I acknowledge that I have never loved baseball. It seems slow and repetitive, with only short bursts of activity, and good-looking men wasted in baggy pants. But that is just me. Millions, clearly disagree.
Nonetheless, I do think it is fun to go to a baseball stadium, every once in a while! You get to sit outside....I love that, particularly if its a warm-but-not-too- hot night. Then, you usually go with family and friends, not alone or with enemies, so the company is pretty good. Finally, and this is a biggie for me, the food options are stuff you never eat anywhere else, including hot dogs, peanuts in a shell, ice cream bars etc. (I am laughing because I've just realized that this is exactly what Bill does eat everyday at home. Please don't tell him I mentioned it.!! ha ha)
So we heard that Charleston has its very own baseball team, I was curious and the first thing I learned was that it was "Single A". And a minor team to the Yankees. AND, part-owned by the very cool/funny Billy Murray, who goes to the games often!
Now what is this Single A buniess?? Turns out, and you may already know this, there is Single A, Double A and Triple A....and which do you think is closer to being in the major league? Well I thought the purity of the Single, but no.....Triple A. So again, in Charleston, we have the Single A Riverdogs....who play in a brand new stadium, 14 minutes from the house. Of course, I wanted to get the best tickets possible, and assumed they were probably going to be less than the worst Yankee seat, which costs $80, not including parking..
When I looked online and scoured the stadium seating chart, it looked like I could get seats in row 2, behind home plate for $14. Even my baseball naivite questioned that, but the chart said what the chart said, so with a leap of faith, I committed. When we went last night, I realized the chart was wrong.....but so in our favor I burst out laughing.....it wasn't the 2nd row....Row 2 is the first row!!!! As in, right behind the umpire! I was beginning to like Single A.
Things were going well....I had smartly invited a new friend of ours, Frank, to sit with us.....one, to thank him for all the help he has been in our move and two, to give Bill someone to talk baseball with.....I am a good wife, but can't fake everything.
We were all eating our dinner....there is a waitress with these seats, and Bill had a hot dog, Frank opted for beer and peanuts and me, a bbq chicken sandwich....(total cost $12)....I was concentrating on my sandwich, determined not to stain my white pants, when Bill turned to me and said he actually thought my name was just spoken by the stadium announcer. What? Who? When? all came out of my mouth, as the corner of my eye saw a bbq dribble land on my pants....and he repeated that he really really thought he heard the announcer say: "And tonight's winner of the internet ticket contest was ______ , as in, he got your first name right and mispronounced our last name the way most people do! Could that be I wondered....I have never won anything!
Frank, being a gentleman and I think intrigued beyond, jumped up and said he was going to investigate. I continued munching on my sandwich, staring at my stained pants and wondering when the washing machine would make the renovation list.....soon Frank returned, with a triumphant gleam in his eye! He held up a single ticket and announced gleefully that I had indeed won a free ticket on any return night of my choosing.
As this all registered, I let the thought that I would now be coming back sit on the side of my brain, and realized the bigger news: How did Frank get MY prize? Frank, I asked in as nice a voice as I could muster: "What did you say about me that they presumed you really knew me and gave you my freebie ticket?" He cocked his head a touch and said, "What do you mean? I told them I was here with you and they gave me the ticket!"
I was mulling my next comment, when Bill, realizing where my head was going, started to laugh and said to Frank: "But you didn't have her power of attorney! You didn't show any I.D.! In NY, they'd never give you her ticket!!"
Frank then got our reaction, and spoke the quote of the day: "Relax, you're not in NY anymore. Welcome to Charleston>"
I nodded and realized we'd moved to a place where your name is your word, and your word is good enough! What a concept!
sending love from Charleston...
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Almost Perfect Grocery Store
I have to say, I absolutely love going to the grocery store. I know most people don't. But I just adore being with food Sometimes as I slowly peruse the aisles, salivating over the delicious options,I have big debates with the two sides of my brain: the 'oh-I-want-to-be-thin' lobe and the 'but-you-might-die-tomorrow' cranial section and I do spend alot of time vicariously eating each box of cookies that line the shelves. Claire is the only soul willing to go with me, and I'd like to think she has inherited this salivating trait, but I think the truth lies in her decent sense of control and her determination not just to get yogurt, not just nonfat yogurt, not just greek yogurt but peach in the two-fer packaging! But I digress....
So, given my confessed neurosis, I was not going to move anywhere where the grocert stores were not decent. And, frankly, it was a low bar because Greenwich, wierdly, doesn't have the kind of grocery stores that you tell your friends about....I think it must go back to a time where the 'help' shopped....therefore,you can imagine my trepidation about Charleston, if you get my drift!
First, we found a terrific store about 30 minutes from Charleston called Newton Farms. It was absolutely beautiful -- it reminded me of this huge farm store in Nantucket, called Bartletts. I thought well, thrity minutes for a great store isn't awful and if I had that option in Greenwich, I would have taken it in a hearbeat.
