October 14th, 05
God Help Me~~ this is probably the last free blog I write....at least, here on Mermaids.
You see, she is moving....stretching, basking, fingering her pearls, ready to go to new seas.
I hate that people anaylse and fret over this plain mermaids journey. Time to find another pearl.
A secret pearl. One that is not shucked, one harder to find.
I am scared., going to a STUPID (fear talking) writer's conference.
What is a writer? I guess it's just someone who loves to write.
that i Do.
see you soon. Pray for me.
Facing my demons, needing prayer.
Don't worry, I will remember you.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Monday, October 03, 2005
October 3rd~~
I just published my last two columns for the Gazette., and really did it because I know my brother and sister read it faithfully every week, even (imagine that!) look forward to it.
Guess a few other people that love me read it, too. It led me to think about my life, and how tightly my brother and sisters and I are bonded.
Bonded in pain and tragedy, that's true. Bonded in love, also true. Neither of those things are portrayed to the world, if you were to see a photograph of the four of us together...all you would see is well dressed, smiling, group of people, obviously enjoying each other's company.
You wouldn't see my older sister, picking out our mother's casket at 17. You wouldn't see her the epitome of strength until she got to the viewing of her body, when she fainted dead away.
You wouldn't see my little sister, beating her head senselessly against the steps leading upstairs, as she wept when our father died. Nor would you see me, only 11, rocking her, telling her it would be okay.
You wouldn't see our brother, the baby, fiercely protected by his big sisters, determined to be his mother, father, and any other damn thing he needed, as a baby orphaned by age 7.
You wouldn't see a home ripped apart, with vulturistic relatives "shopping" our parent's belongings, while we were delegated to a home far away, in a hostile land.
Why do i bring these things up? I guess it's time to exhume the dead. Perform an autopsy. Because sure as I am standing here, the dead are still alive, to me.
Today I weep. I am the emotional one, I cry for us all. My tears don't pay the bills, they don't make me successful, they keep me balanced precariously on the edge of victimhood and martrydom...both empty platforms to live on.
But they have given me the ability to write...write what other's who are more sensible, more successful, will not reveal, because it costs too much.
Guess today, I just weep. I long for the security of my father's arms, the love in my mother's eyes. All four of us have figured out how to find that security, find that love. Today, though, I can't find either...but, there is always tomorrow. Later.
I just published my last two columns for the Gazette., and really did it because I know my brother and sister read it faithfully every week, even (imagine that!) look forward to it.
Guess a few other people that love me read it, too. It led me to think about my life, and how tightly my brother and sisters and I are bonded.
Bonded in pain and tragedy, that's true. Bonded in love, also true. Neither of those things are portrayed to the world, if you were to see a photograph of the four of us together...all you would see is well dressed, smiling, group of people, obviously enjoying each other's company.
You wouldn't see my older sister, picking out our mother's casket at 17. You wouldn't see her the epitome of strength until she got to the viewing of her body, when she fainted dead away.
You wouldn't see my little sister, beating her head senselessly against the steps leading upstairs, as she wept when our father died. Nor would you see me, only 11, rocking her, telling her it would be okay.
You wouldn't see our brother, the baby, fiercely protected by his big sisters, determined to be his mother, father, and any other damn thing he needed, as a baby orphaned by age 7.
You wouldn't see a home ripped apart, with vulturistic relatives "shopping" our parent's belongings, while we were delegated to a home far away, in a hostile land.
Why do i bring these things up? I guess it's time to exhume the dead. Perform an autopsy. Because sure as I am standing here, the dead are still alive, to me.
Today I weep. I am the emotional one, I cry for us all. My tears don't pay the bills, they don't make me successful, they keep me balanced precariously on the edge of victimhood and martrydom...both empty platforms to live on.
But they have given me the ability to write...write what other's who are more sensible, more successful, will not reveal, because it costs too much.
Guess today, I just weep. I long for the security of my father's arms, the love in my mother's eyes. All four of us have figured out how to find that security, find that love. Today, though, I can't find either...but, there is always tomorrow. Later.
Bayside 30
I am listening to the sweet sounds of Celtic Music..; fitting, because I started my weekend with a man in a kilt, and ended it that way, too.
I know I probably make my editor crazy, because she never knows where I am going, or where I am going to end up. Neither do I, frankly. I just take my fear, put him in my pocket, and take that little devil along for the ride.
Which is how I ended up setting my alarm clock for 5:00 AM on Saturday morning, to volunteer for The Osprey Triathlon at Public Landing, near Snow Hill. Such an incredible jewel in the necklace of Delmarva! A long dock leads to a covered pavilion with a picnic table, a place for fishermen, lovers, and philosopher's alike to pursue their dreams. And...it's free, something that I always hold dear, adhering to the old adage that "The Best Things in Life are Free."
