The Real Deal

What a delicious treat Mrs. Whaley’s garden is…..the book and the garden. 

I’ve seen plenty of Charleston gardens during my stay, some officially open for “The 65^th Annual Festival of Houses and Gardens” and others just a peak through the gate or fence, but I had not had the opportunity to visit Mrs. Whatley’s garden until recently.  Anna and Britt were in town for a mother-daughter getaway, and to specifically see the garden.  Some years ago while Anna was out of commission for a spell, she and Britt shared reading Mrs.Whaley and Her Charleston Garden”.  This charming tale chronicles the life of Emily Whaley who spins a lively story of her life in the early 20^th century deep south…her love of life and gardens. And so Anna and Britt came to Charleston to see and share Mrs. Whaley’s creation at 58 Church Street, and they invited me to come along.  How lovely.

Charlestonians take their gardens seriously and aren’t stingy with their time, talent and treasure.  They work ‘um.  Some are grand and formal, others are tiny, almost secret spaces tucked in tight behind walls.  All seem to be cherished places enjoyed by the families who created them.  The gardens are for pure enjoyment…they feed our senses and evoke gentle peacefulness…an elusive feeling we’ve lost touch with. 

Mrs. Whaley’s garden is such a place.  It beckons you to enter, wander deeper down the path and experience what is has to offer.  It’s not grand.  It’s certainly not Charleston’s finest.

 But it is the real deal.  It has symmetry and balance.  It uses backdrops to showcase its plantings.  Various plant heights and alternating flowering seasons are carefully adhered to, and the garden takes full advantage of borrowed landscape (the huge live oak in the neighboring yard branches out and embraces the entire back garden).  Mrs. Whaley’s use of seashells, statuary and a small reflecting pond all speak of those things she loved the most…”things” she held dear.  And so, she made them a part of the garden to be gentle  reminders of the goodness of life.

And it is the real deal.  That’s what I tag something with that I feel a kinship to.  Somehow I feel is obtainable…not totally out of my reach.  That I too could create something like Emily did. 

Who knows, one day I just might.

Invisible Shopper

Do you ever feel invisible?  Like, you don’t measure up to some elusive standard of a well heeled shopper.  Well it happens to me all the time.  What is it?  Try as I might I can’t figure it out.  Here’s the scene.

 I’m thinking I’m pretty savvy.  I know where I’m headed (after all, I am a local now) and I know the designer’s name (I have an invitation) albeit a postcard advertisement.  I bike down to a trendy shop on King Street and enter the store with demure graciousness.  It’s a tiny space and not crowded…there’s only one customer looking at the jewelry.  I begin to look as well, touching a few things, making a few ooos and ahhs, and I admit I did look at the price tags.  Perhaps that’s a signal to becoming invisible…strike one.

 I then introduced myself to the older lady (not quite my age) and suggesed she’s the clever designer.  Wrong.  Her daughter is the “oh-so-classy” young thing in crisp whites sporting the elegant necklaces.  That could have been strike two.  I do manage to redeem myself a bit by inquiring about commissioned pieces, and the “mother” measured my neck for size.  It was all rather quick-like.  The interest and entire focus was clearly on the other customer.

I have to say they were nice in a tight lipped kind of way.  I stood around a bit longer.  Wandered around the 300 sq. feet of store space (that didn’t take long) and slipped quietly, un-noticed out the door.

It was later when I was pondering and reflecting about the not-so-successful encounter that I took stock of myself.  I surely am not invisible.  I have my black exercise tights on coupled with a College of Charleston  sweatshirt, a CVS plastic bag, and a piece of dog-poo clinging to my pant leg.  How on earth was I invisible! 

Strike three.

Easter Weekend

Kate and Matt joined us for Easter weekend.  What a glorious time we had from start to finish.  Friday evening our young neighbor Dan who served in Afganistan,  threw a benefit party for a fallen comrade.  With all the heartfelt flourish he spread around that night, Dan raised almost $3K for a Citadel scholarship for the younger brother of the hero.  It was a terrific affair, attended by all the folks that live at 164 Wentworth, and an impressive guest list.  We topped off the night with a trip to Tommy Condon’s Irish Pub for a glass of Guinness and a plate of spuds.  Sat. was spent relaxed and casual as we biked our way around town meandering through neighborhoods.  They shopped and we napped later in the day.  It took all the urging I could muster to get everyone up and going again for sunset drinks on the Vendue rooftop…but all agreed it was worth it.  Dinner at Cru was…oh, so fine.  It was another culinary delight.  I don’t think we even finished our beers at The Blind Tiger, but we did make an appearance.  I’d been teased unmercifully about wanting to go there (really it was just to show Kate and Matt) but they wouldn’t let it go.  So, we went.