Then we found one, right in Charleston, almost in the midst of the Historic district. Finding a store so among that charm of the city was like having perfect children. Or perfect parents. It just doesn't happen!
The store was named "Harris Teeter" and the name itself made me smile. Inside the store was even better....it actually reminded me of what I absolutely consider the gold standard of grocery stores: Gelsons, in Southern California.
Beyond the physical spaciousness, with wide aisles (two large carts can actually pass each other with no one having to say 'oh, sorry') and it has the array of brand selection I appreciate -- do you want whole wheat bread, 7 grain bread, 5 grain, 12 grain, multi-grain bread, rye bread, half-rye bread, etc etc--plus a parking lot that always has decent spots, right near the entrance! But it's the Employees of Harris Teeter that elevate it Gelson's-status.
Amazingly to me, they are trained to graciously ask four questions which just make me shake my head in delighed awe:
1. When you go up to check out, the checker asks if you have easily found every thing you were looking for?
At first I was so startled that someone cared, that I simply said, yes, thank you. Then, the other day, I was too cruious to see what the response would be if I said I did not, so I said that I was disappointed that I could not find my husband's favorite lunch, frozen White Castle hamburgers. (For those of you not familiar with this delicacy, they are sold in CT either 6 to a frozen box, or at Costo, in a 24 sizer.) The checker called over the manager and before I could say, oh its ok, she did some walkie/talkie mumbo jumbo, then some Blackberry magic. She then turned to me and said in the perfect little Southern accent: "Well, I am sorry to say we do not carry that, but if you go to the Publix (a competitor) in Mt Pleasant (about 14 min away), they have both sizes.And, when you go, ask for Hunter Rockwell III...he is the Manager and is expecting you." What can you say to that except, 'thank you so much. I will go right away!'
2. They then take the groceries out of your cart and scan them.
Again, not since Gelson's days have I not had to lug all the stuff that I just put in the cart out on the conveyer belt. And the Harris Teeter people do it happily, some of them humming as they lift all those coke bottles and try to make sure all the shallots don't fall out of the flimsy plastic.
3. They ask you in the nicest most non-judgemental voice if you'd like paper or plastic.
One time when I asked for paper, I heard the bagger (a lovely woman in her 40's, too well dressed I thought to have the job), mutter under her breath....umm, umm, umm....and when I looked at her she said apologetically, "...oh I mean no disrespect Ma'am, but your soda bottles (of which I had many!) will do better in plastic....they'll jus tear the paper right through!" Well how could I argue with such logic and told her she was right and I would switch to plastic. She let out such a yelp of joy I jumped myself...turns out in her 18 years of working there, no one had ever told her she was right and I knew I had made a friend for life. (I acknowledge that it might be better to have influential friends at the DMV or the Historic Home Color Review Board vs a checker/bagger -- but you never know....I thought she had enough charm to someday run for mayor, and being a checker/bagger is probably the perfect experience for that position!
4. Finally, after they've taken your groceries out, scanned them and bagged them the way you want, they then ask, regardless if you have two bags or twenty, if you'd like help to your car! I havn't yet said yes, though I'd really love if they would offer to come home with me and put all this stuff away....I will do the trunk, if they would do the cabinets.....mayber I could put that in the suggestion box!
I wish I could end this here...leaving you with nothing but admiration for the Harris Teeter store and a bit of envy for me...but no....No, in today's world, there is always something. Some blemish which makes perfection impossible and allows Gelson's to still be atop the grocery store mantle.
You see, Harris Teeter has a slight problem with English....and the promise they proudly make that they are open 24 hours.
I don't know about you, but to me, 24 hours means they should be open every hour of every day, no matter what! But last Thanksgiving, they failed and I don't know why they did it!
We decided to bring as much of the family down to Charleston as possible ---to see if they would like it if we moved here. (I think I wanted to make sure we would get some company, as I doubted our ability to make new friends....more on that later) So, we actually flew in on the Thanksgiving Thursday and I thought it might be nice to pick a few things for the hotel. You know like peanuts, candy, cookies, bananas, coke, snapple,water...all the essentials our family needs to survive in a hotel that has room service!
We went over to the Harris Teeter, a store that promises to be open 24 hours, and found it closed.
The next day when I went back and shopped for my deprived family, I asked one of the women at the Service Counter why they had been closed teh day before when all their signage and billboards clearly and boldly say "OPEN 24 HOURS'
And here, word for word, is what she said: "Oh, we are open 24 hours if we are open. But, if we're not open, we're not open 24 hours."
You can't argue with that....but you have to know Gelson's would never, never say that to me!
sending love from Charleston....