Why was I there so early in the morning? The Maryland Coastal Bays Program needed volunteers, that's why. The very things that attracted me to this area, the beach, the farmlands, the bays, made me want to help an organization that is dedicated to a common sense approach to conserving these natural resources. I didn't do much...just handed t-shirts and goodie bags out to the athletes participating, and enjoyed the camaraderie of the other people there, (hi to Brenda and Christy!) . Of course, if you don't have the time or desire to volunteer, you can always write a check to help preserve what makes it so special to live here. The Maryland Coastal Bays Program's phone number is (410) 213-BAYS.
As I stumbled about in my early morning stupor, my eye was caught by an older gentleman strutting about in a kilt. Was it my much missed, beloved, Scottish/Canadian friend Rikk materializing out of the morning mist? Alas, no, it was a very concrete reminder that Sunday would bring the Celtic Festival, to round out this week's column. I guess the kilted gentleman was just going to the festival, too.
Sunday afternoon I headed back out to Furnace Town, where the Celtic Festival was held. Sorry if you missed it, just mark it on your calendar for next year, because it is a GREAT time. I have written about Furnace Town in the past...it's just such a cool place to go to explore the history of an early American steel-making town. Great for the little ones, plenty of room to run and play under the trees, as well as sneakily stuffing their little heads with history and educating them. Not bad for us grownups, either. An almost free place to picnic, learn something, and do something fun while pretending to be intellectual.
The Celtic Fair greeted me with bagpipes, and people milling about in kilts and medieval garb, and even a spot to have a nip of whiskey. ( I didn't partake, but DID try a Harp's ale.) There were vendors with Celtic jewelry, purveyor's of fine Scottish wool, and Irish groups performing.
My favorite was the main stage featuring girl's dancing to the foot-tapping Celtic music. There were three age groups, little sprites in crimson velvet, intermediate girl's in black and gold, and lush, full grown fairies in soft, wood green gowns. Bravo to all of them for the entertainment.
I ended my weekend where it began, at Public Landing. I took a picnic, and feasted on roasted chicken, a bottle of wine, and great poetry overlooking the bay. Do I need to add that it was at sunset?
Can't wait for next week's adventure, here on Delmarvelous. (Yes, I know that's corny.) See you next week!
I am listening to the sweet sounds of Celtic Music..; fitting, because I started my weekend with a man in a kilt, and ended it that way, too.
I know I probably make my editor crazy, because she never knows where I am going, or where I am going to end up. Neither do I, frankly. I just take my fear, put him in my pocket, and take that little devil along for the ride.
Which is how I ended up setting my alarm clock for 5:00 AM on Saturday morning, to volunteer for The Osprey Triathlon at Public Landing, near Snow Hill. Such an incredible jewel in the necklace of Delmarva! A long dock leads to a covered pavilion with a picnic table, a place for fishermen, lovers, and philosopher's alike to pursue their dreams. And...it's free, something that I always hold dear, adhering to the old adage that "The Best Things in Life are Free."
Why was I there so early in the morning? The Maryland Coastal Bays Program needed volunteers, that's why. The very things that attracted me to this area, the beach, the farmlands, the bays, made me want to help an organization that is dedicated to a common sense approach to conserving these natural resources. I didn't do much...just handed t-shirts and goodie bags out to the athletes participating, and enjoyed the camaraderie of the other people there, (hi to Brenda and Christy!) . Of course, if you don't have the time or desire to volunteer, you can always write a check to help preserve what makes it so special to live here. The Maryland Coastal Bays Program's phone number is (410) 213-BAYS.
As I stumbled about in my early morning stupor, my eye was caught by an older gentleman strutting about in a kilt. Was it my much missed, beloved, Scottish/Canadian friend Rikk materializing out of the morning mist? Alas, no, it was a very concrete reminder that Sunday would bring the Celtic Festival, to round out this week's column. I guess the kilted gentleman was just going to the festival, too.
Sunday afternoon I headed back out to Furnace Town, where the Celtic Festival was held. Sorry if you missed it, just mark it on your calendar for next year, because it is a GREAT time. I have written about Furnace Town in the past...it's just such a cool place to go to explore the history of an early American steel-making town. Great for the little ones, plenty of room to run and play under the trees, as well as sneakily stuffing their little heads with history and educating them. Not bad for us grownups, either. An almost free place to picnic, learn something, and do something fun while pretending to be intellectual.
The Celtic Fair greeted me with bagpipes, and people milling about in kilts and medieval garb, and even a spot to have a nip of whiskey. ( I didn't partake, but DID try a Harp's ale.) There were vendors with Celtic jewelry, purveyor's of fine Scottish wool, and Irish groups performing.
My favorite was the main stage featuring girl's dancing to the foot-tapping Celtic music. There were three age groups, little sprites in crimson velvet, intermediate girl's in black and gold, and lush, full grown fairies in soft, wood green gowns. Bravo to all of them for the entertainment.
I ended my weekend where it began, at Public Landing. I took a picnic, and feasted on roasted chicken, a bottle of wine, and great poetry overlooking the bay. Do I need to add that it was at sunset?
Can't wait for next week's adventure, here on Delmarvelous. (Yes, I know that's corny.) See you next week!