Easter Sunday was a highlight for all of us.  We decided to forgo church and celebrate the morning at the peak of the Cooper River Bridge.  I delighted in walking the almost 3 miles on that glorious Easter morning flanked by folks I love.  It was a memorable moment.

This is truly the good life and I am so grateful. 

The cuisine is exquisite in Charleston.  I mean, the food is good, real good.  My waistline is a tell-tale sign of living the high life, and I don’t intend to leave any restaurant untried.  I have my favorites and I surely don’t mind a repeat performance, but I’m game to try any establishment once. 

We held off as long as we could to make reservations at The Peninsula Grill, but Sunday night we experienced a gastric extravaganza.  From the first glass of wine, to the chocolate torte there was little conversation other than ummm and ahhh.  Larry and Katherine were with us for the evening and we had a fine time.  The dining room is beautiful, the wait staff is beautiful, and the presentation is beautiful….!  Our dinners were served with much fan-fair by 4 waiters who swooped gracefully through the dining room and placed our plates down at exactly the same time.  How often does that happen?  Fresh napkins appeared each time someone got up from the table, and crumbs were discretely brushed away from the crisp linens. 

We held our own, dressed well- healed and didn’t spill our wine. 

It was a class act.

Down On the Corner

One of Charleston’s most charming features is the corner grocery store.   Left over from a gentler, by-gone era, these landmarks stand as sentinels on many neighborhood street corners.   Amidst the grandeur of the majestic homes, these establishments offer a familiar comfort to those who are fortunate to enter.  Most have big plate glass windows that give a glimpse into the interior.  Ceiling fans turn lazily.  No-one’s in a rush.  Time moves in slow motion.

 The stores have names like Two Brothers and Bull Street Grocery, and serve as gathering places for morning news and beer runs for college kids.  Some serve up lunch and offer sidewalk tables.  Others still sell grocery items like milk and bread.  Burbages (North of Broad) still boasts the best meat counter in town.

I’m reminded of my childhood and my bike trips to Froggy’s, the neighborhood grocery on Flora Street.  What a flashback.  The candy counter held many of my dimes.   I’m sure they carried Foreman Dairies Ice Cream too.  Of course, I never had to buy that!

Well, I digress. 

 Oh, the corner groceries.  I will miss them.  We all will one day.   

Staying In the Moment

Walking Woody is becoming a bit frantic.  I’m trying to stay “in the moment” as my yoga instructor gently reminds me, but I’ve always been a watch watcher…..and it’s running out.  My days are busy and full and the punch list still gets longer and longer.   So as I inhale deeply and exhale with a audible “Haaa” ,  I’ll rehash what we’ve seen, done and covered this week.  Maybe I’ll just hit the highlights.

The Harlow visit was splendid…Swingin’ Soul at Charleston Music Hall was a blast.  The Jazz Orchestra did not disappoint with hits like Night Train, Shotgun and a medley of Stevie Wonder.  With a 10 to midnight performance, you know it had to be rockin’.  Sat. carriage ride took us on a beautiful route through the historic streets…a bit of a deviation from previous trips I’ve taken.  We found shutters for the Harlow’s front windows at a neat architectural salvage store and took a music lesson on Sat. afternoon (I did say took) at the Congregational Church.   You know George can find some off the wall stuff to do.  It’s called Shape Note Singing and was very interesting.  As the rain poured down outside we faed and soled and laed and mied away for two hours.  I mean, who would ever imagine!  What a genuine experience.  It was hard to top that, but biking around the neighborhoods and dinner at Gaulart & Maliclet (Fast and French as the locals call it) was all marvelous.  It all was.

Friends and places are all blending together in a wonderful mix of what I’ll call one day My Time in Charleston.  Thank goodness I’ve been writing a bit about these glorious days.   My memory needs all the massage available.