So, given my confessed neurosis, I was not going to move anywhere where the grocert stores were not decent. And, frankly, it was a low bar because Greenwich, wierdly, doesn't have the kind of grocery stores that you tell your friends about....I think it must go back to a time where the 'help' shopped....therefore,you can imagine my trepidation about Charleston, if you get my drift!
First, we found a terrific store about 30 minutes from Charleston called Newton Farms. It was absolutely beautiful -- it reminded me of this huge farm store in Nantucket, called Bartletts. I thought well, thrity minutes for a great store isn't awful and if I had that option in Greenwich, I would have taken it in a hearbeat.
Then we found one, right in Charleston, almost in the midst of the Historic district. Finding a store so among that charm of the city was like having perfect children. Or perfect parents. It just doesn't happen!
The store was named "Harris Teeter" and the name itself made me smile. Inside the store was even better....it actually reminded me of what I absolutely consider the gold standard of grocery stores: Gelsons, in Southern California.
Beyond the physical spaciousness, with wide aisles (two large carts can actually pass each other with no one having to say 'oh, sorry') and it has the array of brand selection I appreciate -- do you want whole wheat bread, 7 grain bread, 5 grain, 12 grain, multi-grain bread, rye bread, half-rye bread, etc etc--plus a parking lot that always has decent spots, right near the entrance! But it's the Employees of Harris Teeter that elevate it Gelson's-status.
Amazingly to me, they are trained to graciously ask four questions which just make me shake my head in delighed awe:
1. When you go up to check out, the checker asks if you have easily found every thing you were looking for?
At first I was so startled that someone cared, that I simply said, yes, thank you. Then, the other day, I was too cruious to see what the response would be if I said I did not, so I said that I was disappointed that I could not find my husband's favorite lunch, frozen White Castle hamburgers. (For those of you not familiar with this delicacy, they are sold in CT either 6 to a frozen box, or at Costo, in a 24 sizer.) The checker called over the manager and before I could say, oh its ok, she did some walkie/talkie mumbo jumbo, then some Blackberry magic. She then turned to me and said in the perfect little Southern accent: "Well, I am sorry to say we do not carry that, but if you go to the Publix (a competitor) in Mt Pleasant (about 14 min away), they have both sizes.And, when you go, ask for Hunter Rockwell III...he is the Manager and is expecting you." What can you say to that except, 'thank you so much. I will go right away!'
2. They then take the groceries out of your cart and scan them.
Again, not since Gelson's days have I not had to lug all the stuff that I just put in the cart out on the conveyer belt. And the Harris Teeter people do it happily, some of them humming as they lift all those coke bottles and try to make sure all the shallots don't fall out of the flimsy plastic.
3. They ask you in the nicest most non-judgemental voice if you'd like paper or plastic.
One time when I asked for paper, I heard the bagger (a lovely woman in her 40's, too well dressed I thought to have the job), mutter under her breath....umm, umm, umm....and when I looked at her she said apologetically, "...oh I mean no disrespect Ma'am, but your soda bottles (of which I had many!) will do better in plastic....they'll jus tear the paper right through!" Well how could I argue with such logic and told her she was right and I would switch to plastic. She let out such a yelp of joy I jumped myself...turns out in her 18 years of working there, no one had ever told her she was right and I knew I had made a friend for life. (I acknowledge that it might be better to have influential friends at the DMV or the Historic Home Color Review Board vs a checker/bagger -- but you never know....I thought she had enough charm to someday run for mayor, and being a checker/bagger is probably the perfect experience for that position!
4. Finally, after they've taken your groceries out, scanned them and bagged them the way you want, they then ask, regardless if you have two bags or twenty, if you'd like help to your car! I havn't yet said yes, though I'd really love if they would offer to come home with me and put all this stuff away....I will do the trunk, if they would do the cabinets.....mayber I could put that in the suggestion box!
I wish I could end this here...leaving you with nothing but admiration for the Harris Teeter store and a bit of envy for me...but no....No, in today's world, there is always something. Some blemish which makes perfection impossible and allows Gelson's to still be atop the grocery store mantle.
You see, Harris Teeter has a slight problem with English....and the promise they proudly make that they are open 24 hours.
I don't know about you, but to me, 24 hours means they should be open every hour of every day, no matter what! But last Thanksgiving, they failed and I don't know why they did it!
We decided to bring as much of the family down to Charleston as possible ---to see if they would like it if we moved here. (I think I wanted to make sure we would get some company, as I doubted our ability to make new friends....more on that later) So, we actually flew in on the Thanksgiving Thursday and I thought it might be nice to pick a few things for the hotel. You know like peanuts, candy, cookies, bananas, coke, snapple,water...all the essentials our family needs to survive in a hotel that has room service!
We went over to the Harris Teeter, a store that promises to be open 24 hours, and found it closed.