Around the Bayside 29
It's the end of September, and I find myself wanting to "button-up." Back home in the Midwest, that's exactly what everybody is doing. The maples and oaks burn red and yellow, and the lakes become a deeper blue. Gutters are cleaned so ice doesn't collect and trickle down inside the walls, and delicate plants are shrouded in burlap coats in preparation for winter. People wander on the weekends to the famous apple farms, sipping unprocessed cider and biting into hot cinnamon doughnuts, determined to enjoy the outdoors before hibernation mode kicks in.
It's a little different down here. I know things are changing because the corn is cut down, and I don't have to run the air conditioning 24/7. I am not afraid to brave the traffic on 50 to go into Ocean City, and there isn't a line of cars to get into Assateague. The clearest indication that summer is gone and fall has begun? Sunfest, in Ocean City. I attended last Friday night, and had a blast. Maybe I am simple, but the fun began before I even got to the festival. If you haven't tried the West Ocean City Park and Ride, you are really missing out. It's laid out almost like a park, with little wooden bridges and a great view of the Ocean City skyline. You park your car for free, and wait in front of the transit building (clean bathrooms) for the shuttle to Ocean City. It only costs a dollar both ways, and it deposits you over the bridge to the Division St. transit center. What a hassle saver! Now that I have done it once, I realize it's the only way to go. They also make a stop at The White Marlin Outlet Mall, so you can shop, go into Ocean City, and be deposited back at the mall.
As I walked from South Division Street to the Boardwalk, the pulsing colored lights from the Ferris Wheel and amusement rides reminded me of going to Coney Island as a kid. Same "this is going to be fun" excitement in the pit of my stomach, and then I saw the huge white tents billowing in the wind against the dark sky. Even if you don't have money, it's worth it just to see the sheer diversity of goods for sale. My favorites were the candles shaped like pies and drinks, uncannily scented exactly like pina coladas, cinnamon buns, and blueberry pies. I saw vendors from all over the U.S., proving that Sunfest is no longer just a local artisan gathering.
I didn't really stay to listen to the music, but wandered the boardwalk instead. I had my first taste of Thrasher's french fries, and was particularly amused by the sign in red that boldly proclaimed, "NO CATSUP.". Thrasher fries liberally sprinkled with vinegar and salt, eaten on a bench watching the human parade, just heaven. The cost freaked me out a little, I could only imagine the cost for a night of fun for a family of four.
The hay bales were in the streets of downtown Berlin again this weekend, too. I've been here long enough to figure out the back way out when they close the downtown off for festivals, and it still reinforces that Mayberry feel when I see the hay bales and cowboy hats at The Fiddler's Convention. I was only able to catch the tail end of the festival on Friday night, but the streets were full, the music good, and lots of people milled around enjoying themselves. I've been told that Sunday morning was the crème de la crème of the festival, when bluegrass met gospel on the grass in front of The Calvin D. Taylor Museum.
All in all, proves my point that there is never any reason to be bored down here in Delmarva. There is always something to do, somewhere to go. If all else fails, you can find beauty and peace on the beach, which is where I am headed now. See you next week
It's the end of September, and I find myself wanting to "button-up." Back home in the Midwest, that's exactly what everybody is doing. The maples and oaks burn red and yellow, and the lakes become a deeper blue. Gutters are cleaned so ice doesn't collect and trickle down inside the walls, and delicate plants are shrouded in burlap coats in preparation for winter. People wander on the weekends to the famous apple farms, sipping unprocessed cider and biting into hot cinnamon doughnuts, determined to enjoy the outdoors before hibernation mode kicks in.
It's a little different down here. I know things are changing because the corn is cut down, and I don't have to run the air conditioning 24/7. I am not afraid to brave the traffic on 50 to go into Ocean City, and there isn't a line of cars to get into Assateague. The clearest indication that summer is gone and fall has begun? Sunfest, in Ocean City. I attended last Friday night, and had a blast. Maybe I am simple, but the fun began before I even got to the festival. If you haven't tried the West Ocean City Park and Ride, you are really missing out. It's laid out almost like a park, with little wooden bridges and a great view of the Ocean City skyline. You park your car for free, and wait in front of the transit building (clean bathrooms) for the shuttle to Ocean City. It only costs a dollar both ways, and it deposits you over the bridge to the Division St. transit center. What a hassle saver! Now that I have done it once, I realize it's the only way to go. They also make a stop at The White Marlin Outlet Mall, so you can shop, go into Ocean City, and be deposited back at the mall.
As I walked from South Division Street to the Boardwalk, the pulsing colored lights from the Ferris Wheel and amusement rides reminded me of going to Coney Island as a kid. Same "this is going to be fun" excitement in the pit of my stomach, and then I saw the huge white tents billowing in the wind against the dark sky. Even if you don't have money, it's worth it just to see the sheer diversity of goods for sale. My favorites were the candles shaped like pies and drinks, uncannily scented exactly like pina coladas, cinnamon buns, and blueberry pies. I saw vendors from all over the U.S., proving that Sunfest is no longer just a local artisan gathering.
