Last night I went to an oyster roast! It’s one of my favorite activities of the Lowcountry.
We drove down to the gazebo down by the marsh where you could harvest your own oysters. We were going to be eatin’ some mighty fresh oysters taken from the waters “right’s chear”. It was dark by the time we arrived. As I walked from the car, I could see people already huddled around the tables starting to eat. The fires were blazing and the oysters a cookin’.
What happens at an oyster roast?
Well, you stand around a wooden table that stands between chest and waist high with a big square hole cut out in the middle where you throw the shells after you are done eating. First, the cooks take shovels full of hot steaming oysters and heap them on the table. (If you are cool, you have brought your own glove and oyster knife. If not, then you can just use the community knife on the table.)
Now, what you want to do is to reach over and take one of those hot steaming oysters. Hold it firmly in your left hand while you find the slight opening between the two shells, and with your knife in your right hand, force the shell apart to find the plump, just steamed flesh inside. I like the big oysters where the meat is barely cooked, hot and moist and delicious. A couple of times I got two oysters that had fastened together, with the baby oyster on the outside, its meat firm and well-done and almost smoky tasting, like those smoked oysters my parents would put on Ritz crackers during one of their cocktail parties in the 1960s, and then the main oyster filled with the succulent meat inside, almost raw, but still cooked. The taste of the two size oysters varies so much, it’s almost as if you are eating two different dishes.
Just keep going this way until you have had enough. We had a meal served afterwards, which I don’t understand because once you have eaten your fill of oysters, there shouldn’t be much room in your tummy. Maybe some folks just don’t like oysters. I’m just not one of them.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
The African Village
Do you know that I live near an African village? It's just down the street. Really. Just across Route 17 before I take a left into the plantation. So, who says we don't have cultural diversity down here in the South?
And, I don't mean a town like Frogmore which commemorates the Gullah and Geechee cultures of Africa, I mean a real African village.
Oba Adefunmi II is the king of this Oyotunji African village. There was a picture of him in our local paper, The Beaufort Gazette. He looks young. I was expecting an older, wise-looking man, a kind of sage of the village. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but this king looks like a hip-hop artist. He's modern.
Last weekend, the village had a 3 day festival to celebrate the 50th anniversary of its founder, the current king's father, and his initiation into the Yoruba priesthood, a religion of West African descent, with origins in Nigeria. I wanted to go -- I love reggae music --, but was deterred by the stories I have heard about the place. Weird stuff happens, I was told. There are stories of psychedelic drug use, animal sacrifices, facial scarring rites and polygamy. Apparently, that was true back during the initial founding members, but could that still be true? Well, anything is possible, I guess.
According to the article in The Beaufort Gazette, "visitors still have to wind down a dirt road and still are greeted with a sign that reads 'You are now leaving the U.S. You are entering the Yoruba Kingdom...'" The founder had declared that the Oyotunji village was not part of the United States. The village was founded to establish and commemorate the ways of "the African village" and to connect people to their ancestry.
One of the major industries of this village is...producing priests. The other is hosting festivals. They have 14 a year. So, not to worry, I'll have more chances to attend. And, who knows? Maybe I'll even spend the night. The cost for a place to put your head? $10. Can't beat that!
Oh yes, in case you are interested, they are recruiting new settlers. So, if things get tough and you want to relocate to an African village in the South, or if you want to rediscover your ancestry or learn the ways of life in an African village, come on down. Just make a right off Route 17 just below where Route 17 and Route 21 split. The villagers are waiting for you...
And, I don't mean a town like Frogmore which commemorates the Gullah and Geechee cultures of Africa, I mean a real African village.
Oba Adefunmi II is the king of this Oyotunji African village. There was a picture of him in our local paper, The Beaufort Gazette. He looks young. I was expecting an older, wise-looking man, a kind of sage of the village. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but this king looks like a hip-hop artist. He's modern.
Last weekend, the village had a 3 day festival to celebrate the 50th anniversary of its founder, the current king's father, and his initiation into the Yoruba priesthood, a religion of West African descent, with origins in Nigeria. I wanted to go -- I love reggae music --, but was deterred by the stories I have heard about the place. Weird stuff happens, I was told. There are stories of psychedelic drug use, animal sacrifices, facial scarring rites and polygamy. Apparently, that was true back during the initial founding members, but could that still be true? Well, anything is possible, I guess.
According to the article in The Beaufort Gazette, "visitors still have to wind down a dirt road and still are greeted with a sign that reads 'You are now leaving the U.S. You are entering the Yoruba Kingdom...'" The founder had declared that the Oyotunji village was not part of the United States. The village was founded to establish and commemorate the ways of "the African village" and to connect people to their ancestry.
One of the major industries of this village is...producing priests. The other is hosting festivals. They have 14 a year. So, not to worry, I'll have more chances to attend. And, who knows? Maybe I'll even spend the night. The cost for a place to put your head? $10. Can't beat that!
Oh yes, in case you are interested, they are recruiting new settlers. So, if things get tough and you want to relocate to an African village in the South, or if you want to rediscover your ancestry or learn the ways of life in an African village, come on down. Just make a right off Route 17 just below where Route 17 and Route 21 split. The villagers are waiting for you...
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Oooooops! A Correction...
My husband reads my blog. Probably to make sure that I don't put in anything too incriminating about him?! :o) Either that, or he's amused by the whole thing. Or not.
He tactfully pointed out on our walk yesterday that I had a misspelling in my last post. It should have read "quail" not quails. Apparently, there is no such thing as quails.
Why not?, I wondered. One quail, two quails. One deer, two deers. One goose, two geese, One moose, two meese.
I'm starting to sound like Dr. Seuss...
He tactfully pointed out on our walk yesterday that I had a misspelling in my last post. It should have read "quail" not quails. Apparently, there is no such thing as quails.
Why not?, I wondered. One quail, two quails. One deer, two deers. One goose, two geese, One moose, two meese.
I'm starting to sound like Dr. Seuss...
Friday, February 20, 2009
Quail Experiment Failed
Last night I tried my hand experimenting with cooking quails. I modified a recipe, but used a sauce that totally overpowered the meat. Frankly, it wasn't very tasty.
Also, I wonder if it's really worth it, spending so much time preparing birds this small? There's hardly any meat on the bones. The ROI was poor. Lots of time. Little return. Almost no meat.
So, my appeal to you...does anyone out there have a good -- and relatively easy -- quail recipe? I'd sure appreciate it!
Also, I wonder if it's really worth it, spending so much time preparing birds this small? There's hardly any meat on the bones. The ROI was poor. Lots of time. Little return. Almost no meat.
So, my appeal to you...does anyone out there have a good -- and relatively easy -- quail recipe? I'd sure appreciate it!
Jobless Rate in South Carolina Close to 10%
I just read our local newspaper The Beaufort Gazette from Wednesday. The lead article reports that our state unemployment rate is the third highest in the nation -- at 9.5%, with some folks predicting that it could be as high as 14% by the end of the year.
That's bad.
I'm grateful that I am able to use my talents here to help folks think of creative ways to find work. More later...
That's bad.
I'm grateful that I am able to use my talents here to help folks think of creative ways to find work. More later...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Freezer Burn
In December, Mr. Stanley called to ask when he could bring over the processed deer meat from Landon’s successful hunting outings. He has “harvested” as they say down here, 3 deer, 2 bucks and a doe. That is a TON of deer meat. Where to put it?