The next day when I went back and shopped for my deprived family, I asked one of the women at the Service Counter why they had been closed teh day before when all their signage and billboards clearly and boldly say "OPEN 24 HOURS'
And here, word for word, is what she said: "Oh, we are open 24 hours if we are open. But, if we're not open, we're not open 24 hours."
You can't argue with that....but you have to know Gelson's would never, never say that to me!
sending love from Charleston....
Monday, April 19, 2010
Larry, Larry, Larry
As often happens to me when I meet new people and their dogs, I only remember the names of the dogs. So when we met Larry and his "Mom" and "little sister", I knew the only name that would stick would be his. This was easier this time for a few reasons: First, Larry is such an usual name for a dog. The only Larry I could think of was Larry David and it seemed unthinkable that this dog's personality warrented being named after the quirky star of Curb Your Enthusiasm.
But amazingly, his 'Mom' sounded exactly like Susie Green (you know, Larry David's Manager Jeff's wife>>>)....not in the spewing of profanity, but definitely in the tone and attitude. Here is what actually happened on our first encounter with Larry, his 'Mom' and his 'little sister':
Larry's Mom was walking her daughter to their car, and it was clear the little girl was being taken to school. Larry, not on a leash, was expected to simply follow across the street and two houses over. Larry was lagging and the Mom said the following...word for word:
"Larry, Larry, get in the car. Larry. C'mon Larry. Be a good boy Larry. Larry where are you? Larry, Larry, we need to go. _________(little girl's name) is going to be late. Larry, you don't want that do you Larry? Good boy Larry. RIght over here into the car. ________(little girl's name), call Larry, tell him to get in the car."
The little girl said: "Larry, Larry, come into the car. I can't be late Larry. Please Larry. Please please please Larry, come on. Oh, good boy Larry. You sit next to me Larry. Good Larry. Now we can go Larry."
I stood on the sidewalk crying from laughing so hard. Thankfully I was far enough removed from the scene that all the Mom knew was that the new neighbor was hysterically laughing. But since she had no clue as to why, my reputation of being 'unusual' was only confirmed. I could not help myself....(I am laughing now just thinking about it.)
My dogs, Charlie and WInston, looked slightly bemused and vaguely confused at hearing the same word over and over and over again. Unlike words like 'Treat' or 'Walk' or even 'No', they had no idea what the heck the word was but they stood waiting for its sound to stop. And it finally did and we went inside to bask in the silence of Larry and his family being gone. For the moment.
The next day, a Sunday, BIll and I were enjoying the paper and coffee outside on the piazza. It was another impossibly perfect 75 degrees. The birds were chirping and the sounds of church bells could be heard. (Seriously, thats what it has been like here.....beautiful birds and majestic church bells...)
Anyway, all of a sudden, we all heard crying, a dog's whimpering. Not the cry of physical injury, but the unmistakable sound of a sad canine.
Charlie's ears perked up to full attention and I could tell he was just about to start barking. That's when I turned to Charlie and said:
"It's Larry. Larry is crying. Larry's family left him to go out for brunch."
Charlie stared at me, with his oversized brown eyes. Blinked. Considered my Larry news. And his return gaze said to me:
"Oh that Larry. What an annoying dog!!!"
Sending love from Charleston
But amazingly, his 'Mom' sounded exactly like Susie Green (you know, Larry David's Manager Jeff's wife>>>)....not in the spewing of profanity, but definitely in the tone and attitude. Here is what actually happened on our first encounter with Larry, his 'Mom' and his 'little sister':
Larry's Mom was walking her daughter to their car, and it was clear the little girl was being taken to school. Larry, not on a leash, was expected to simply follow across the street and two houses over. Larry was lagging and the Mom said the following...word for word:
"Larry, Larry, get in the car. Larry. C'mon Larry. Be a good boy Larry. Larry where are you? Larry, Larry, we need to go. _________(little girl's name) is going to be late. Larry, you don't want that do you Larry? Good boy Larry. RIght over here into the car. ________(little girl's name), call Larry, tell him to get in the car."
The little girl said: "Larry, Larry, come into the car. I can't be late Larry. Please Larry. Please please please Larry, come on. Oh, good boy Larry. You sit next to me Larry. Good Larry. Now we can go Larry."
I stood on the sidewalk crying from laughing so hard. Thankfully I was far enough removed from the scene that all the Mom knew was that the new neighbor was hysterically laughing. But since she had no clue as to why, my reputation of being 'unusual' was only confirmed. I could not help myself....(I am laughing now just thinking about it.)
My dogs, Charlie and WInston, looked slightly bemused and vaguely confused at hearing the same word over and over and over again. Unlike words like 'Treat' or 'Walk' or even 'No', they had no idea what the heck the word was but they stood waiting for its sound to stop. And it finally did and we went inside to bask in the silence of Larry and his family being gone. For the moment.
