Boston Public Library. I can hear my kids yelling "Dork!" from here, but I don't care. It's an immense building, with a gorgeous central courtyard and fountain, marble staircases, fabulous frescoes, and a reading room that I would cheerfully live in, if I could. I was in heaven.<br /><br />I went there because it's the first stop on my tour of literary Boston, and it houses John Adams' personal library. Should you ever need to FIND John Adams' personal library, let me give you this easy series of steps.<br /><br />1. Go into the Boston Public Library and lurk by the main stairs. Watch for an elderly man who looks as much as possible like the late G.P. Winship. It helps if he is wearing an old sweater and a preoccupied expression.<br /><br />2. Follow him up three flights of marble stairs, through a gallery of some French guy's political cartoons, past two abandoned letterpress printing presses, and through a room full of storage shelves and ancient card catalogues, wherein six men in turbans will be looking assiduously at musical scores. <br /><br />3. Turn left past the display of creepy marionettes, and go through the book-thief-detector.<br /><br />4. Stop in the display room, even though your unwitting guide will be waltzing through to the reading room. You CAN have access to any of Adams' books, but you'll have to think of a plausible reason, and that's hard to do on the spur of the moment.<br /><br />Seriously, the Adams' collection was amazing, if only because it's so easy to imagine him holding those leather-bound volumes. I spent a LONG time at the BPL, exploring the building and reading histories of Boston in the reading room. I may have to move to Boston just so I can be near this place.<br /><br />After I tore myself away, I bought a DMD at a drugstore, and drank it on the steps of Trinity Church, where I also made friends with a Great Pyrenees named Letty, and her owner. I have found Bostonians surprisingly friendly. The only experience I'd had with people from Massachusetts was in San Francisco, where our little pension also held six cranky and and pushy people from Cambridge. Turns out, they must have been anomalies.<br /><br />From Trinity, I went to the Public Garden, where I sat on a bench and sketched, while my aching hip rested. Remembering the monster sketchbook that I made Kathy lug through Longwood Gardens, and not having her here to lug this one, I packed lighter. It came in immensely handy, though, for keeping notes and making small drawings. I pretty much wrote out the AmLit blog in it while I was at lunch (pizza at a bar called Uno).Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-85860622290334208002009-10-05T19:30:00.003-04:002009-10-08T08:11:07.043-04:00Beat in BeantownOrbitz has a trap for the unwary traveler -- a phone call three hours before your flight that tells you if it's on time or not. Our flight left Roanoke at 6:40. You do the math. I've had about four hours' sleep, maybe not that much, and it's been a very full day, so this will be a short post with more goodies to follow.<br /><br />We don't have much of a sense of Boston yet, because this is one confusing city. For starters, its 380 years old, and the streets in the old part of town are unbelievably narrow. Add to that the turns and twists that old streets take, and lay over top of that modern, wider streets that occasionally dive underneath the city in tunnels. It's not a city for drivers. On the plus side, Logan Airport is really close to downtown -- about a ten-minute cab ride -- and the city is very walkable.<br /><br />I guess I'll find out how walkable tomorrow, as Hank puts in a full day of conference (8 a.m. to 6 p.m.) and I start my tour of literary and historical sites for the American Lit. class. Photos and other goodies to follow.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-71277605477355781082009-07-11T22:03:00.004-04:002009-07-11T22:14:36.457-04:00And They All Lived Happily Ever After. . . sort of. A few loose ends need wrapping up, but I am so pooped that I might just get my fingers on the wrong keys and leave them there. We left Rodanthe this morning at 9:30, but it was almost six before we got home, thanks to thunderstorms, torrential downpours, and a 10-mile traffic backup less than 25 miles from home. What a kick in the teeth that was! I was driving so Hank could study, but in a couple of places, he turned off his computer, probably so he could pray. <div><br /><div></div><div>Now Hank and I are home -- I'm ready for bed; he's trying to repair</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357390966292898146" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeyw-6Ntp88bZn4eib5V9_59C75O6Js4SzSmZSDe6abvwRzj4MTGVaTGzzfpeOmtvJbFJMgNh-v70nJB9FD_2G6FiFPJJDXjrIyy3xSfUT5aECCEQ380nL7PX87mAMnJUDAI6GooII2Ns/s320/Rodanthe+2009.jpg" border="0" /> <div>his computer, which lost its mind earlier this evening. Chip's out with friends, because he slept most of the way home. Suz will be back tomorrow, and Sarah, of course, went back to Harrisonburg. I realized this week how much I enjoyed having time with my kids, because we don't exactly live together any more. I also had a blast taking Ashley to the bead shop, where she made a necklace for Autumn and let Autumn choose beads for a bracelet for Ashley. It was so fun. I hope Scott gets the pictures up soon, because they're precious. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I also realized how much I enjoyed the other people we were privileged to share the week with. We had a lot of coming and going, but it was all good. As Ian said on Day One: "We're all going to eat rainbows and poop butterflies." It was about that good, honestly. </div></div>Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-14506199183020406762009-07-10T12:22:00.002-04:002009-07-10T18:27:16.620-04:00Our Week in FoodNormally, we eat out about once per beach trip, because meals are communal affairs, fun to fix and not too terrible to clean up. Many hands make light work, and all that jazz. This trip, however, we've been going out more, in twos and fours and sixes and one eleven. Since I really want to be a restaurant reviewer when I grow up, here's the scoop, in no particular order.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Top Dog Cafe</span>, Rodanthe. Still a favorite. Chip, Guy, Ian, Jody, Hank and I hit this on Sunday night and were well pleased, as usual. Top Dog started as a microscopic beach bar, but has morphed into something more upscale. The tuna steaks were perfect -- medium rare and meltingly tasty. I had bacon-wrapped scallops over pasta. When I saw them, my heart sank, because they were <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> brown on the outside. Turns out, it was just the bacon; the scallops were perfectly tender and juicy. Yum. Chip had a monstrous hamburger that fed him for dinner, and Ian and Scott for lunch the next day. Yes, it was that big. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Atlantic Coast Cafe, </span>Rodanthe. This one is so good, we keep going back. Ian and Jody went first, and reported that the fish tacos were delicious. Hugh, Susette, and I went for lunch on Wednesday, and found that not only were the fish tacos great, but the oyster po'boy wasn't bad, either. The taco construction really added to their flavor -- a corn taco shell inside a flour tortilla, with jalapeno cream cheese, flaky (not fishy) white fish, shredded sweet cabbage, more cheese, and topped with homemade pico de gallo. Even people who don't like fish love these tacos. AND they're not expensive at all. Ashley and Scott went there for breakfast today and reported that breakfast was just as yummy as lunch.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Penguin Isle/Pamlico Jack's, </span>South Nags Head. When this was Penguin Isle, we ate there with Pam and Tye Kirkner. Now it's Pamlico Jack's, but it's weird -- same staff, same chef, same owners, but now they've got a pirate theme. Even the staff think it's stupid. Fortunately, the food is the same, just with ridiculous pirate names. Hugh's seafood medley had the perfect degree of doneness, and wasn't smothered in sauces or other things that obscured the flavors. I had a tuna steak that was, our waitress said, "unloaded off the boat and in the back door." Also wonderful were the Buffalo tuna bites, where the spicy, blue cheese flavor did not overwhelm the tuna. Side items at the Restaurant Formerly Known as Penguin Isle are overpriced and forgettable, particularly the cheese grits. Mine are better. Desserts are house made, which is good, but hit-or-miss, which is bad. The cheesecake wasn't great, but the creme brulee was delicious, and the cherry pie worth every calorie.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Jimmy's Seafood Buffet, </span>Ocracoke. If you like crab legs, this is your place. The people in our party who like them were encfhanted. I wasn't as thrilled with everything else. It had all been on the steam tables too long, and scallops were in short supply. This is too expensive for overdone and hectic service. Skip it and go to Captain George's if you absolutely have to have a seafood buffet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Our House</span>. We had fun with food this week, from Brent's mom's spaghetti to spiral sliced ham, to shrimp with Outer Banks Crab Boil, to jambalaya. We're at the point where a restaurant has to be pretty awesome to beat what we can do ourselves. (I forgot to mention the Tennessee jam cake I made for Chip's birthday, the cherry brownies Chip made, and the iced gingersnaps that were Hank's brainchildren. We didn't starve.)Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-77711216946404655112009-07-09T11:03:00.004-04:002009-07-09T11:15:58.524-04:00Miss Autumn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rEj1wzFoDyxAY9D_xLxoRdZpfztrcALrankAuprNS7kq3qv9o_lx5u1mMQhROG__8Q7UR-FwKf2Fq-TsxjyTj5eeY7SxXx19bRzgrugkiIcVV6wh0JUXIxmIaWtmWDxOD1yobJkAdpE/s1600-h/Sutherlands.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rEj1wzFoDyxAY9D_xLxoRdZpfztrcALrankAuprNS7kq3qv9o_lx5u1mMQhROG__8Q7UR-FwKf2Fq-TsxjyTj5eeY7SxXx19bRzgrugkiIcVV6wh0JUXIxmIaWtmWDxOD1yobJkAdpE/s200/Sutherlands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356477055103766370" border="0" /></a><br />I am not ready, emphatically not ready, for grandchildren, but if and when I have them, I hope they're as chill as Autumn. The photo is Scott, Ashley, and Autumn on the ferry last night, as a point of reference. We hadn't met Scott's family, and I was a little apprehensive. Turns out it was a waste of angst. Ashley is great, and Autumn is amazing.<br /><br />She will be three in November, but she is the least whiny two-and-a-half year old I have ever seen. She's always laughing, able to amuse herself with a game timer, and thinks that Jeff hung the moon. (Well, Sarah's a favorite, too.) Yesterday she played with Sarah and Jeff in the surf, laughing hysterically, until she had blue lips. I remember those blue lips. Our own kids wouldn't get out of the surf until their lips were purple.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvNJedEWP8M8HIHHwLHhw5OfX5aUpZ-T64xfrV_5ef7hxXpb-t7AkKcDIXl1dzV58SMWRkMcpuQqzZJ2pZqZoMarGnUGB080shaDcPwshKkfzhgfJQ-ilv-4YtqGftZarJG-IgkX8jAQ/s1600-h/A+Beach+2009+023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvNJedEWP8M8HIHHwLHhw5OfX5aUpZ-T64xfrV_5ef7hxXpb-t7AkKcDIXl1dzV58SMWRkMcpuQqzZJ2pZqZoMarGnUGB080shaDcPwshKkfzhgfJQ-ilv-4YtqGftZarJG-IgkX8jAQ/s200/A+Beach+2009+023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356479034711211058" border="0" /></a><br />To warm up, she sat on Sarah's lap, wrapped in two beach towels, flirting with Jeff. It's a good thing that Ashley is a National Champion sharpshooter, because they're going to need big guns, probably about the time Autumn turns eight. It's a real credit to Scott and Ashley, and their parenting skills, that Autumn is such a happy, well-adjusted girl. We've all enjoyed her so much. Here she is wearing Sarah's shoes. This morning she's been amusing herself with a tape measure for an hour now. I love that in a baby.<br /><br />And Ashley has been such a pleasant surprise. She quilts! She knits! She blows things up with gunfire! We've been looking at quilting magazines, and she's knitting a sweater for Autumn, insisting to me how easy it is. I do not have good memories of knitting, but I almost want to try again. I do needlepoint until the urge fades.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-19425964302484928752009-07-09T09:01:00.004-04:002009-07-09T09:26:55.091-04:00Celebrating Chip's BirthdayI cannot believe that my youngest child is 19, but that's the reality. It seems like he should be Autumn's age, and she won't even be three until November.<br /><br />We celebrated by going to Ocracoke for dinner at Jimmy's Seafood Buffet. The buffet was just mediocre, but the trip was a blast. On the ferry going over, there were very few cars, so we had lots of room to spread out and enjoy the ambiance. My experience with ferries is limited to the Jamestown-Scotland ferry in Tidewater. That one a.) doesn't cross deep water, and b.) doesn't have waves. The Hatteras-Ocracoke ferry crosses the mouth of Hatteras inlet, and even on a relatively calm day like yesterday, the swell is enough to toss you about.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihVQO-j7id2jreKRt92ffa-ADs0DiadvMvcVHP2xGNqdLbe80P_nfDPsyhja4fAGDSnzFEH9aby8Ya6EunfsdQXZJK1IawEMqkjMDAgfEQhqqVVKT9O89YFyGWPrHdEt0zKFQ5WpFTqA/s1600-h/Guy+looking+nautical.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihVQO-j7id2jreKRt92ffa-ADs0DiadvMvcVHP2xGNqdLbe80P_nfDPsyhja4fAGDSnzFEH9aby8Ya6EunfsdQXZJK1IawEMqkjMDAgfEQhqqVVKT9O89YFyGWPrHdEt0zKFQ5WpFTqA/s200/Guy+looking+nautical.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356447660781801442" border="0" /></a><br />It was in the midst of this swell, when most of us were leaning over the port rail looking at the waves breaking across the mouth of the inlet, that we noticed Brent's face. It was green. Oh dear. This did not stop him from slamming back a mortal ton of crab legs at dinner, but it did make him apprehensive about the trip home. We started calling him Chum Bucket. Fortunately for him, the trip back was quieter, from a wave standpoint.<br /><br />Logistically it was a little difficult because we didn't know that the ferries start running on the hour after nine p.m. We got to the ferry slip in time to make the nine p.m. ferry, but the line of cars was too long, and we were five cars back when they stopped loading. Woe is us. We sat there until ten, listening to Arlo Guthrie on Brent's ipod. The upside of this is that Brent got to digest his dinner, and it stayed put on the trip. The other upside was that we had a night crossing, which was amazingly different from the day. I stood at the side and tried to figure out the buoy lights, while Chip and Guy debated how deep the crossing channel is.