Today we’ll have to clean out the freezers. What a hilarious concept! In New York, in my tiny kitchen apartment, I had a freezer which had an icebox the size of a shoebox. I could fit two ice trays, a gallon of ice cream and some assorted frozen vegetable packages. That was it. But, that was fine because I never cooked – the meals I ate consisted of dry cereal or oatmeal or a salad or Chinese takeout or sushi that I would pick up on my way home. I never needed anything from my freezer.
Here in the Low Country, it’s different. We have 4 freezers. All of them needed to be cleaned out in order to make room for the new meat.
The refrigerator freezer in the mud room contains whatever your would need to make desserts…frozen pie trays, blueberries, peach mixture, pecans, strawberries from Mr. Stanley’s garden, and a couple of cooked pies – pecan, blueberry and apple.
Our kitchen refrigerator freezer contains two entire shelves and trays of frozen vegetables that I can use in the various stews that I will be making this winter. The top shelf consists of already prepared meals – Salisbury venison steak, BBQ venison, venison stew. On the next shelf, we have easy to prepare deer meat; maple sausages, some frozen cube steaks that I use in stir fry meals. The bottom shelf drawer holds our fish, mostly catfish.
But it is the industrial size freezers in the garage that need the most work. It took me (and Miss Mary and Miss Flo) 2 hours to get them cleaned out and thawed and the contents organized. Here’s what they look like:
In the small freezer, we have birds: quail, chukka, pheasant, mallard ducks (with the heads still attached for auditing purposes?!), woodcock, wood duck, and We have 65 pounds of shrimp: 20 pounds of small/medium; 25 lbs of medium and 20 lbs of jumbo.
The large freezer is for our venison meat – we still have lots of deer for last season. I’m going to have to make a crock pot a week in order to eat all of our roasts! We have 12 venison roasts, 8 deer tenderloin, 3 backstraps , four shopping bags full of cube steak, stew meat, and then the sausages…we have maple flavored sausages, country flavored, bratwurst and regular sausages. We must have 20 packages of ground venison -- that’s a lot of hamburgers!
Guess I won’t have to go to the grocery store to buy meat – whatever happened to a simple stir fry chicken dish? :o)
Today we’ll have to clean out the freezers. What a hilarious concept! In New York, in my tiny kitchen apartment, I had a freezer which had an icebox the size of a shoebox. I could fit two ice trays, a gallon of ice cream and some assorted frozen vegetable packages. That was it. But, that was fine because I never cooked – the meals I ate consisted of dry cereal or oatmeal or a salad or Chinese takeout or sushi that I would pick up on my way home. I never needed anything from my freezer.
Here in the Low Country, it’s different. We have 4 freezers. All of them needed to be cleaned out in order to make room for the new meat.
The refrigerator freezer in the mud room contains whatever your would need to make desserts…frozen pie trays, blueberries, peach mixture, pecans, strawberries from Mr. Stanley’s garden, and a couple of cooked pies – pecan, blueberry and apple.
Our kitchen refrigerator freezer contains two entire shelves and trays of frozen vegetables that I can use in the various stews that I will be making this winter. The top shelf consists of already prepared meals – Salisbury venison steak, BBQ venison, venison stew. On the next shelf, we have easy to prepare deer meat; maple sausages, some frozen cube steaks that I use in stir fry meals. The bottom shelf drawer holds our fish, mostly catfish.
But it is the industrial size freezers in the garage that need the most work. It took me (and Miss Mary and Miss Flo) 2 hours to get them cleaned out and thawed and the contents organized. Here’s what they look like:
In the small freezer, we have birds: quail, chukka, pheasant, mallard ducks (with the heads still attached for auditing purposes?!), woodcock, wood duck, and We have 65 pounds of shrimp: 20 pounds of small/medium; 25 lbs of medium and 20 lbs of jumbo.
The large freezer is for our venison meat – we still have lots of deer for last season. I’m going to have to make a crock pot a week in order to eat all of our roasts! We have 12 venison roasts, 8 deer tenderloin, 3 backstraps , four shopping bags full of cube steak, stew meat, and then the sausages…we have maple flavored sausages, country flavored, bratwurst and regular sausages. We must have 20 packages of ground venison -- that’s a lot of hamburgers!
Guess I won’t have to go to the grocery store to buy meat – whatever happened to a simple stir fry chicken dish? :o)
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Cooking and Me
I’m becoming a good Southern girl. I am starting to cook…
What’s happening to me? When I lived in New York, sometimes, very, very rarely, I would cook for myself. If I did cook, it would be very simple. I would buy a cut of fish from the fish market – either tuna or swordfish (not very politically correct of me, I know) and would walk a couple of blocks to my local Korean deli on the corner, Annie’s, where I would usually buy 10 sugar snap peas. The number was not lost on the cashier. “You mus’ live alone,” she would say, “you only hav’ 10 peas. Ha ha.” I didn’t think it was funny.
It reminded me of the last time I bought German sausages at the famous Schaller and Weber on 86th and Second. I asked for one sausage. The man behind the counter started psycho-analyzing me, in front of his other customers, and said: “You must live alone. What’s the matter with you? You are an attractive woman. Why aren’t you married… you must hate men…” And, so on and so on and so on…” At least I don’t have to face that anymore!
When I lived in New York, dinner consisted of dry cereal, dining out, take out or delivery. Most of the time, if I was at home, I would call and have my food delivered right to my door. I wouldn’t even go and pick it up. Why should I? It was free! Pizza from Mia Pizza, salmon curry from Sala Thai, jumbo shrimp from Chef Ho’s, steamed chicken and mixed vegetables from First Wok, fish from La Mia, or tabbouleh, baba ganoush, and hummus from the Falafel House. One phone call from the couch and it would arrive, HOT, 20 minutes later, rain or shine. Now, that was great!
In New York, no one cooks. None of my friends did. Why cook when you are only cooking for yourself and you can get all sorts of delicious, ethnically diverse food. You know, now that I think about it, I lived in my two bedroom, pre-war New York apartment for 14 years and…I never used the oven. Never. I did boil water for making rice and vegetables on the stove top burners, and occasionally I would use the broiler for making my fish, but I never used the oven itself. Never.
Fast forward to today…when I first got to the Low Country, my husband had a housekeeper in the house who cooked. It’s a long story, which I will tell sometime, but she’s gone, which means I’m the one doing the cooking. It’s hilarious! Stay tuned…
What’s happening to me? When I lived in New York, sometimes, very, very rarely, I would cook for myself. If I did cook, it would be very simple. I would buy a cut of fish from the fish market – either tuna or swordfish (not very politically correct of me, I know) and would walk a couple of blocks to my local Korean deli on the corner, Annie’s, where I would usually buy 10 sugar snap peas. The number was not lost on the cashier. “You mus’ live alone,” she would say, “you only hav’ 10 peas. Ha ha.” I didn’t think it was funny.
It reminded me of the last time I bought German sausages at the famous Schaller and Weber on 86th and Second. I asked for one sausage. The man behind the counter started psycho-analyzing me, in front of his other customers, and said: “You must live alone. What’s the matter with you? You are an attractive woman. Why aren’t you married… you must hate men…” And, so on and so on and so on…” At least I don’t have to face that anymore!
When I lived in New York, dinner consisted of dry cereal, dining out, take out or delivery. Most of the time, if I was at home, I would call and have my food delivered right to my door. I wouldn’t even go and pick it up. Why should I? It was free! Pizza from Mia Pizza, salmon curry from Sala Thai, jumbo shrimp from Chef Ho’s, steamed chicken and mixed vegetables from First Wok, fish from La Mia, or tabbouleh, baba ganoush, and hummus from the Falafel House. One phone call from the couch and it would arrive, HOT, 20 minutes later, rain or shine. Now, that was great!
