Clipping Away

We subscribe to a lot of newspapers around here.  Any given day we may have 2 or 3 delivered and 2 or 3 arrive by post.  That doesn’t count the weekend papers, for which, we feed quarters into the corner boxes.  All totaled up, it amounts to quite a stack of newsprint and a whole lot of recycling. My husband, George, has always been a clipper.  My father was a clipper too, but George is legendary in his pursuit of worthy clippings.  We’ve had countless discussions about this habit – exactly what does he do with all those thousands of snippets of paper?  Well, he files most of them! Honest.  He sends along pertinent ones to our children (who may read them but certainly don’t file them away)

He often sticks one in his book bag for immediate usage in his morning class.  But mostly they get filed away.  In lots of file cabinets.  Labeled in orderly file folders.  Folders like; Dismal Swamp, wooden boats, growing blueberries, real estate appraising, tax law, electricity, massage therapy, photography…..just to mention a measly few because the list is quite lengthy and new folders are frequently added.    I used to give him a hard time about (in my opinion) the reckless abandonment in which he tears into the news, but I’ve mellowed and come to appreciate that we all depend on his vast collection of fingertip information.  He prides himself (and amazes me) that he can usually put his hands on said article within a few minutes. 

         This finely honed system of delivery and clipping has been duly tested with our recent   
moving about from state to state.  The papers are having a hard time catching up with our comings and goings, and although we’ve been diligent about changes of address, forwarding and rerouting, it sometimes just overtaxes the best of systems.  So when we returned last week to Elizabeth City for the summer, our local newspaper carrier left a note on the morning paper indicating we’d get “caught up” the following day.   Imagine our surprise when this bundle arrived on our doorstep the next morning.  Holy __?  What the  ___?   Words are inadequate.  Some message surely got lost in  all of the shuffling.       
         What now?  Start clipping, George.

Road Trip

I was thrilled to be invited to the Garden Club of Virginia’s 80^th Historic Garden Week.  Last Thursday, my Farmville fave, Faye, and I took off on a road trip through the most beautiful rolling hills this side of the Mississippi.  The grand estates, well- appointed homes and charming parsonages situated from Norfolk to Leesburg, graciously opened their doors and garden gates for the hoi polloi to traipse about.  Our destination was northern Virginia, somewhere in and around Warrenton.  After picking up friend Kay in New Canton, we breezed along Highway 15 to rendezvous with friend Beth in Little Washington. (It’s not really named Little Washington, that’s to squelch confusion with THE Washington.)  The way to Beth’s house was one-lane, following a babbling stream and chocked full of scenery.  We were stopped short, literally, at the bridge.  No go.  Not crossing today. The paving crew from VDOT said we could retrace our steps and go WAY around and come in on the backside of the property – somewhere in parts unknown.  No thanks.  We called (once we back-traced enough to get a cell signal) and asked Beth to meet us up and out of the hollow.  She did. 

 There was no mistaking that I was in the company of Master Gardeners.  My day-tripping companions hold offices in their Garden Clubs and humbly understate their own magnificent gardens.  I was clearly in the midst of garden giants.  They know the name (and I’m speaking of the scientific name) of every tree, bush, shrub and flower.  They reel off varieties of flowers like I might speak of draft beer.  I was in awe.

We toured all but one of the sites, including Leeds Manor Farm (built for Chief Justice John Marshall), The Hume Parsonage (1855 Episcopal Church rectory), Glen Gordon Manor (1833 Wells Fargo stagecoach stop), Locust Grove (fabulous B&B with a wine cellar dating to 1765), and finally Standen Still, my favorite, a English Arts and Crafts stucco home with a steep cedar shake roof. 

I may have been the least trained in flora & fauna, but no one was more enthusiastic and thrilled to be included on such an excursion.  We laughed as we put the miles behind us, sipping on ice coffee and rubber necking all fields & flowers, fences, barns, houses and horses for 150 miles and back again.

I cannot close without mention of our box lunch provided by Chef Faye.  By golly, she puts Martha Stewart and Paula Dean to complete shame.  Delicious AND healthy, our individual lunches were packed in recycled mushroom containers, complete with three-bean salad in tightly sealed mason jars, a delightful chicken salad roll-up and cookie! 

Kay brought out her famous cream cheese & cucumber sandwiches and we dined like queens.  Cloth napkins & sweet mint tea topped off the ambiance. It was picture perfect!  It truly was.

Life Is Good

Yesterday – Tuesday, was one of those perfect days.  Nothing terribly special – no “over the top” happening – just time on a lake with a friend and time at a concert with George. 

In the aftermath of Monday, with the gut-wrenching bombing at the Boston Marathon, Tuesday’s roses smelled especially sweet.  How easy it is to slip into the rhythm of one’s day and forget to…well, smell the roses.  That ho-hum, almost blind perspective, where one day melts into another, is an easy place to dwell.