I didn't really stay to listen to the music, but wandered the boardwalk instead. I had my first taste of Thrasher's french fries, and was particularly amused by the sign in red that boldly proclaimed, "NO CATSUP.". Thrasher fries liberally sprinkled with vinegar and salt, eaten on a bench watching the human parade, just heaven. The cost freaked me out a little, I could only imagine the cost for a night of fun for a family of four.
The hay bales were in the streets of downtown Berlin again this weekend, too. I've been here long enough to figure out the back way out when they close the downtown off for festivals, and it still reinforces that Mayberry feel when I see the hay bales and cowboy hats at The Fiddler's Convention. I was only able to catch the tail end of the festival on Friday night, but the streets were full, the music good, and lots of people milled around enjoying themselves. I've been told that Sunday morning was the crème de la crème of the festival, when bluegrass met gospel on the grass in front of The Calvin D. Taylor Museum.
All in all, proves my point that there is never any reason to be bored down here in Delmarva. There is always something to do, somewhere to go. If all else fails, you can find beauty and peace on the beach, which is where I am headed now. See you next week
Monday, September 19, 2005
and here it is~~bayside 28
Bayside 28
All Summer long I watched a dream unfold. The "Rocking Robin" sign that had been my landmark as I traveled the back way to Salisbury on Old Ocean City Blvd. was the first to go. Next came the construction, with piles of junk discarded out the side door, followed by lumber and other building materials. Ever curious, I couldn't wait to see what came next. Finally, a sign proclaimed, "Cool Cats Cove" coming soon. Was it to be a blues club? A throwback to fifties beatniks? I tucked the mystery away until this past week, when I finally saw the Open sign.
I am not one to go into a tavern alone, but in the spirit of exploring what's new in the area, I gathered my courage and visited on Sunday afternoon. It's not a fancy place, nor a particularly elegant establishment. But I predict The Cool Cats Cove is going to become one swinging place to go.
Owner's Shirley and Tee O'Neal have done what most of us don't have the courage to do. They took the "maybe some day" out of their dream, and turned it into "now". Both entertainers, with a passion for music and dancing, they wanted to create a place where people can eat good food, listen to great music from the 1940's to the 1980's, and dance the night away. The plan includes theme nights, including a tribute to Elvis, and classes teaching those cool cat dance steps.
I knew I had hit gold when a dark-haired lady came out of the kitchen proudly carrying a homemade cake, resplendent in chocolate butter crème. When she heard my enthusiastic "Wow!" she offered me a slice. ( I am a fool for chocolate, as you well know.) Between bites of cake, she introduced herself as Taz, head bartender and bottle-washer, along with chef Michael. I didn't tell them I was a columnist until the last bite, so I was particularly impressed with the kindness of the gesture. I am no fool when it comes to good food, as my hips will attest. I asked for a taste of the broth in the homemade Chicken and Dumplings, knowing that one sip would tell me if it was truly homemade, or Sweet Sue in a can. It was to die for, folks, every bit as good as mine. We were just warming up. Next came the broccoli cheddar soup, and that WAS better then mine. Chef Mike waxed lyrical as talked about the specials he had planned, like old-fashioned Ham and Cabbage, and said everybody was loving the southern fried chicken and homemade crab cakes. I'm hoping to catch a few tunes and sample the hot crab dip next weekend after work. They have a really cool website where you can access location, special events, and hours; www.coolcatscove.com.
Great food is good food, and I don't care if it comes wrapped in a napkin or swathed in silk, it's the taste that counts. I headed to Ocean City to finish this week's adventure. I love Chef Paul's food column here in the Bayside Gazette, and now that he's "cheffing" at The Avalon Market, I stopped by to meet him and hopefully sample his culinary delights. The Avalon Market, if you haven't been, is a must for serious foodies looking for hard to find ingredients, specialty equipment and fine wines, and the best in gourmet take-out, meats and cheeses. Watch for a column interviewing Chef Paul and sampling the goodies he creates soon. (there goes another inch on the hips.)
See you next week!
Bayside 28
All Summer long I watched a dream unfold. The "Rocking Robin" sign that had been my landmark as I traveled the back way to Salisbury on Old Ocean City Blvd. was the first to go. Next came the construction, with piles of junk discarded out the side door, followed by lumber and other building materials. Ever curious, I couldn't wait to see what came next. Finally, a sign proclaimed, "Cool Cats Cove" coming soon. Was it to be a blues club? A throwback to fifties beatniks? I tucked the mystery away until this past week, when I finally saw the Open sign.
I am not one to go into a tavern alone, but in the spirit of exploring what's new in the area, I gathered my courage and visited on Sunday afternoon. It's not a fancy place, nor a particularly elegant establishment. But I predict The Cool Cats Cove is going to become one swinging place to go.
Owner's Shirley and Tee O'Neal have done what most of us don't have the courage to do. They took the "maybe some day" out of their dream, and turned it into "now". Both entertainers, with a passion for music and dancing, they wanted to create a place where people can eat good food, listen to great music from the 1940's to the 1980's, and dance the night away. The plan includes theme nights, including a tribute to Elvis, and classes teaching those cool cat dance steps.