The next day, a Sunday, BIll and I were enjoying the paper and coffee outside on the piazza. It was another impossibly perfect 75 degrees. The birds were chirping and the sounds of church bells could be heard. (Seriously, thats what it has been like here.....beautiful birds and majestic church bells...)
Anyway, all of a sudden, we all heard crying, a dog's whimpering. Not the cry of physical injury, but the unmistakable sound of a sad canine.
Charlie's ears perked up to full attention and I could tell he was just about to start barking. That's when I turned to Charlie and said:
"It's Larry. Larry is crying. Larry's family left him to go out for brunch."
Charlie stared at me, with his oversized brown eyes. Blinked. Considered my Larry news. And his return gaze said to me:
"Oh that Larry. What an annoying dog!!!"
Sending love from Charleston
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Pine Tree Killers
That's the way we were introduced at our first gathering with neighbors. The invite had come while I was out and when I returned, Bill said Mitzy, our neighbor to the left, had invited us for 'wine at seven pm.' seven pm I said...isnt that too late for pre-dinner and too early for after-dinner?
Thats when I got the look from Bill, which says a combo of:
1. How should I know?
2. Zip it and deal with it.
3. What did you expect me to say other than yes!
All fair questions, but still I wondered....we'd been getting into a habit of eating around that time, so I knew my appetite would be on full alert and if I didn't eat before, I'd be way too hungry. And what if she didn't serve anything...I'd be drinking on a less-than-full stomach and that couldn't be good! But since this is about us being Pine Tree Killers, let me just say that I made us BLT's (again....yum!) and we walked over right on time.
As we entered her front door, it was clear that there were already people there. And they had started drinking without us. Hmmm, I thought: Do they do cocktail parties in shifts down here or did Bill have the wrong time? I was too naive to think what I actually thought later, which was they had gathered early to talk about us. This didn't occur to me then becuase I had no idea that the day's events had been so fascinating to our neighbors.
You see, that day, we had cut down two old pine trees in our yard. The magnolia and oak trees here are the prettiest I have ever seen, and they grace each home with a certain presence that is simply nature at its best. But these were trees that looked like telephone poles and dropped so much yellow pollen that I had actually felt like I might someday qualify for a lawsuit on bad air! The so-called trees had no branches, no leaves, nothing but the look of a totem pole without the totems. So, we hired some professional tree guy, had the contractor confirm no permits were needed and went ahead with a part of the plan to make our small garden look as spectacular as possible. Who knew that it would cause such a fuss.
Mitzy 'kiddingly' introduced us as the "new people from the New York area who cut down the trees today and caused some of the neighbors such grief they called the police."
I have been introduced a few times in my day, and that one had me absolutely thunderstruck. Given I had no voice anyway from the bad pine trees, I simply looked to Bill for our retort. A witty one I hoped. Bill's response, very much in keeping with him being the nicer of the two of us, was to ignore the bizarreness and launch into a toast about how happy we were to be there in Charleston.
Later, our hostess assured us that she did not hold any ill will, but couldn't speak for others.
I realized right then that my hope of having neighbors turn into new friends was probably not going to happen. (I also realized that I was right in eating before as no food at all was offered.) I did know that I had found the quote of the day, but it was not a happy or funny one....though its impact lingered into the following day and then I did laugh.
The next day I went through box after box looking for my stationary. It seemed I should write a note to the neighbor who was the most offended by our taking down two telephone poles, and it was clear that my personalized and engraved stationary was in order. After 30 minutes searching, time I really didn't have, I found it and wrote a nice note. Or I thought it was nice....I didn't apologize for the tree cutting (see how I wrote cutting vs killing....), but did express regret that it caused her such pain. I also assured her that I have a good track record with neighbors (I even considered soliciting testimonials from my former/normal neighbors in Greenwich but felt that was overkill...excuse the expression). My note ended with a hope to meet soon! All in all, it seemed pleasant and cordial and I thought it would put things back on an even keel.
Alas, that wasn't how she took it.
I dropped off my note in her mailbox at about 10am and felt fortunate when, around 5pm, I saw her as I was about to take a late day walk with the dogs. She was standing at her doorway, which here means 14 steps away. I waved and started to navigate the dogs her way so I could extend my hand and introduce myself. She clearly saw me and clearly had seen me come from the "Pine Tree death house'.
So I put on my best 'hello' smile as she stared at me. Then, she turned and walked into her own house, leaving me at her doorstep alone.
This actually happened! And it wasn't just a turn now that I think of it...it was a pivot!! An actual ballet-step pivot that is meant to broadcast to your partner or to the audience that this body is changing course and direction. And I have to say, it made me laugh. I had just been dissed. A Southern dis.
While I knew my Mom would have been appalled that I found it funny, I did....and laugh about it to anyone and everyone I tell. She may think me the Pine Tree Killer, but she is the Human Being Rejector and I personally think that is alot worse!