In New York, no one cooks. None of my friends did. Why cook when you are only cooking for yourself and you can get all sorts of delicious, ethnically diverse food. You know, now that I think about it, I lived in my two bedroom, pre-war New York apartment for 14 years and…I never used the oven. Never. I did boil water for making rice and vegetables on the stove top burners, and occasionally I would use the broiler for making my fish, but I never used the oven itself. Never.
Fast forward to today…when I first got to the Low Country, my husband had a housekeeper in the house who cooked. It’s a long story, which I will tell sometime, but she’s gone, which means I’m the one doing the cooking. It’s hilarious! Stay tuned…
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Valentine's Day!
This was our first Valentine's Day together...and my first as a non-single person. (When you are single, and especially when you are not in a relationship, Valentine's Day can be brutal, happy couples everywhere, where even dysfunctional couples feign happiness.)
We went to a really fun party. The idea was that everyone who attended would bring a poem, a song or a toast about love to share with the group. Here are some goodies from the party...don't they look fun?
It felt so special -- the house was decorated (we even had Valentine heart toilet paper in the bathroom!), fire roaring, people wearing red, delicious food, it was all so festive.
The first speech was the story about how one couple met. Then we had a poem, a song, lots of poems ranging from a poet from the Low Country to a 17th century metaphysical poet! One of the ladies wanted all of us gals to sing and dance to "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," which we did.
Landon and I danced to the Bobby Darin song MORE, which was our wedding dance, while my computer faintly put out the music and the guests tried to sing along. Landon played the guitar and sang a song which, when he sings it to me, always makes me cry. (What he didn't tell the group was that he added a verse to the song, the last verse, which he wrote for me, while on an airplane taking him to meet up with me on our first public "date," which happened to be his sister's memorial service in Boston. Landon and I have had a lot of "loss" to navigate in our relationship, but it's only made us stronger.) It was down to the final guest -- the guys at the table were teasing the last person yet to speak saying, "Wow. That's a tough act to follow. What do you have?" That's when he spoke poignantly and openly about his relationship with his wife, speaking straight from the heart, which ended up being one of the most courageous and moving sharings of the evening.
My first Valentine's Day was a winner! The best part was spending the whole day with Landon -- we had a blast -- and culminating in that very special evening with very special people. I am grateful. And, I feel SO loved.
Our Wedding Song
Thought you'd like to see the lyrics from the song we danced to at our wedding...
MORE
...Sung by Bobby Darin and written by Ortolani/Newell/Oliviero
More than the greatest love the world has known
This is the love that I give to you alone
More than the simple words I try to say
I only live to love you more each day.
More than you'll ever know
My arms long to hold you so
My life will be in your keeping
Waking, sleeping, laughing, weeping.
Longer than always is a long, long time
But far beyond forever, you'll be mine
I know I never lived before
And my heart is very sure
No one else could love you more.
More than the greatest love the world has known
This is the love that I give to you alone
More than the simple words I try to say
I only live to love you more each day.
More than you'll ever know
My arms got to hold you so
My life will be in your keeping
Waking, sleeping, laughing, weeping.
Longer than always is a long, long, long time
But far beyond forever, you'll be mine
I know I never lived before
And my heart is very sure
No one else could love you more.
MORE
...Sung by Bobby Darin and written by Ortolani/Newell/Oliviero
More than the greatest love the world has known
This is the love that I give to you alone
More than the simple words I try to say
I only live to love you more each day.
More than you'll ever know
My arms long to hold you so
My life will be in your keeping
Waking, sleeping, laughing, weeping.
Longer than always is a long, long time
But far beyond forever, you'll be mine
I know I never lived before
And my heart is very sure
No one else could love you more.
More than the greatest love the world has known
This is the love that I give to you alone
More than the simple words I try to say
I only live to love you more each day.
More than you'll ever know
My arms got to hold you so
My life will be in your keeping
Waking, sleeping, laughing, weeping.
Longer than always is a long, long, long time
But far beyond forever, you'll be mine
I know I never lived before
And my heart is very sure
No one else could love you more.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Ladies of Brays
The ladies of Brays Island have been so kind to me. In the past week, here’s is how they have reached out: (NOTE: there are many more than the women mentioned here -- I'm just covering what happened in one week's time)
Charlene gave me a brochure for a women’s group that meets in Charleston. (She’s a former New Yorker and knows how much I miss the interaction of the city, I think.)
Peggy gave me the book The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society because she thought I’d enjoy reading it. “It’s so light, she said.
Marcia invited me to participate with a group of people who have hired a special horse trainer from North Carolina because she knows that I’m just learning to ride.
Ann gave me a great book to read called Against the Tide by Harriet Keyserling, about a New York Jewish woman who came to Beaufort, SC and later became a member of the State House of Representatives. I’m on the chapter where she just leaves New York for Beaufort.
And, there are so many more...Deb, Penny, Ann, Sara, Sharon, Barbara, Marcia, Laura, Barbara, Zelda, Lainey, Susan, Janet, Mary, Linda, Marianne, Sally, Liz, Sandy, Gaye, Cathy...and on and on and on...the danger of listing is that I might have left someone out. Please forgive me if I have.
So, I’m grateful to these ladies who have all reached out in a way that has touched me. In their gift-giving, they seem to acknowledge the enormous shift in my life that has required me to leave the city that I love for the man that I love. It wasn’t much of a choice, I’m happy to be with the man I adore, but there is a sense of loss in leaving the place that still represents so much for me – hopes, dreams, aspirations, activity, creativity, friends, family, familiarity.
Small gestures like these fill the cold, dark spaces in my heart, the holes of loss, like stones from the glowing hearth, heating and bringing renewed warmth and bringing my soul peace. I am grateful.
Charlene gave me a brochure for a women’s group that meets in Charleston. (She’s a former New Yorker and knows how much I miss the interaction of the city, I think.)
Peggy gave me the book The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society because she thought I’d enjoy reading it. “It’s so light, she said.
Marcia invited me to participate with a group of people who have hired a special horse trainer from North Carolina because she knows that I’m just learning to ride.
Ann gave me a great book to read called Against the Tide by Harriet Keyserling, about a New York Jewish woman who came to Beaufort, SC and later became a member of the State House of Representatives. I’m on the chapter where she just leaves New York for Beaufort.
And, there are so many more...Deb, Penny, Ann, Sara, Sharon, Barbara, Marcia, Laura, Barbara, Zelda, Lainey, Susan, Janet, Mary, Linda, Marianne, Sally, Liz, Sandy, Gaye, Cathy...and on and on and on...the danger of listing is that I might have left someone out. Please forgive me if I have.
So, I’m grateful to these ladies who have all reached out in a way that has touched me. In their gift-giving, they seem to acknowledge the enormous shift in my life that has required me to leave the city that I love for the man that I love. It wasn’t much of a choice, I’m happy to be with the man I adore, but there is a sense of loss in leaving the place that still represents so much for me – hopes, dreams, aspirations, activity, creativity, friends, family, familiarity.
Small gestures like these fill the cold, dark spaces in my heart, the holes of loss, like stones from the glowing hearth, heating and bringing renewed warmth and bringing my soul peace. I am grateful.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Folks Down Here
...they are friendly-like. Really.
Last Sunday, I went to a Chamber Music concert with my husband, and we found ourselves seated behind Harriet Keyserling, a prominent local politician. A friend of hers and mine had given me Mrs. Keyserling's book "Against the Tide: One Woman's Political Struggle" to read recently. (She was a New York Jewish woman, educated at Barnard College in New York City, who moved to Beaufort, SC in the 1940's to be with her husband -- and this book is her story of how she got involved with local culture and later, in state politics, as a Democrat in a sea of Republicans.)