I knew I had hit gold when a dark-haired lady came out of the kitchen proudly carrying a homemade cake, resplendent in chocolate butter crème. When she heard my enthusiastic "Wow!" she offered me a slice. ( I am a fool for chocolate, as you well know.) Between bites of cake, she introduced herself as Taz, head bartender and bottle-washer, along with chef Michael. I didn't tell them I was a columnist until the last bite, so I was particularly impressed with the kindness of the gesture. I am no fool when it comes to good food, as my hips will attest. I asked for a taste of the broth in the homemade Chicken and Dumplings, knowing that one sip would tell me if it was truly homemade, or Sweet Sue in a can. It was to die for, folks, every bit as good as mine. We were just warming up. Next came the broccoli cheddar soup, and that WAS better then mine. Chef Mike waxed lyrical as talked about the specials he had planned, like old-fashioned Ham and Cabbage, and said everybody was loving the southern fried chicken and homemade crab cakes. I'm hoping to catch a few tunes and sample the hot crab dip next weekend after work. They have a really cool website where you can access location, special events, and hours; www.coolcatscove.com.
Great food is good food, and I don't care if it comes wrapped in a napkin or swathed in silk, it's the taste that counts. I headed to Ocean City to finish this week's adventure. I love Chef Paul's food column here in the Bayside Gazette, and now that he's "cheffing" at The Avalon Market, I stopped by to meet him and hopefully sample his culinary delights. The Avalon Market, if you haven't been, is a must for serious foodies looking for hard to find ingredients, specialty equipment and fine wines, and the best in gourmet take-out, meats and cheeses. Watch for a column interviewing Chef Paul and sampling the goodies he creates soon. (there goes another inch on the hips.)
See you next week!
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
And this is the one i wrote, one year later....Interesting, how many unforseen changes...if you told me a year ago I would be writing a weekly column, my eyebrows would have been raised so high,they would have fallen off my face!!! Bayside 27
This is going to be one of those columns where I try to fit ten lbs. of "stuff" in a five lb. sack. I started my adventures off with Open-Mic night at The Waterline Gallery in Berlin. As I have written before, it is a wonderful way to express yourself as a musician or writer, or just soak up the art displayed as you socialize and enjoy the performances. Open-Mic is a new concept for me, and I definitely put it in the plus category for living in Delmarva. A special thanks to Paul of "Trish and Paul", the emcee for Open-Mic. Not only has he donated his time for this community service, but as I speak, he is with The Red Cross down in Louisiana, aiding Katrina victims.
Saturday Night I found myself at another Open-Mic at Barnes and Noble in Salisbury. This one was for Poetry only, and is held the 2nd Saturday of each month. This month's guest moderator was Henry Wilson, and what caught me as much as his poetry was the fact that he wrote many of his poems working in a factory, when his machine was down or idle. Aspiring as well as accomplished poets are encouraged to read their work, and the cushy chairs to sit and listen in aren't bad, either.
Sunday brought another adventure. As much as I love music and writing, sometimes you just have to put on your flip-flops and go have fun. I have always felt an affinity with Native Americans, so when I was invited to go to the annual Nanticoke Indian Powwow, I went. I guess I expected something out of one of the old westerns I watched as a child, with Native Americans clearly defined by straight black hair and coppery skin tones, yet that wasn't what I found at all. In fact, without the colorful tribal clothing, they could have been any gathering of Americans, black, white, blue-eyed, curly haired, well, you get the picture. What I found as I watched the dances, watched the interactions, was a solid unity of heritage, of family, regardless of individual looks or tribe. My beautiful friend Elizabeth, age 16, was one of the women shawl dancers, and it took my breath away to see her swoop and sway with the other women, like brightly colored butterflies flying in a field. There were at least a thousand people present, native and visitors, participating or watching the dancers, listening to the sweet flute and hypnotic drums, and milling around eating fry bread and other native delicacies. Craftsmen , with hand-written signs denoting tribe of origin, sold intricate beaded moccasins and buckskin clothing, as well as handcrafted jewelry, herbs, and pottery. I was very pleasantly surprised to run into Doris Price, an extremely talented artist I wrote about months ago when covering The Beachcomber's Easel Art Gallery, in West Ocean City. A Native Indian herself, she has graciously invited me to her home to view her private collection. (I will tell you all about it when I go.)
I left the powwow full to the brim with song, and sound, and color. There are several powwows coming up in the area this fall, and I highly recommend the experience. I found a listing of upcoming events at www.500nations.com. See you next week!
This is going to be one of those columns where I try to fit ten lbs. of "stuff" in a five lb. sack. I started my adventures off with Open-Mic night at The Waterline Gallery in Berlin. As I have written before, it is a wonderful way to express yourself as a musician or writer, or just soak up the art displayed as you socialize and enjoy the performances. Open-Mic is a new concept for me, and I definitely put it in the plus category for living in Delmarva. A special thanks to Paul of "Trish and Paul", the emcee for Open-Mic. Not only has he donated his time for this community service, but as I speak, he is with The Red Cross down in Louisiana, aiding Katrina victims.