<br /><br />Not very, is the answer. Guy was hoping it was 100 feet deep, and was quite disappointed to learn that it's only about twenty. I was a little freaked out about it, actually, because the ferry channel threads between sand bars. On one of them, on the trip out, someone had anchored a boat, and people were fishing and sitting on the sand -- and it was about fifteen yards away. I don't think the ferries ever run aground, but it still weirded me out. NCDOT has to dredge the channel, and the channel out into the ocean from Pamlico Sound, several times a season and after every storm.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqEFW-VxD6pzIO-jlvchMKJa3xKNu3BXJEBHpooRNZx4qvxaJQCqVzfDJ-lq16TuRhTXR4f36b5fWHAO7mxHw9YGH1nGAjrrchlVyvYysl2KpqeeMgKbv5lcDuxj8rVWAMTytQZ_T1Fc/s1600-h/us+on+the+ferry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqEFW-VxD6pzIO-jlvchMKJa3xKNu3BXJEBHpooRNZx4qvxaJQCqVzfDJ-lq16TuRhTXR4f36b5fWHAO7mxHw9YGH1nGAjrrchlVyvYysl2KpqeeMgKbv5lcDuxj8rVWAMTytQZ_T1Fc/s200/us+on+the+ferry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356450976024316226" border="0" /></a><br />And by the way, this is one of my favorite photos from last night's trip. (These we took with Hank's phone, and they're smaller than the camera ones.) In it we have Sarah, mostly hidden, Jeff, Brent, Suzanne, Chip, and me, watching the ocean go by.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-64757932865856498642009-07-09T08:33:00.002-04:002009-07-09T09:00:39.060-04:00Catching UpThis is yesterday's post, that I never got posted because it was too busy a day, so pretend that it's Wednesday. (I've been writing in a notebook whenever the mood strikes, then moving the words. It keeps me from losing the moment, as it were.)<br /><br />When I woke up this morning, a luminous mist lay over the sound, a glowing white cloud that made the distant shrimp boats look like seagulls in a bright sky.<br /><br />I love the sound. It never looks the same two days in a row. It doesn't have the restless drama of the ocean; it has a quiet spirit, at least as long as the wind stays out of the east. Some days it's flat and sky-colored. Some days it's fractured into tiny wavelets. At least once, I've seen it churned to coffee-colored foam by a storm. <br /><br />Yesterday (Tuesday) the sound got a lot of our attention. Hugh and Susette paddled and snorkled, respectively. Hank and I paddled out to the barge, where we saw blue crabs -- my favorites as long as they're staying in the barge and not actively chasing me. Hank and Ian floated just off our dock, practicing being weightless. (That's what they said; I dunno.) Sarah, Jeff, Jody and I caught hermit crabs. There's something so adorable about the way they poke their little feet out, and then scurry across your hand. Jody said she loves an animal that understands how to work the housing market.<br /><br />(And yes, I have pictures that I love, but we don't have a photo editing program on Hank's laptop, and I can't resize them to fit on the blog. Sigh.)Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119334009156820556.post-68397857223063865342009-07-06T20:40:00.003-04:002009-07-06T21:05:21.809-04:00Y Chromosomes at the BeachQuestion: What do guys do with their time at the beach?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ZJN7GEQ8qMgZyrB4B3mUZZrhh0Bn8breq5_Cw0A4Mksj28BOSsUcvA1x6L3fqaPwhzsM62az5uU5rDpwra-VTSH__0R7v42f3amzPSx4rYLon0-NQ1jU1s-q8ksN4KsjLyRSlW5lbms/s1600-h/Ian+and+the+hole.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ZJN7GEQ8qMgZyrB4B3mUZZrhh0Bn8breq5_Cw0A4Mksj28BOSsUcvA1x6L3fqaPwhzsM62az5uU5rDpwra-VTSH__0R7v42f3amzPSx4rYLon0-NQ1jU1s-q8ksN4KsjLyRSlW5lbms/s200/Ian+and+the+hole.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355512053317347026" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Answer: Dig holes, of course!<br /><br />This is the beginning of Ian's hole. By the time he finished it was twice this deep, fifty times as dangerous, and the product of Hugh, Chip, Guy, Hank, Jeff, Brent, and Troy. Guys like a challenge, and it's guys of all ages, too.<br /><br />I spent the afternoon kayaking in the Pea Island Nature Reserve with Hugh and Susette. This was a blast, except that we decided to explore an inlet that got progressively narrower. By the time it closed off completely, there was absolutely no way I could turn around. I had to back the SS Diet Dew all the way out. It's very hard to steer a 17-foot kayak, backward.Janethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17014052381082677120noreply@blogger.com0