At my husband's urging, I leaned forward and tapped Mrs. Keyserling on the shoulder, introduced myself and told her how Ann had just given me the book and how I was just starting to read it and how much it resonated, as a transplanted New Yorker and political addict (and would-be activist). She said: "Well, after you finish it, why don't we have lunch?"
Now, can you imagine that happening in New York? If I tapped Betsy Gotbaum on the shoulder, would she invite me out to lunch? I think not. No comment about Betsy, just the culture in New York.
It's fun to live in a more connected community sometimes.
Here's another little anecdote: yesterday, I drove to the South Carolina Cider Company to buy some original Carolina tea for my mom and some Lowcountry goodies for mom and dad. As I was leaving, a police car had pulled a car over...right behind my car, which is a large SUV. (I used to be morally opposed to driving one of these things, but it really comes in handy when I have to drive across fields, which I do sometimes.)
Any way, I started backing up slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that a man with a Caterpillar hat was approaching my car, and he proceeded to guide me out of the parking place. No one I knew, just a helpful Southern gentleman.
Sure is different down here...
Last Sunday, I went to a Chamber Music concert with my husband, and we found ourselves seated behind Harriet Keyserling, a prominent local politician. A friend of hers and mine had given me Mrs. Keyserling's book "Against the Tide: One Woman's Political Struggle" to read recently. (She was a New York Jewish woman, educated at Barnard College in New York City, who moved to Beaufort, SC in the 1940's to be with her husband -- and this book is her story of how she got involved with local culture and later, in state politics, as a Democrat in a sea of Republicans.)
At my husband's urging, I leaned forward and tapped Mrs. Keyserling on the shoulder, introduced myself and told her how Ann had just given me the book and how I was just starting to read it and how much it resonated, as a transplanted New Yorker and political addict (and would-be activist). She said: "Well, after you finish it, why don't we have lunch?"
Now, can you imagine that happening in New York? If I tapped Betsy Gotbaum on the shoulder, would she invite me out to lunch? I think not. No comment about Betsy, just the culture in New York.
It's fun to live in a more connected community sometimes.
Here's another little anecdote: yesterday, I drove to the South Carolina Cider Company to buy some original Carolina tea for my mom and some Lowcountry goodies for mom and dad. As I was leaving, a police car had pulled a car over...right behind my car, which is a large SUV. (I used to be morally opposed to driving one of these things, but it really comes in handy when I have to drive across fields, which I do sometimes.)
Any way, I started backing up slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that a man with a Caterpillar hat was approaching my car, and he proceeded to guide me out of the parking place. No one I knew, just a helpful Southern gentleman.
Sure is different down here...
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Fried Things
In the South, they like fried food. Everything is fried. Fried chicken, fried shrimp, fried potatoes, fried okra, fried green tomatoes, fried pickles…even alligator meat is fried, fried ‘gator balls.
Yesterday I went to the local café restaurant and ordered up a “po’boy” sandwich, which turned out to be fried oysters on a roll. Appetizer? Fried pickles. Note to you Northerners: fried pickles are yummy.
But, if you don’t fry it, at least put some fat in it. Bacon drippin’s are the best. You can put them in everything. I was gonna make okra with stewed tomatoes tonight, but Miss Flo said I have to put bacon drippin’s in if it’s gonna taste any good. I once tried to make collard greens by boiling ‘em and put a vinegar and sugar sauce over them, but everyone said if they didn’t have bacon drippin’s on ‘em, they didn’t want even want to try ‘em.
Anyone have a good collard greens recipe without bacon drippins’?
Yesterday I went to the local café restaurant and ordered up a “po’boy” sandwich, which turned out to be fried oysters on a roll. Appetizer? Fried pickles. Note to you Northerners: fried pickles are yummy.
But, if you don’t fry it, at least put some fat in it. Bacon drippin’s are the best. You can put them in everything. I was gonna make okra with stewed tomatoes tonight, but Miss Flo said I have to put bacon drippin’s in if it’s gonna taste any good. I once tried to make collard greens by boiling ‘em and put a vinegar and sugar sauce over them, but everyone said if they didn’t have bacon drippin’s on ‘em, they didn’t want even want to try ‘em.
Anyone have a good collard greens recipe without bacon drippins’?
Friday, February 13, 2009
Same Day, New Thoughts
Mary has left for the day. So, have Miss Flo and Miss Jackie. My husband is at lunch with his partners. I am alone in the house. Would I be lonely?, I wondered.
I decided to take advantage of the incredible weather and beauty of the day -- and have lunch outside. As I got about half-way through my lunch -- a salad with venison meatloaf, our dog Blaze came to get some pats and loving. I finished my lunch, took the plate inside and sat with Blaze on the steps.
Blaze is an enormous dog, half-Burmese mountain dog, half-Rottweiler, and scares our handymen half to death. He has a ferocious bark, but he's the most loving dog I have ever known. So, there we were, sitting on the back steps in the Carolina sun, him leaning against me, and me petting him and that's when I realized...
....everything about my new life is love. I feel it everywhere. I am just embraced by love. I feel love from my husband, from the ladies who work in the house, from Mary, Landon's assistant, from the people here at Brays, from the gentle marsh air, from the fragrant flowers -- everything speaks to me of love. And, suddenly I realize, I am happy.
I just need to establish new rhythms in my life to take care of the needs I have, that's all. When I was in New York, I developed a pattern of going out and doing things...because I was alone and I could. But, I longed for a life-partner, a husband, a soul mate, with whom I could share and enjoy life. Now I have that so it's silly to think that the same strategies that I employed as a single person would work for me know, being married.
I need to be in touch with bright, fun, thoughtful, spiritual women. So, I need to find a way to do that regularly.
I need to find ways to learn new things. I need to develop a kind of discipline to learn about the history surrounding my life here, to visit plantations, to understand the new cultures, like Gullah and Geechee African based cultures.
I love music -- and that's why Landon and I go out to hear NYC sponsored Chamber Music. And, we need to find another Blues Club now that the Brewery has closed.
I love to dance -- and I have looked into the schedules of the Savannah Swing Group and the Charleston Swing.
I love to ice skate -- and when Richie and I figure out what happened to my figure skates (lost in the mail?) I will make regular time to skate again.
I want to learn how to horseback ride. So, I just need to make time to take lessons.
I would like to get to know more folks here at Brays. So, I will make time to visit with them.
I have always dreamed of having a power boat and being able to water ski and take the boat to islands. I can do that here!
There are so many possibilities -- and if I focus on all of the options available to me, I am thrilled and excited. If I focus on what I don't have, I am miserable and sad.
My focus for the next month will be to get the house in order, to get my office in order and to create a foundation so that I can start living my life.
What do you think?
I decided to take advantage of the incredible weather and beauty of the day -- and have lunch outside. As I got about half-way through my lunch -- a salad with venison meatloaf, our dog Blaze came to get some pats and loving. I finished my lunch, took the plate inside and sat with Blaze on the steps.
Blaze is an enormous dog, half-Burmese mountain dog, half-Rottweiler, and scares our handymen half to death. He has a ferocious bark, but he's the most loving dog I have ever known. So, there we were, sitting on the back steps in the Carolina sun, him leaning against me, and me petting him and that's when I realized...
....everything about my new life is love. I feel it everywhere. I am just embraced by love. I feel love from my husband, from the ladies who work in the house, from Mary, Landon's assistant, from the people here at Brays, from the gentle marsh air, from the fragrant flowers -- everything speaks to me of love. And, suddenly I realize, I am happy.