Saturday Night I found myself at another Open-Mic at Barnes and Noble in Salisbury. This one was for Poetry only, and is held the 2nd Saturday of each month. This month's guest moderator was Henry Wilson, and what caught me as much as his poetry was the fact that he wrote many of his poems working in a factory, when his machine was down or idle. Aspiring as well as accomplished poets are encouraged to read their work, and the cushy chairs to sit and listen in aren't bad, either.
Sunday brought another adventure. As much as I love music and writing, sometimes you just have to put on your flip-flops and go have fun. I have always felt an affinity with Native Americans, so when I was invited to go to the annual Nanticoke Indian Powwow, I went. I guess I expected something out of one of the old westerns I watched as a child, with Native Americans clearly defined by straight black hair and coppery skin tones, yet that wasn't what I found at all. In fact, without the colorful tribal clothing, they could have been any gathering of Americans, black, white, blue-eyed, curly haired, well, you get the picture. What I found as I watched the dances, watched the interactions, was a solid unity of heritage, of family, regardless of individual looks or tribe. My beautiful friend Elizabeth, age 16, was one of the women shawl dancers, and it took my breath away to see her swoop and sway with the other women, like brightly colored butterflies flying in a field. There were at least a thousand people present, native and visitors, participating or watching the dancers, listening to the sweet flute and hypnotic drums, and milling around eating fry bread and other native delicacies. Craftsmen , with hand-written signs denoting tribe of origin, sold intricate beaded moccasins and buckskin clothing, as well as handcrafted jewelry, herbs, and pottery. I was very pleasantly surprised to run into Doris Price, an extremely talented artist I wrote about months ago when covering The Beachcomber's Easel Art Gallery, in West Ocean City. A Native Indian herself, she has graciously invited me to her home to view her private collection. (I will tell you all about it when I go.)
I left the powwow full to the brim with song, and sound, and color. There are several powwows coming up in the area this fall, and I highly recommend the experience. I found a listing of upcoming events at www.500nations.com. See you next week!
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
this is what i wrote, over a year ago, about moving here to maryland~~Wednesday Night~~
The rain is pouring straight down, drenching, soaking, hot sounding rain, and it's making me hot, too. It's a sound of urgent passion,unstoppable, furious in intent. I feel crazy...like biting the tiles, waiting for release...Ah, it's softer now...with a gentle smack of thunder, and i can finally exhale. Now it is just caressing, and i can hear the different tones as it hits the trees, the grass, the slope of the roof. Black kitty Link is on the windowsill, green eyes luminous, and we rub noses..I think he felt it too.Little oj is in my lap, half asleep, sucking on my thumb..(how strange my 4 legged children are)
Another uneventful day at work...THANK GOD!. Except, except...i have made the reservation for the moving truck. When they asked me the date i was moving, i realized i didn't know...My plans have been so focused on solving all the problems to actually MOVE...my imagination has been so locked into the fantasy of how it will be., that i hadn't set a date...So i heard the little voice in my head say"mid september". I had actually thought the last week end august, but, i always listen when that voice speaks.."Monday, September 13?" the guy asked..And i said "Yes!"...My knees felt weak, my voice shaky. I guess i am really going to do it. New start. New job, new home, new friends, new, new new.
All i have to do is remember how i have been terrified before, of change, of the unknown. And then remember, that out of those changes, have come great learning, great loving, great experiences...And so...the next chapter is ready to begin....... Later.
posted by Lisa @ 9:45 PM 1 comments
The rain is pouring straight down, drenching, soaking, hot sounding rain, and it's making me hot, too. It's a sound of urgent passion,unstoppable, furious in intent. I feel crazy...like biting the tiles, waiting for release...Ah, it's softer now...with a gentle smack of thunder, and i can finally exhale. Now it is just caressing, and i can hear the different tones as it hits the trees, the grass, the slope of the roof. Black kitty Link is on the windowsill, green eyes luminous, and we rub noses..I think he felt it too.Little oj is in my lap, half asleep, sucking on my thumb..(how strange my 4 legged children are)
Another uneventful day at work...THANK GOD!. Except, except...i have made the reservation for the moving truck. When they asked me the date i was moving, i realized i didn't know...My plans have been so focused on solving all the problems to actually MOVE...my imagination has been so locked into the fantasy of how it will be., that i hadn't set a date...So i heard the little voice in my head say"mid september". I had actually thought the last week end august, but, i always listen when that voice speaks.."Monday, September 13?" the guy asked..And i said "Yes!"...My knees felt weak, my voice shaky. I guess i am really going to do it. New start. New job, new home, new friends, new, new new.