Then, in the blink of an eye, one stride of a runner and a cloud of white smoke, we are jolted to attention.  Everything shifts, again.  Our awareness of how precarious and precious our time is washes over us.  These moments come to us all too often.  Some carry national headlines.  Others, like the death of a loved one, are felt by an entire town.  And still others, like a cancer diagnosis, are personal and are felt by family and friends.   

 I have adopted the premise that no-one can hide from these blind-siding collisions.  My senses are ramped up to full throttle, and I’m on full alert….for life.  Yesterday’s paddle on the Sandy River Reservoir complete with a picnic lunch and a pair of soaring eagles, surely symbolizes the goodness in life. The college students’ jazz performance last evening most certainly celebrated the remarkable talents and exciting futures these young folks have.  Strolling home with George after enjoying a beer at our neighborhood pub, gave pause for some reflections.

 Bad things do happen to good people.  Life isn’t always fair.  Evil is real.   How you choose to deal with these truisms is how you measure your own serenity and happiness, and likewise how you impact the lives of others. 

I believe most folks have a good heart.  I think we’re connected with a common bond to help one another, figure it out and get along.  We need each other.  I believe life is good.  

Bring it on. 

A Little Getaway

We treated ourselves to a little getaway this past weekend and drove up to Roanoke.  After dropping Woody off at the pet resort, we took our time driving 460 W.  Bedford was on our must see list and it didn’t disappoint.  It’s a charming spot with a vibrant downtown, interesting Farmer’s Market and beautiful homes; many very grand with miles of fencing and sweeping views. 

We had reservations at the Hotel Roanoke and I had splurged just a bit to secure a “corner room with superlative views.”  The room was lovely and the view was grand, but our neighbors in the next-door suite were ready to party hardy.  Peals of laughter and squeals of “OMG you won’t believe…” blew through the walls like we were right next door.  Oh yeah, we were.   George chalked it up to day drinking and figured the rowdiness would calm down as the night wore on.  I figured different.  I gotta hand it to George; he very gallantly offered to ask the front desk for a room change….that’s never happened before.  And, he came back smiling with a new key to a new room on a new floor.  Seems he saw the “girls” exiting the room and there were an even dozen…all dolled up and ready for anything.  We made a good call. 

Our new room had its own issues…broken bedside lamp and the sink wouldn’t drain, but brushing our teeth over the bathtub seemed a small concession to make for a good night’s sleep.  God, we’re getting old.

We drove out to Hollins College where Jenny went all four years and found it just as beautiful a setting as it was 20 years ago. Then on to Black Dog Salvage -  a true delight. We wandered about totally enthralled with the vast array of inventory.  George found the wood stove he's been searching for and a deal was made.

 Saturday evening we milled around Center on the Square, Roanoke’s reinvented downtown and enjoyed pizza and beer at a Bar-B-Q joint.  The live music just wouldn’t get going so by 10:00 we walked back to the hotel, only to discover the hotel bar had a fellow playing acoustic guitar.  It topped off our evening.

Easter morning breakfast in the hotel dining room was fabulous!  After a month of oatmeal, I felt entitled to eggs and hash-browns, not to mention the muffin I consumed.  All delicious.

The trip back to Farmville was sobering.  We had a bit of deja-vue from last Sunday’s harrowing drive through a snowstorm.  Having decided to take the Blue Ridge Parkway back to Bedford, we realized too late that visibility was zero.  The fog was so dense it felt like rain.  It was a very long 20 miles before we could exit and come down off the mountain.

 We are grateful and very lucky to be alive.  I’ve learned there was a terrible 95 car pile- up due to the fog near Galax, VA.  Folks died and many were injured.  Next time I’m tempted to take the scenic route, I’m going to make sure the conditions are safe. 

Sunday Snow Storm

 

 

 

 

I haven’t had much experience driving in snow storms, but Sunday was my turn for a go at it.  We were in Elizabeth City for the weekend and heard that another winter storm system was barreling down on the East Coast.  With the uncertainty of just how bad the weather would get, we decided to head out and back to Farmville earlier than usual on Sunday. (Our plans are mostly for the benefit of my angst.  George never really intends to leave early.  Why don’t I know that by now?)

The morning completely got away from us while he dug up and replanted two trees.  This effort also required a trip to Lowes for mulch.  By 1:00 the skies were darkening and we had clearly missed the best window for departure.  Rain was pelting the windshield by the time we started north and had turned over to snow by Petersburg.

I was behind the wheel so George could read up on Monday’s lecture.  The car was quiet, almost hushed as the snow fell harder and began to blanket everything around us.  There weren’t too many other fools out, and many of those found themselves sliding off the road…some to the shoulder, some into the tree line and almost all of them facing the opposite way from their intended direction.  Slippin’ and Slidin’ one might say.  We passed over a dozen stranded folks.  There wasn’t a snow plow in sight.  We never passed a single highway patrol.  For a while we followed in the tracks of a single car ahead of us, but it eventually turned off at Blackstone.  With the lead car gone, I crept along at 15 MPH down what I hoped was the center line.  Snow crunched beneath the tires and when I looked in the rearview mirror I saw Woody staring transfixed out the window.  By that time, so was George.  The text book had been abandoned and he too was nervous.  I was white-knuckled as I gripped the wheel and concentrated on staying in the middle of the road, or at best, far away from the trees, ditches and embankments. 