I just need to establish new rhythms in my life to take care of the needs I have, that's all. When I was in New York, I developed a pattern of going out and doing things...because I was alone and I could. But, I longed for a life-partner, a husband, a soul mate, with whom I could share and enjoy life. Now I have that so it's silly to think that the same strategies that I employed as a single person would work for me know, being married.
I need to be in touch with bright, fun, thoughtful, spiritual women. So, I need to find a way to do that regularly.
I need to find ways to learn new things. I need to develop a kind of discipline to learn about the history surrounding my life here, to visit plantations, to understand the new cultures, like Gullah and Geechee African based cultures.
I love music -- and that's why Landon and I go out to hear NYC sponsored Chamber Music. And, we need to find another Blues Club now that the Brewery has closed.
I love to dance -- and I have looked into the schedules of the Savannah Swing Group and the Charleston Swing.
I love to ice skate -- and when Richie and I figure out what happened to my figure skates (lost in the mail?) I will make regular time to skate again.
I want to learn how to horseback ride. So, I just need to make time to take lessons.
I would like to get to know more folks here at Brays. So, I will make time to visit with them.
I have always dreamed of having a power boat and being able to water ski and take the boat to islands. I can do that here!
There are so many possibilities -- and if I focus on all of the options available to me, I am thrilled and excited. If I focus on what I don't have, I am miserable and sad.
My focus for the next month will be to get the house in order, to get my office in order and to create a foundation so that I can start living my life.
What do you think?
The Pendulum: Feeling Joy, Feeling Grief and Feelings in Between
Writing this blog is really very cathartic. I love being able to journal my feelings online. Hope this doesn't seem too self-indulgent to you.
I'm having a difficult time this week.
On the one hand, I feel like the most blessed individual on earth. Yesterday, it was 75 degrees, spring was in the air, and I was driving down Route 17, windows down, radio blaring and I was singing (and at one point, also driving 72 mph!) I felt the hormones kick in, like they used to in high school, and I felt young again. Spring is here! You can smell it in the air and see it in the light -- it's like someone turned on a spotlight in the sky -- and I feel things stirring in the earth. The birds are singing earlier in the morning, and I hear different songs. The snowbirds must be beginning to return north.
On the other hand, I really, really, really miss New York. And, here's the strange part. I miss it, but don't feel the need to fly up there. I was supposed to fly up to NYC next week, when my husband will be up there, but don't feel compelled to travel as I was just there. How can I really miss New York and yet not feel the desire be there? It doesn't make sense.
I guess I miss my old life. And, Landon, if you are reading this, it doesn't mean that I don't love you or that I want my old life back. I love you and feel happy beyond belief to be with you. But, I do miss my life.
I miss being able to go out to Brighton Beach on the W train if I felt the need to go out of Manhattan. I miss being able to hop a train and go out to Astoria Queens so that I can sit at Lefkos Bakery and eat my favorite baklava. I miss being able to work inside all day and then sit in a Starbucks and watch the world go by. I miss being able to walk down the street to the 92nd Street Y and hear Bill Clinton speak or Paul Krugman or David McCullough or whoever. I miss being able to go out to dance for hours to a swing band. I miss going to Carnegie Hall on a whim. I miss being able to go to a conference, meeting someone and following up and having coffee with them at a later date. I miss not knowing what might be lying right around the corner. I miss all the boroughs I didn't get to explore. I miss the creativity, the energy, the people of New York. I miss my life.
I guess this is the grieving process -- grieving for what was lost and left behind. What is so strange to me is that I willingly left this behind to be with Landon, I am happy in my new life, it has lots of new things to discover, new people to meet, new activities to learn.
At this point, I don't really know what to do. I feel the need to dig in and to nest into my new life. There are still rooms that need painting (more on that saga in another post), pictures that need hanging, boxes that still need to be unpacked. And, my office is a disaster. I really need to create a sense of order there...that's why I'm staying home while Landon will be in New York. I want to invest my energy here. Is all of this activity a diversion? It doesn't feel that way. It just feels like I need to make a commitment to my new life, which is here. I guess I am still in transition -- leaving the old and embracing the new.
I knew when I came down here that it would be different. And, I knew that if I tried to compare my new life with my old, I would be unhappy because they aren't comparative -- they are too different. So, I made the decision that I was going to be happy, and I am. But letting go is hard to do.
Any suggestions? Please comment. I'm listening...Thanks.
I'm having a difficult time this week.
On the one hand, I feel like the most blessed individual on earth. Yesterday, it was 75 degrees, spring was in the air, and I was driving down Route 17, windows down, radio blaring and I was singing (and at one point, also driving 72 mph!) I felt the hormones kick in, like they used to in high school, and I felt young again. Spring is here! You can smell it in the air and see it in the light -- it's like someone turned on a spotlight in the sky -- and I feel things stirring in the earth. The birds are singing earlier in the morning, and I hear different songs. The snowbirds must be beginning to return north.
On the other hand, I really, really, really miss New York. And, here's the strange part. I miss it, but don't feel the need to fly up there. I was supposed to fly up to NYC next week, when my husband will be up there, but don't feel compelled to travel as I was just there. How can I really miss New York and yet not feel the desire be there? It doesn't make sense.
I guess I miss my old life. And, Landon, if you are reading this, it doesn't mean that I don't love you or that I want my old life back. I love you and feel happy beyond belief to be with you. But, I do miss my life.
I miss being able to go out to Brighton Beach on the W train if I felt the need to go out of Manhattan. I miss being able to hop a train and go out to Astoria Queens so that I can sit at Lefkos Bakery and eat my favorite baklava. I miss being able to work inside all day and then sit in a Starbucks and watch the world go by. I miss being able to walk down the street to the 92nd Street Y and hear Bill Clinton speak or Paul Krugman or David McCullough or whoever. I miss being able to go out to dance for hours to a swing band. I miss going to Carnegie Hall on a whim. I miss being able to go to a conference, meeting someone and following up and having coffee with them at a later date. I miss not knowing what might be lying right around the corner. I miss all the boroughs I didn't get to explore. I miss the creativity, the energy, the people of New York. I miss my life.
I guess this is the grieving process -- grieving for what was lost and left behind. What is so strange to me is that I willingly left this behind to be with Landon, I am happy in my new life, it has lots of new things to discover, new people to meet, new activities to learn.
At this point, I don't really know what to do. I feel the need to dig in and to nest into my new life. There are still rooms that need painting (more on that saga in another post), pictures that need hanging, boxes that still need to be unpacked. And, my office is a disaster. I really need to create a sense of order there...that's why I'm staying home while Landon will be in New York. I want to invest my energy here. Is all of this activity a diversion? It doesn't feel that way. It just feels like I need to make a commitment to my new life, which is here. I guess I am still in transition -- leaving the old and embracing the new.
I knew when I came down here that it would be different. And, I knew that if I tried to compare my new life with my old, I would be unhappy because they aren't comparative -- they are too different. So, I made the decision that I was going to be happy, and I am. But letting go is hard to do.
Any suggestions? Please comment. I'm listening...Thanks.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Yea! I Won the Bid!!!
In January, I submitted a proposal to do some training programs for a federally funded state program that helps people who have lost their jobs.
So, in two weeks, I'll be doing "my thing", teaching others How to Cope with Job Loss and Staying Motivated. I'll let you know how it goes...
So, in two weeks, I'll be doing "my thing", teaching others How to Cope with Job Loss and Staying Motivated. I'll let you know how it goes...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Guess Which Restaurant?
Last week, when in New York, I had lunch in a very famous restaurant.
As I was leaving, I decided to use the ladies' powder room.