All i have to do is remember how i have been terrified before, of change, of the unknown. And then remember, that out of those changes, have come great learning, great loving, great experiences...And so...the next chapter is ready to begin....... Later.
posted by Lisa @ 9:45 PM 1 comments
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Bayside 26
The cornfields that I so love to view are no longer towering in brilliant green. Seemingly overnight, the stalks look crispy-fried and brown, and autumn is on it's way.
It's my anniversary, too. Exactly one year ago I did a fair imitation of The Beverly Hillbilly's, loaded up a moving truck and moved to Delmarva.
Perhaps your cousin Tillie from Long Island is thinking about doing the same thing. Perhaps you ARE cousin Tillie, and this column will strike a chord within you. Or perhaps you are a local, born and bred, and you will get a peek at how an "outsider" perceives Delmarva.
This is a land of startling contrast. Wide fields with work creased farmhouses stand side by side with cookie cutter sub-divisions. Raucous, crowded Ocean City boardwalk is only a spit away from serene Assateague Beach. There is huge money to be made in tourism and real estate, but I have seen people with a master's degree in social service making eight dollars an hour.
So why did I stay? Because Delmarva is truly beautiful, and a place to make dreams come true. It is here I thank The Bayside Gazette, for taking a chance on an unknown writer, with a thirty year writer's block, and making my dream a reality. This is a community that honors and respects the arts, at a grassroots level. Where I came from, accessibility and entrance into the art world was only for the elite. Here, there are so many events, many of them free, for the artist or writer or musician, I can barely keep up with them all. It is a strangely smooth blending of little town coziness with big city sophistication. Pig races on the Main St. in Berlin? Followed by a first rate Fiddler's Convention? Yes, and it works.
I could go into the things I found that DON'T work here on Delmarva, like the vanishing rural landscape that we all moved here to enjoy, but that's not my place here to do. I could talk about the great gap between the retired folks and working poor trying to grocery shop and pay oil bills on salaries way behind inflation, but that's not my purpose with this column, so I won't do that, either. Let it suffice to say, regardless of those things, Delmarva's biggest crop isn't corn or chickens (are chicken's a crop?) it's dreams.
I am revving up for next week's Coastal Day at Assateague, and the Fiddler's convention the following week in downtown Berlin. There are really cool happenings going on EVERYWHERE in the next couple of weeks, and I intend to be a part of them. (The day job is just going to have to go.)
A final note: last week I wrote about the threat of Katrina hitting New Orleans. We all know what tragedy did befall that city. I lived in South Florida and survived Hurricane Andrew years back, and I feel obligated to share what I learned during that time. Please, please, prepare before there is a hint of a storm coming. How? Stock up on water and canned goods and candles. Lots and lots of batteries, and a landlocked phone. Plywood and duct tape to cover windows was the first thing the stores ran out of. If the word comes to evacuate, GO. I am sure Aunt Tillie in Long Island will be glad to see you. Thank you for sharing my anniversary with me, and... See you next week!
The cornfields that I so love to view are no longer towering in brilliant green. Seemingly overnight, the stalks look crispy-fried and brown, and autumn is on it's way.
It's my anniversary, too. Exactly one year ago I did a fair imitation of The Beverly Hillbilly's, loaded up a moving truck and moved to Delmarva.
Perhaps your cousin Tillie from Long Island is thinking about doing the same thing. Perhaps you ARE cousin Tillie, and this column will strike a chord within you. Or perhaps you are a local, born and bred, and you will get a peek at how an "outsider" perceives Delmarva.
This is a land of startling contrast. Wide fields with work creased farmhouses stand side by side with cookie cutter sub-divisions. Raucous, crowded Ocean City boardwalk is only a spit away from serene Assateague Beach. There is huge money to be made in tourism and real estate, but I have seen people with a master's degree in social service making eight dollars an hour.
So why did I stay? Because Delmarva is truly beautiful, and a place to make dreams come true. It is here I thank The Bayside Gazette, for taking a chance on an unknown writer, with a thirty year writer's block, and making my dream a reality. This is a community that honors and respects the arts, at a grassroots level. Where I came from, accessibility and entrance into the art world was only for the elite. Here, there are so many events, many of them free, for the artist or writer or musician, I can barely keep up with them all. It is a strangely smooth blending of little town coziness with big city sophistication. Pig races on the Main St. in Berlin? Followed by a first rate Fiddler's Convention? Yes, and it works.
I could go into the things I found that DON'T work here on Delmarva, like the vanishing rural landscape that we all moved here to enjoy, but that's not my place here to do. I could talk about the great gap between the retired folks and working poor trying to grocery shop and pay oil bills on salaries way behind inflation, but that's not my purpose with this column, so I won't do that, either. Let it suffice to say, regardless of those things, Delmarva's biggest crop isn't corn or chickens (are chicken's a crop?) it's dreams.
I am revving up for next week's Coastal Day at Assateague, and the Fiddler's convention the following week in downtown Berlin. There are really cool happenings going on EVERYWHERE in the next couple of weeks, and I intend to be a part of them. (The day job is just going to have to go.)