Sending love from Charleston....
Thats when I got the look from Bill, which says a combo of:
1. How should I know?
2. Zip it and deal with it.
3. What did you expect me to say other than yes!
All fair questions, but still I wondered....we'd been getting into a habit of eating around that time, so I knew my appetite would be on full alert and if I didn't eat before, I'd be way too hungry. And what if she didn't serve anything...I'd be drinking on a less-than-full stomach and that couldn't be good! But since this is about us being Pine Tree Killers, let me just say that I made us BLT's (again....yum!) and we walked over right on time.
As we entered her front door, it was clear that there were already people there. And they had started drinking without us. Hmmm, I thought: Do they do cocktail parties in shifts down here or did Bill have the wrong time? I was too naive to think what I actually thought later, which was they had gathered early to talk about us. This didn't occur to me then becuase I had no idea that the day's events had been so fascinating to our neighbors.
You see, that day, we had cut down two old pine trees in our yard. The magnolia and oak trees here are the prettiest I have ever seen, and they grace each home with a certain presence that is simply nature at its best. But these were trees that looked like telephone poles and dropped so much yellow pollen that I had actually felt like I might someday qualify for a lawsuit on bad air! The so-called trees had no branches, no leaves, nothing but the look of a totem pole without the totems. So, we hired some professional tree guy, had the contractor confirm no permits were needed and went ahead with a part of the plan to make our small garden look as spectacular as possible. Who knew that it would cause such a fuss.
Mitzy 'kiddingly' introduced us as the "new people from the New York area who cut down the trees today and caused some of the neighbors such grief they called the police."
I have been introduced a few times in my day, and that one had me absolutely thunderstruck. Given I had no voice anyway from the bad pine trees, I simply looked to Bill for our retort. A witty one I hoped. Bill's response, very much in keeping with him being the nicer of the two of us, was to ignore the bizarreness and launch into a toast about how happy we were to be there in Charleston.
Later, our hostess assured us that she did not hold any ill will, but couldn't speak for others.
I realized right then that my hope of having neighbors turn into new friends was probably not going to happen. (I also realized that I was right in eating before as no food at all was offered.) I did know that I had found the quote of the day, but it was not a happy or funny one....though its impact lingered into the following day and then I did laugh.
The next day I went through box after box looking for my stationary. It seemed I should write a note to the neighbor who was the most offended by our taking down two telephone poles, and it was clear that my personalized and engraved stationary was in order. After 30 minutes searching, time I really didn't have, I found it and wrote a nice note. Or I thought it was nice....I didn't apologize for the tree cutting (see how I wrote cutting vs killing....), but did express regret that it caused her such pain. I also assured her that I have a good track record with neighbors (I even considered soliciting testimonials from my former/normal neighbors in Greenwich but felt that was overkill...excuse the expression). My note ended with a hope to meet soon! All in all, it seemed pleasant and cordial and I thought it would put things back on an even keel.
Alas, that wasn't how she took it.
I dropped off my note in her mailbox at about 10am and felt fortunate when, around 5pm, I saw her as I was about to take a late day walk with the dogs. She was standing at her doorway, which here means 14 steps away. I waved and started to navigate the dogs her way so I could extend my hand and introduce myself. She clearly saw me and clearly had seen me come from the "Pine Tree death house'.
So I put on my best 'hello' smile as she stared at me. Then, she turned and walked into her own house, leaving me at her doorstep alone.
This actually happened! And it wasn't just a turn now that I think of it...it was a pivot!! An actual ballet-step pivot that is meant to broadcast to your partner or to the audience that this body is changing course and direction. And I have to say, it made me laugh. I had just been dissed. A Southern dis.
While I knew my Mom would have been appalled that I found it funny, I did....and laugh about it to anyone and everyone I tell. She may think me the Pine Tree Killer, but she is the Human Being Rejector and I personally think that is alot worse!
Sending love from Charleston....
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Fort Sumter
So here it was, our first night to stay in our new 1840 Charleston home. We had been in Charleston for two whole days, but given the moving chaos, opted to stay in a hotel.
Amidst boxes and boxes, we carved out a civilized space in the living room where I served my best BLT (our friends Branwen and Steven had send us a wonderful gift basket from Ted's ButcherBlock, which contained some amazing artisinal bacon) and glasses of our favorite wine (La Vieille Ferme....$15.00 for a screw top 2 liter bottle that rivals, I am serious, most good Pinot Noirs around) but I digress>
As Bill literally beamed, viewing the sunset over the water right out our living room window, he said what I deemed the quote of the day: "I am awestruck that I live in viewing sight of Fort Sumter."