Here's some decor from inside...do you know the restaurant? Please write me if you know...
PS. I will share the answer in the Comments section...
Monday, February 9, 2009
Valentine's Ball
Saturday night was the Beaufort Memorial Hospital Valentine Ball. Landon and I were to be guests of the Thompsons, an obstetrician/gynecologist and her anesthesiologist husband, who also happens to be a gourmet chef.
We looked great, me in my red strapless velvet gown and Landon in his tux. Gee, I hadn't seen him in his tux since our wedding. :o) Didn't he look great?The food was beyond delicious -- Gary had carefully planned the meal, and before every course, gave a full description of what we would be eating, including the wine selection. We had fresh tuna appetizers; butternut squash soup with candied ginger; filet mignon (cooked to perfection) with a smoked cream sauce, gnocchi and beans. Yum. Boy, was it good!
By far, one of the high points of the evening was the woman who was sitting to my right. During the dinner, she told me her life story, how she was pre-med, not enjoying studies and contemplating life tethered to a "beeper," when the nurses in the hospital she was working in told her all about their Caribbean vacation at Club Med, how they went on a trapeze and how much fun it was, and how they thought, as a gymnast, she would love it. Well, she was so good at it that Club Med hired her to be part of a circus and she was one of the trapeze artists! She assured me that she was working with highly educated people, her fellow trapeze artist a fellow physics major, and that she traveled in style. After her boyfriend (who has since become her husband) approached her in the circus tent with 2 dozen roses and implored her to come home, she did...and started a clown school for kids. There, she taught the kids how to make up their faces, how to have pie throwing contests, and how to make up their parent's faces. Now she is a mom of 5, all of them under the age of 8. What a hoot!
So, to all of you Yankees out there who think that you can't meet interesting people in the South, I give you Exhibit A. People down here are interesting, open and friendly...and most of them are...characters.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
I'm Baaaaaaack......
OK, I'm back...back to the rhythms of my life.
Yesterday Landon and I took a long, 5 - 6 mile walk in the sunshine on one of those million dollar Carolina days. We saw lots of birds that are migrating -- great whites and little whites and blue herons and and egrets and ibis and American coots ("medium-sized, chicken-like swimming bird" says Whatbird.com) and hooded mergansers. It was the kind of day where it seemed like a spotlight had been turned on...everything is brighter and I could smell spring in the air. Now, it seems a little strange to smell spring so early, after all, it is early February, but after the snow and ice of the North, I welcomed it. It was a truly glorious day!
I played with Xena, throwing her red ball over and over and over, and rubbed Blaze's belly while he breathed deeply and I felt the warm sun's rays on my face. More glorious...
And, then Landon and I drove the pickup truck to the mailroom to get the mail, stopped by a dike to cast some lines into the water, hoping that we could snag a flounder or redfish, but the tide was down and the wind against us, and finally on to Comet the Wonder Horse to feed him some carrots. He was filthy, having rolled in the dirt. Looks like he's none the worse for the wear, living in the pasture, rather than the stables.
It was a wonderful day, back in the Lowcountry. I didn't miss the city one bit!
Yesterday Landon and I took a long, 5 - 6 mile walk in the sunshine on one of those million dollar Carolina days. We saw lots of birds that are migrating -- great whites and little whites and blue herons and and egrets and ibis and American coots ("medium-sized, chicken-like swimming bird" says Whatbird.com) and hooded mergansers. It was the kind of day where it seemed like a spotlight had been turned on...everything is brighter and I could smell spring in the air. Now, it seems a little strange to smell spring so early, after all, it is early February, but after the snow and ice of the North, I welcomed it. It was a truly glorious day!
I played with Xena, throwing her red ball over and over and over, and rubbed Blaze's belly while he breathed deeply and I felt the warm sun's rays on my face. More glorious...
And, then Landon and I drove the pickup truck to the mailroom to get the mail, stopped by a dike to cast some lines into the water, hoping that we could snag a flounder or redfish, but the tide was down and the wind against us, and finally on to Comet the Wonder Horse to feed him some carrots. He was filthy, having rolled in the dirt. Looks like he's none the worse for the wear, living in the pasture, rather than the stables.
It was a wonderful day, back in the Lowcountry. I didn't miss the city one bit!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Note To My Readers
I'm sorry that I've been slow with the postings, especially since I promised I would post every day. Thank you for being patient with me. You'll see that today I've posted a bunch of new postings today. About 10 days worth. Enjoy!
"Either / Or" versus "And"
I'm back in my home with my husband -- the dogs were happy to see me, particularly Blaze who practically bowled me over when he saw me get out of the car. Xena is much better behaved.
And, I was happy to see Landon. It seems like forever that we were together, even though it was only a week.
Sitting in our den, in front of the fire this morning, I'm thinking about yesterday's post and how part of me felt torn about leaving New York and coming home.
Maybe it doesn't have to be an either / or. Maybe my life can include "and." I live in South Carolina AND New York. Instead of choosing, maybe I can choose to have both. I'll never give up my love affair with New York, it's just ingrained in me. But, accepting that, I can also choose to embrace my new life and be open to different experiences. That sure feels better than having to choose one over the other. I feel much better...
It's the transitions that are difficult. When I first got to NYC, I felt like a tourist. I saw the grafetti, looked at people when I passed them, I might even have mumbled a "hi", much to the consternation of those around me. I hope they thought I was just muttering. Up there, that's more acceptable than being friendly.
Then I got back to the South and heard a "Thank you Ma'am" and "Have a good day", both of which sounded really strange to these ears which had been in Northern territory for a week.
So, I am accepting that I can have both worlds, both places which I love. Now I'll work on easing the transition between them so that it doesn't feel like I'm leaving the earth's atmosphere and re-entering, which is how it feels to me at the moment.
Do you have any suggestions for me? Anything that might make the transitions easier? I'm all ears...please feel free to comment. I love listening to my readers.
And, I was happy to see Landon. It seems like forever that we were together, even though it was only a week.
Sitting in our den, in front of the fire this morning, I'm thinking about yesterday's post and how part of me felt torn about leaving New York and coming home.
Maybe it doesn't have to be an either / or. Maybe my life can include "and." I live in South Carolina AND New York. Instead of choosing, maybe I can choose to have both. I'll never give up my love affair with New York, it's just ingrained in me. But, accepting that, I can also choose to embrace my new life and be open to different experiences. That sure feels better than having to choose one over the other. I feel much better...
It's the transitions that are difficult. When I first got to NYC, I felt like a tourist. I saw the grafetti, looked at people when I passed them, I might even have mumbled a "hi", much to the consternation of those around me. I hope they thought I was just muttering. Up there, that's more acceptable than being friendly.
Then I got back to the South and heard a "Thank you Ma'am" and "Have a good day", both of which sounded really strange to these ears which had been in Northern territory for a week.
So, I am accepting that I can have both worlds, both places which I love. Now I'll work on easing the transition between them so that it doesn't feel like I'm leaving the earth's atmosphere and re-entering, which is how it feels to me at the moment.
Do you have any suggestions for me? Anything that might make the transitions easier? I'm all ears...please feel free to comment. I love listening to my readers.
Friday, February 6, 2009
In A New York State of Mind
I’ve just arrived at LaGuardia Airport for my flight to Charleston, and I feel like I’m going home, home because home is where the heart is and my heart is always with Landon. I long to feel the rhythm of my new life in the South, a rhythm that is so closely tied to the patterns of the land.
And yet, and yet…the lure of the city beckons. I can’t get over my love affair with New York. I can remember when I was a kid, standing in front of the clock in Grand Central, waiting for my dad, and telling myself then that I knew I wanted to live in New York. And, live there I did. For 23 years.