It was a long two hours.  By the time we reached Crewe the snow was mixed with rain and much of the drama was gone.  I was wasted so I pulled over and let George get in the driver’s seat.  He took the wheel and drove us into Farmville without incident. 

I always say a prayer of thanks when we safely arrive at our destination….going and coming and Sunday was no exception.  Thank you Lord for bringing us safely to our journey’s end.

By Monday morning, the storm had moved up the coast and we were out enjoying (surely) the last snow of the season!

A Weekend to Remember

 

A couple of weekends ago Go Figure? hit a new milestone.  We were the opening act for a nationally acclaimed Blue Grass Band (NuBlue) on AOA’s stage.  Our repertoire for the evening included a few new tunes, one featuring our newest vocalist Billy Caudle belting out Do You Love Me.  George’s rendition of Tossin & Turning brought the house down and got folks out on the dance floor.  Phyllis got her moves and grooves going with her sultry voice to Locomotion, and I took a chance on trying I Take My Chances.  I gotta say, we held our own for our very loyal fans that always come out and support the events we come out and support.  A little bit goes a long way in all respects.  We try not to overexpose.

Having touted my own horn concerning the bands prowess, I have to say the highlight of that weekend was undoubtedly our houseguests…Kate and Matt from Raleigh and Chuck and Faye Green from Farmville.  They were perfect groupies.  Shucks, they should have gotten a cut from the band.  Oh yeah, we play for free.  My new son-in-law offered praises and promised he wasn’t embarrassed.  Kate touts we were the toast of the evening at Logan Rey’s.  Everyone clapped and hooted and hollered.   That counts big time in my book. 

The weekend was jammed packed full.  We showed off Elizabeth City with bike tours downtown and driving tours to outlying areas.  We showed off Chuck and Faye too.  It’s not every day you find such great new friends. 

Book Club friends entertained with a wonderful dinner at Linda at Oliver’s before the show on Sat.  Feted by   the Greens in Farmville during their winter road trip, the girls were able to introduce Chuck and Faye to the husbands.  Now everybody knows everybody.

Sunday morning we said goodbyes to Kate and Matt and we headed to the Outer Banks.  Who invites new friends to open a cottage for the season?  You guessed right.  We moved porch furniture out of the dining room, opened blinds and bled pipes, all the while shivering in our coats and hats.  A walk on the beach was hurried but thoroughly enjoyed by Woody.  Another afternoon of leisure, seeing Jennette’s Research Pier, taking in Roanoke Island History Center and driving over the Oregon Inlet Bridge was perfectly topped off with dinner at Tortuga’s Lie. 

It was a wonderful weekend….all great memories with great friends and great fun.  You think I sound a bit Pollyannaish?  Yeah, but I gotta say, my cup is running over.

 

 

Finding My Niche

Sometimes I feel I will never discover my niche.  You know what I mean…find something I’m good at.  Some folks even use that buzz word passion.  God knows, I’ve tried.  I’ve been casually searching all my life and hard at it now for the better part of a year.  Let’s see.  Follow me if you can.

 The band (Go Figure?) has been a great source of entertainment for all of us.  Billy on piano, MikeG on drums, MikeC on lead guitar, Douglas on trumpet, Phyllis on African drum, Jessie and George on sax (GJ sometimes on guitar and piano)…and then there’s me.  I started on bass guitar, moved to drums, now I’ve been put on bongos.  I guess the consensus is I can’t do too much damage banging away.  It didn’t hurt my feelings, really.  Lately I’ve tried my hand at pottery classes.  I’ve got a couple of mugs, a bon-bon dish and 2 art deco fish to show for my investment.  I don’t have any hidden talent with clay.  No surprise there.  Let me not forget to mention my knitting classes.  The scarf I labored on all winter would hang to Wilt Chamberlin’s feet and the hat is nothing to brag about.  It fits if I roll it up and up and up.  It makes my head look like a beach ball.  Clearly not my talent.  Just this week I signed on for a watercolor painting class.  The instructor lost me on the first theory spill discussing perception….horizons and vanishing points and so forth.  Please just hand me the brush and let me go at it.  It’s a work in progress but not holding much promise.  No surprise there.

So that leaves me still searching.  I wonder if reading counts?  I do love to read and I do know how to read.  Check.  Reading can lead to writing and I’ve been doing a bit of that lately.  Check.  I’ve written a children’s book about a fox.  Check.  The topic certainly is not one I planned and carefully chose.  It’s fair to say it strolled into my life.  So maybe I need look no further, instead embrace what has come my way.  It must have been there all along and just seemed too daunting.  My epiphany?  Writing is one heck of a lot easier than playing an instrument, throwing a pot, knitting a sweater, or painting a masterpiece.  It just may be my passion.