I was so happy for him. A long-time Civil War buff with, if truth be told, tremendous sympathies not for the cause but for the misjudged and valiant struggle the South endured. He was now in a house that had lived through the war. And, given the age of the house, we pondered what that family who were here the very first night of April 12 did and thought when their view of Charleston harbour clearly revealed the battle that started the terrible Civil War. I was silent as I watched his face think about it. Being silent comes very hard to me, and lord knows many retorts came to my head, but I am old enough to know that sometimes, regardless of my self-loving wit, keeping quiet is the best for Bill. And too, I was filled with pleasure that we could arrange our lives so he could experience this.
Then, another look overtook his face. One of horror. I said, "What? What's wrong", though panic did not set in. I"ve been married to him long enough (almost 20 years) and know that you never know how big or how small the issue that might be to case this face. It could be that he senses a leak in the gutter or it could be that he has a premonition of worldwide famine. So, again I waited. (You have to wait with Bill, because sometimes the brain/computer is on just a bit of the delay mode and if you interupt or ask again, you risk unravelling the whole thought. I have learned that patience for the electricity to flow is usually rewarded with the response. This was one of those times.)
He said, a tad bereftly, "Oh no. I misspoke. That is not Fort Sumter that we are looking at at all. No. Oh my gosh. How could I have been so wrong. It is Fort Moultrie."
Whew I silently thought. But 'whew' I didn't say. That would have been a mistake. Instead, I took his head in my hands and gently told him that 99.9% of the family and friends who will visit us will never know the difference and that it was still an incredible view." He agreed, though I could tell he was a bit dissapointed. Luckily, that passed quickly and his mood brightened as he realized that he was still only twenty steps from the ocean and that was a visual gift he would have daily. Plus, twenty more steps and he would indeed be viewing Fort Sumter!
And so, it seemed to me, that he still deserved the quote of the day and we wnet to sleep in our new/old Charleston home!
Sending love,
Amidst boxes and boxes, we carved out a civilized space in the living room where I served my best BLT (our friends Branwen and Steven had send us a wonderful gift basket from Ted's ButcherBlock, which contained some amazing artisinal bacon) and glasses of our favorite wine (La Vieille Ferme....$15.00 for a screw top 2 liter bottle that rivals, I am serious, most good Pinot Noirs around) but I digress>
As Bill literally beamed, viewing the sunset over the water right out our living room window, he said what I deemed the quote of the day: "I am awestruck that I live in viewing sight of Fort Sumter."
I was so happy for him. A long-time Civil War buff with, if truth be told, tremendous sympathies not for the cause but for the misjudged and valiant struggle the South endured. He was now in a house that had lived through the war. And, given the age of the house, we pondered what that family who were here the very first night of April 12 did and thought when their view of Charleston harbour clearly revealed the battle that started the terrible Civil War. I was silent as I watched his face think about it. Being silent comes very hard to me, and lord knows many retorts came to my head, but I am old enough to know that sometimes, regardless of my self-loving wit, keeping quiet is the best for Bill. And too, I was filled with pleasure that we could arrange our lives so he could experience this.
Then, another look overtook his face. One of horror. I said, "What? What's wrong", though panic did not set in. I"ve been married to him long enough (almost 20 years) and know that you never know how big or how small the issue that might be to case this face. It could be that he senses a leak in the gutter or it could be that he has a premonition of worldwide famine. So, again I waited. (You have to wait with Bill, because sometimes the brain/computer is on just a bit of the delay mode and if you interupt or ask again, you risk unravelling the whole thought. I have learned that patience for the electricity to flow is usually rewarded with the response. This was one of those times.)
He said, a tad bereftly, "Oh no. I misspoke. That is not Fort Sumter that we are looking at at all. No. Oh my gosh. How could I have been so wrong. It is Fort Moultrie."
Whew I silently thought. But 'whew' I didn't say. That would have been a mistake. Instead, I took his head in my hands and gently told him that 99.9% of the family and friends who will visit us will never know the difference and that it was still an incredible view." He agreed, though I could tell he was a bit dissapointed. Luckily, that passed quickly and his mood brightened as he realized that he was still only twenty steps from the ocean and that was a visual gift he would have daily. Plus, twenty more steps and he would indeed be viewing Fort Sumter!
And so, it seemed to me, that he still deserved the quote of the day and we wnet to sleep in our new/old Charleston home!
Sending love,
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Charleston, South Carolina
We, to my surprise, actually moved to Charleston, South Carolina on March 31, 2010. Actually,we really started moving here three years ago but I digress....
About three years ago, husband Bill (William to me; Bill to everyone else) pondered aloud where we would move after our Corporate careers were 'over'. Since I didn't intend for mine to be over for many years to come, it seemed like a fun exercise in 'what if'....and I found that I was oriented toward LA and ACK and he was thinking east coast but warmer...and when we played the game of what it you want in your dream place, he had the folowing list: warm, hisotic, less expensive, close enough for the kids to come, a place the kids would want to come, buying an old house would be nice and one in need of repair and renovation would be even better. Well, a few months later, on a lark Thanksgiving trip to Charleston with Claire (daughter extraordinaire), we knew we had found 'the place' or he did and I think that was enough for me. So, the seed was planted, the Greenwich house was put up for sale and we began to look at Charleston houses.