New York City is one of the most ethnically diverse places in the world, with Brooklyn boasting more than 160 ethnicities and Jackson Heights even more. I love the city’s harmonious diversity.
When sitting on the subway, I marvel at the faces I see across from me – from Mexico, Gambia, Serbia, Korea, Croatia, China, Vietnam, Poland, along with the Irish-Americans, Italian-Americans, Jewish, Catholic and WASPs – all mingling together, a smorgasbord of nationalities, religions, languages and dialects in one place. It’s fantastic.
Why do they come? Why are people attracted to New York? For the vibrancy, the energy, the creativity, the possibility, the opportunities. The dream. “If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere,” sings Frankie and we all try to make it here. Some do and some don’t, but most of us try. Us. Hmmmm. I still see myself as part of it. The aspirational motivation that defines New York.
New York is a walking city. I used to walk everywhere to get around – to the subway, to the park, to work, from work, to the store, to restaurants, to my friends’ places, to parties, to museums, to ice skating, to coffee shops, to bookstores. It’s all about walking. Because you never know what you’ll see or what you’ll stumble upon.
The singular thing that most tourists miss about the city is that New York is a city of neighborhoods. I have lived in several different ones. When I first came to the city, I lived in the West Village which was local and full of artisans and merchants and less trendy than it is now; up to Spanish Harlem where our local Cuban wine merchant closed at 6 pm on Fridays so that we could try his new bottles; to all over the Upper West Side, from 73rd to 89th and always between Central Park West and Broadway. At one point, I was moving every nine months.
In my last West Side apartment, I lived with my college roommate, Karen. We had an incredible place – with two bedrooms, two baths, a fireplace and most of all, an outside garden which Karen took care to plant because even though she was an investment banker, she had studied to be a landscape architect. I was subletting from her roommate who had just gotten married. Unfortunately, she decided that she wanted to have a toe-hold in the city and that I would have to move. And, that’s when it happened. I had to move to the East Side.
There is a HUGE rivalry between the Upper West Side of Manhattan and the Upper East Side, a divide which few overcome. There is a kind of unwritten understanding that if you live on the West Side, you would never consider living on the East Side (even though it’s just across the park). Moving from one “Side” to the other is like switching your loyalty from the NY Yankees to the Boston Red Sox. It just isn’t done.
Initially, I was devastated. But, eventually, I learned to like the East Side, and even decided that I preferred to live there. There were more dry cleaners, supermarkets…it was just easier to live day-to-day. Once I got there, I never left. Until now.
So, now I’m living in the South. It’s strange because the Lowcountry, while gorgeous and inviting, doesn’t feel like home. It feels like a pretty place where I live, and the people are kind, but it lacks the kind of deep resonance with my soul. Or, who knows? I’m writing this on the plane as it takes me from my city to the country. Perhaps, as Billy Joel writes, I’m just in “a New York state of mind.”
And yet, and yet…the lure of the city beckons. I can’t get over my love affair with New York. I can remember when I was a kid, standing in front of the clock in Grand Central, waiting for my dad, and telling myself then that I knew I wanted to live in New York. And, live there I did. For 23 years.
New York City is one of the most ethnically diverse places in the world, with Brooklyn boasting more than 160 ethnicities and Jackson Heights even more. I love the city’s harmonious diversity.
When sitting on the subway, I marvel at the faces I see across from me – from Mexico, Gambia, Serbia, Korea, Croatia, China, Vietnam, Poland, along with the Irish-Americans, Italian-Americans, Jewish, Catholic and WASPs – all mingling together, a smorgasbord of nationalities, religions, languages and dialects in one place. It’s fantastic.
Why do they come? Why are people attracted to New York? For the vibrancy, the energy, the creativity, the possibility, the opportunities. The dream. “If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere,” sings Frankie and we all try to make it here. Some do and some don’t, but most of us try. Us. Hmmmm. I still see myself as part of it. The aspirational motivation that defines New York.
New York is a walking city. I used to walk everywhere to get around – to the subway, to the park, to work, from work, to the store, to restaurants, to my friends’ places, to parties, to museums, to ice skating, to coffee shops, to bookstores. It’s all about walking. Because you never know what you’ll see or what you’ll stumble upon.
The singular thing that most tourists miss about the city is that New York is a city of neighborhoods. I have lived in several different ones. When I first came to the city, I lived in the West Village which was local and full of artisans and merchants and less trendy than it is now; up to Spanish Harlem where our local Cuban wine merchant closed at 6 pm on Fridays so that we could try his new bottles; to all over the Upper West Side, from 73rd to 89th and always between Central Park West and Broadway. At one point, I was moving every nine months.
In my last West Side apartment, I lived with my college roommate, Karen. We had an incredible place – with two bedrooms, two baths, a fireplace and most of all, an outside garden which Karen took care to plant because even though she was an investment banker, she had studied to be a landscape architect. I was subletting from her roommate who had just gotten married. Unfortunately, she decided that she wanted to have a toe-hold in the city and that I would have to move. And, that’s when it happened. I had to move to the East Side.
There is a HUGE rivalry between the Upper West Side of Manhattan and the Upper East Side, a divide which few overcome. There is a kind of unwritten understanding that if you live on the West Side, you would never consider living on the East Side (even though it’s just across the park). Moving from one “Side” to the other is like switching your loyalty from the NY Yankees to the Boston Red Sox. It just isn’t done.
Initially, I was devastated. But, eventually, I learned to like the East Side, and even decided that I preferred to live there. There were more dry cleaners, supermarkets…it was just easier to live day-to-day. Once I got there, I never left. Until now.
So, now I’m living in the South. It’s strange because the Lowcountry, while gorgeous and inviting, doesn’t feel like home. It feels like a pretty place where I live, and the people are kind, but it lacks the kind of deep resonance with my soul. Or, who knows? I’m writing this on the plane as it takes me from my city to the country. Perhaps, as Billy Joel writes, I’m just in “a New York state of mind.”
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Text Message From A Pig Stand...
Last night, while I was taking the commuter train from New York City to Connecticut, as I watched the tall lit-up buildings fade from sight, and moving over the East River, I received the following text message from my husband...
"Hey Baby, I'm sitting in the stand waiting for the pigs to show up. Just for hoots I thought I'd test u 2 tell u I luv u. XOXOXOXOxo"
Just an illustration of how far apart my two worlds can seem sometimes. The juxtaposition was hilarious!
"Hey Baby, I'm sitting in the stand waiting for the pigs to show up. Just for hoots I thought I'd test u 2 tell u I luv u. XOXOXOXOxo"
Just an illustration of how far apart my two worlds can seem sometimes. The juxtaposition was hilarious!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Slippers - Out of Synch
My mother wanted to give me a pair of new slippers that she had purchased from a fancy store in town that is closing.
I am sure that the designer of these slippers could be a very nice person and the slippers were warm and attractive, but I couldn’t help noticing the out-of-step message that was written on the tag, given today’s economic times.
“My collection of unique styling boasts the finest in leathers, luxurious fabrics and trims from around the world creating a line desirable and hard to resist…a line full of life and as passionate and fiery as all that personifies me. Comfort and ensured fit indulgent to the luxury of “lasting” make my slipper collection a necessary amenity to be embraced by women of distinction everywhere! Status for today’s empowered woman!”
Say what?
I am sure that the designer of these slippers could be a very nice person and the slippers were warm and attractive, but I couldn’t help noticing the out-of-step message that was written on the tag, given today’s economic times.