To Bill, there was just a 6 block area that fit his sensibilities....and we actually found the house that seemed to have our name written all over it about 6 months ago. In the intervening 2 and 1/2 years, much had happened. My adored parents both died, we had a fantastic wedding in our backyard for Claire, and our creative and funny daughter Nik had moved back to Greenwich....all a bit conflicting pieces....but this house in Charleston, which needed such care and renewal seemed to call us. It was small, about half the size of what we knew, and the yard was, as Bill calculated, 1/10th the size of what the dogs (Westies: Charlie and Winston) were accustomed to....but it had the potential, we thought, to be a jewel.
And on a cold day in February three events came together as if they were pre-planned and pre-ordained: I graduated from a ridiculously rigorous masters couse in Bread Baking, our home in Greenwich was rented to a wonderful London family for two years and the divorcing couple in Charleston finally put their differences aside and sold us the house we were meant to have at a price it should have been months earlier. And, before I could say, holy bread flour, we were packing (and packing and packing and packing) and got in the car and drove here. We stopped to see Johanna (my wonderfully generous sister, who always supplies us, among other things, with the best salted oatmeal cookies and a ton of loving support) and made the 14 hour trip in just two days!
About two hours out of Bethesda, a funny thing happened....the sun came out, the temperature rose to a perfect 74 and for the past 14 days we have lived what seems like a vacation. A vacation in terms of sunny weather and fun restaurants....as well as a Chevy Chase saga of mishaps.....a Seinfeld collection of characters....and plenty of signs of the Money Pit. So, I decided to try and write down the highlights.....and since they seem to make me laugh, to share it....I still hope to bakemeacareer....just now sure how yet and know that the next six months will be more renovate than innovate....more looking for that positive perspective than having perspective....so check in with me if you'd like and I will keep you apprised of our progress, or regress, whatever happens! What I do know is that Bill has not seemed this happy since the wedding.....the one in 1990!
sending love
About three years ago, husband Bill (William to me; Bill to everyone else) pondered aloud where we would move after our Corporate careers were 'over'. Since I didn't intend for mine to be over for many years to come, it seemed like a fun exercise in 'what if'....and I found that I was oriented toward LA and ACK and he was thinking east coast but warmer...and when we played the game of what it you want in your dream place, he had the folowing list: warm, hisotic, less expensive, close enough for the kids to come, a place the kids would want to come, buying an old house would be nice and one in need of repair and renovation would be even better. Well, a few months later, on a lark Thanksgiving trip to Charleston with Claire (daughter extraordinaire), we knew we had found 'the place' or he did and I think that was enough for me. So, the seed was planted, the Greenwich house was put up for sale and we began to look at Charleston houses.
To Bill, there was just a 6 block area that fit his sensibilities....and we actually found the house that seemed to have our name written all over it about 6 months ago. In the intervening 2 and 1/2 years, much had happened. My adored parents both died, we had a fantastic wedding in our backyard for Claire, and our creative and funny daughter Nik had moved back to Greenwich....all a bit conflicting pieces....but this house in Charleston, which needed such care and renewal seemed to call us. It was small, about half the size of what we knew, and the yard was, as Bill calculated, 1/10th the size of what the dogs (Westies: Charlie and Winston) were accustomed to....but it had the potential, we thought, to be a jewel.
And on a cold day in February three events came together as if they were pre-planned and pre-ordained: I graduated from a ridiculously rigorous masters couse in Bread Baking, our home in Greenwich was rented to a wonderful London family for two years and the divorcing couple in Charleston finally put their differences aside and sold us the house we were meant to have at a price it should have been months earlier. And, before I could say, holy bread flour, we were packing (and packing and packing and packing) and got in the car and drove here. We stopped to see Johanna (my wonderfully generous sister, who always supplies us, among other things, with the best salted oatmeal cookies and a ton of loving support) and made the 14 hour trip in just two days!
About two hours out of Bethesda, a funny thing happened....the sun came out, the temperature rose to a perfect 74 and for the past 14 days we have lived what seems like a vacation. A vacation in terms of sunny weather and fun restaurants....as well as a Chevy Chase saga of mishaps.....a Seinfeld collection of characters....and plenty of signs of the Money Pit. So, I decided to try and write down the highlights.....and since they seem to make me laugh, to share it....I still hope to bakemeacareer....just now sure how yet and know that the next six months will be more renovate than innovate....more looking for that positive perspective than having perspective....so check in with me if you'd like and I will keep you apprised of our progress, or regress, whatever happens! What I do know is that Bill has not seemed this happy since the wedding.....the one in 1990!
sending love
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