“My collection of unique styling boasts the finest in leathers, luxurious fabrics and trims from around the world creating a line desirable and hard to resist…a line full of life and as passionate and fiery as all that personifies me. Comfort and ensured fit indulgent to the luxury of “lasting” make my slipper collection a necessary amenity to be embraced by women of distinction everywhere! Status for today’s empowered woman!”
Say what?
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I Love to Shovel Snow!
I love to shovel snow. It's true...
Today it snowed for most of the day and we got about 4 inches of light, fluffy snow. So, after my meetings in New York, I took the train home and walked home from the station in the snow. It was still coming down...
When I got to my parent's house, I felt inspired to shovel. So, I put down my bags and started to shovel. First, a line up the middle of the driveway, then shovelling left, then to the right, halfway up the driveway and then working the street back. It was SO much fun. I guess it was fun because I only had to do it once, instead of all through the winter, and I choose to do it. But, I've got to tell you, it was a blast.And, just look at how beautiful this dogwood tree is in the snow with its lacy covering.
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Housing Market -- Up Close and Personal
My parents are moving to Chicago to be in an independent living place. We are thrilled for them that they found a place that everyone likes, including my mom.
Their house is on the market – we put it on priced to sell. It’s on for $100,000 below the appraised value.
Here’s the thing: they can’t move into the new place without either selling the house or getting interim financing. So, I decided to visit some local banks to talk to them about our borrowing need. Yes, in this market. I felt like a walking statistic.
I visited with 4 banks – and basically told them that we wanted an interest only, two-year term loan (bridge loan?) of a certain amount, secured by the house. I also communicated to them my parents’ investments and monthly fixed and investment income. Here’s the outcome of those conversations:
Bank #1: The woman was delightfully friendly, but informed me that the only type of loan or financing they could provide was a home equity loan and because the house was on the market, she couldn’t provide it. Apparently, if we had asked for this before the house went on the market…no problem. She went on to explain that a home equity loan was considered to be a long-term loan and the bank was afraid that they would lose money on the loan if we sold our house next month. I offered to pay a pre-payment penalty. No can do, she said.
Bank #2: I went to the bank where my parents had done business for over 30 years. “Oh, you want a home equity loan? I’m sorry, we don’t do those if your house is on the market,” the bank manager said. Really, I thought? Because I spoke to someone else in your bank who was willing to write the loan for me – I even have the papers – but am not interested because the loan rate was prime + 2. That’s too much. Oh yeah, and I can’t stand that the guy calls me “hon” whenever I call.
Bank #3: This bank is a newly-formed local bank. I went to speak to a loan officer in my hometown, based on a referral I received from Bank #1. The guy listened intently to my story, told me of another customer he had helped in a similar situation, and went to find out whether he could obtain the approval to do the loan (because the house is on the market.) They are willing to do it. I’m thrilled – and their rate is below prime. He gave me the application form and told me that they could have an answer to us in a week. I now understand the value of “going local.”
Bank #4: I was tired and hungry (it was 3:30 pm and I hadn’t had lunch) but I decided to go to one more bank. So, I walked in. This bank was a little scruffy, and dirty, but the woman at the information desk was friendly and helpful so I didn’t mind. She brought me to the bank manager, a plump, unkempt woman, obviously a smoker. I thought to myself: don’t judge, she could be “the one” and, sure enough, she was great! I watched her face intensely focus as I was explaining the situation. She told me her bank wouldn’t do a home equity loan if the house was on the market, but that if I would take the house off the market for a week before I called her, she would write up the loan and it would take 2 – 3 weeks to get it approved.
So, there you have it. One bank with with an unequivocal “NO”, one bank with a "yes" and a "no", one bank with a creative approach and a banker with enough common sense to see that she could find a way to do a loan and make money for her bank (and help us in the process). I was so unimpressed with the lack of creativity and business initiative of these banks, and their bureaucratic bankers. It’s no wonder that the banks are in trouble. What I found was that if they didn’t have a bank “product” that met my need, they were unwilling, or unable, to help me. Don’t they understand that the market has changed? They still have a policy on the books that they can’t do home equity loans if the house is on the market because they are afraid that the house will sell quickly and they won’t be able to get a return on their money.
Hey banks – I have some advice for you. Instead of finding ways to say “no” and losing out on making some money, why don’t you look for a way to make such a loan profitable for you? All you have to do is to impose a pre-payment fee. Make it 1%. That will more than cover your costs and still allow you to make money on top of that. Wake up!
Their house is on the market – we put it on priced to sell. It’s on for $100,000 below the appraised value.
Here’s the thing: they can’t move into the new place without either selling the house or getting interim financing. So, I decided to visit some local banks to talk to them about our borrowing need. Yes, in this market. I felt like a walking statistic.
I visited with 4 banks – and basically told them that we wanted an interest only, two-year term loan (bridge loan?) of a certain amount, secured by the house. I also communicated to them my parents’ investments and monthly fixed and investment income. Here’s the outcome of those conversations:
Bank #1: The woman was delightfully friendly, but informed me that the only type of loan or financing they could provide was a home equity loan and because the house was on the market, she couldn’t provide it. Apparently, if we had asked for this before the house went on the market…no problem. She went on to explain that a home equity loan was considered to be a long-term loan and the bank was afraid that they would lose money on the loan if we sold our house next month. I offered to pay a pre-payment penalty. No can do, she said.
Bank #2: I went to the bank where my parents had done business for over 30 years. “Oh, you want a home equity loan? I’m sorry, we don’t do those if your house is on the market,” the bank manager said. Really, I thought? Because I spoke to someone else in your bank who was willing to write the loan for me – I even have the papers – but am not interested because the loan rate was prime + 2. That’s too much. Oh yeah, and I can’t stand that the guy calls me “hon” whenever I call.
Bank #3: This bank is a newly-formed local bank. I went to speak to a loan officer in my hometown, based on a referral I received from Bank #1. The guy listened intently to my story, told me of another customer he had helped in a similar situation, and went to find out whether he could obtain the approval to do the loan (because the house is on the market.) They are willing to do it. I’m thrilled – and their rate is below prime. He gave me the application form and told me that they could have an answer to us in a week. I now understand the value of “going local.”
Bank #4: I was tired and hungry (it was 3:30 pm and I hadn’t had lunch) but I decided to go to one more bank. So, I walked in. This bank was a little scruffy, and dirty, but the woman at the information desk was friendly and helpful so I didn’t mind. She brought me to the bank manager, a plump, unkempt woman, obviously a smoker. I thought to myself: don’t judge, she could be “the one” and, sure enough, she was great! I watched her face intensely focus as I was explaining the situation. She told me her bank wouldn’t do a home equity loan if the house was on the market, but that if I would take the house off the market for a week before I called her, she would write up the loan and it would take 2 – 3 weeks to get it approved.
So, there you have it. One bank with with an unequivocal “NO”, one bank with a "yes" and a "no", one bank with a creative approach and a banker with enough common sense to see that she could find a way to do a loan and make money for her bank (and help us in the process). I was so unimpressed with the lack of creativity and business initiative of these banks, and their bureaucratic bankers. It’s no wonder that the banks are in trouble. What I found was that if they didn’t have a bank “product” that met my need, they were unwilling, or unable, to help me. Don’t they understand that the market has changed? They still have a policy on the books that they can’t do home equity loans if the house is on the market because they are afraid that the house will sell quickly and they won’t be able to get a return on their money.
Hey banks – I have some advice for you. Instead of finding ways to say “no” and losing out on making some money, why don’t you look for a way to make such a loan profitable for you? All you have to do is to impose a pre-payment fee. Make it 1%. That will more than cover your costs and still allow you to make money on top of that. Wake up!
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