A final note: last week I wrote about the threat of Katrina hitting New Orleans. We all know what tragedy did befall that city. I lived in South Florida and survived Hurricane Andrew years back, and I feel obligated to share what I learned during that time. Please, please, prepare before there is a hint of a storm coming. How? Stock up on water and canned goods and candles. Lots and lots of batteries, and a landlocked phone. Plywood and duct tape to cover windows was the first thing the stores ran out of. If the word comes to evacuate, GO. I am sure Aunt Tillie in Long Island will be glad to see you. Thank you for sharing my anniversary with me, and... See you next week!
Move Over, Grandma Moses
Dot Truitt’s eyes sparkled as she leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “We are both artists, you know. It’s never too late to create. And Bob, here, didn’t start til he was 70.”
I met Dot Truitt and her husband Bob at the retail store I work in. When our business was finished, they stayed to chat. Dot, a slim, energetic woman of 71, did most of the talking. "What type of art, ?" I queried, and thus began a story I knew I had to share.
"Wait, I’ll show you" she said, and ran out to her car. She came back with a bag of beautiful clay bracelets, each a circle of brilliant color and hand-painted design. She looked fondly over at her husband, Bob. "He does handmade pottery mirrors. “She explained. She went on to say that she had started 16 years earlier, in her mid fifties. Wow, I thought. So many people at age 50 plus think it’s rocking chair time, but not these two.
She was the typical stay at home Mom, and though she always wanted to create, caring for her family took priority. When her daughter graduated high school , she seized the opportunity to finally follow her artistic vision. Laughing, she explained to me that she did it all wrong. "I bought a huge kiln and a couple of books." She went on to tell me that doing it all wrong meant she did it all right, because her trial and error helped her perfect a unique kiln-firing method that produced brilliant, yet translucent colors.
I asked her where she first showed her work. She laughed again, and explained that her first showing was in the National Museum of Ceramic Art, in downtown Baltimore. " I had been selected for jury duty," she mused, "and in those days, it meant calling the courthouse at 6pm the day before, and then high-tailing it to Baltimore to stay in a hotel that night." She happened to wear one of her pendants, and while visiting the museum, they asked her on the spot to display in their gift shop. She now shows her work in various craft shows in the area. Her next big show is in Lewes on July 9th, sponsored by the Lewes Historical Society.
Bob was a little more reserved about his art. A native eastern shoreman, he joked about “outsiders”, and once I confessed to the sin of being one, he relented and told me, “I don’t think of myself as an artist, more of a craftsman. Dot makes the designs for my work, I just put it all together.” Regardless of what he thinks, I saw an example of his work, and it’s striking.
Move over, Grandma Moses. Go ahead, pull out those dusty paint brushes, rework that old manuscript, learn that guitar. In Dot Truitt’s words, “It’s never too late to create.”
this is a reprint for flora....whose mother is 77, and having an art exhibit in the netherlands...
Dot Truitt’s eyes sparkled as she leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “We are both artists, you know. It’s never too late to create. And Bob, here, didn’t start til he was 70.”
I met Dot Truitt and her husband Bob at the retail store I work in. When our business was finished, they stayed to chat. Dot, a slim, energetic woman of 71, did most of the talking. "What type of art, ?" I queried, and thus began a story I knew I had to share.
"Wait, I’ll show you" she said, and ran out to her car. She came back with a bag of beautiful clay bracelets, each a circle of brilliant color and hand-painted design. She looked fondly over at her husband, Bob. "He does handmade pottery mirrors. “She explained. She went on to say that she had started 16 years earlier, in her mid fifties. Wow, I thought. So many people at age 50 plus think it’s rocking chair time, but not these two.
She was the typical stay at home Mom, and though she always wanted to create, caring for her family took priority. When her daughter graduated high school , she seized the opportunity to finally follow her artistic vision. Laughing, she explained to me that she did it all wrong. "I bought a huge kiln and a couple of books." She went on to tell me that doing it all wrong meant she did it all right, because her trial and error helped her perfect a unique kiln-firing method that produced brilliant, yet translucent colors.
I asked her where she first showed her work. She laughed again, and explained that her first showing was in the National Museum of Ceramic Art, in downtown Baltimore. " I had been selected for jury duty," she mused, "and in those days, it meant calling the courthouse at 6pm the day before, and then high-tailing it to Baltimore to stay in a hotel that night." She happened to wear one of her pendants, and while visiting the museum, they asked her on the spot to display in their gift shop. She now shows her work in various craft shows in the area. Her next big show is in Lewes on July 9th, sponsored by the Lewes Historical Society.
Bob was a little more reserved about his art. A native eastern shoreman, he joked about “outsiders”, and once I confessed to the sin of being one, he relented and told me, “I don’t think of myself as an artist, more of a craftsman. Dot makes the designs for my work, I just put it all together.” Regardless of what he thinks, I saw an example of his work, and it’s striking.
Move over, Grandma Moses. Go ahead, pull out those dusty paint brushes, rework that old manuscript, learn that guitar. In Dot Truitt’s words, “It’s never too late to create.”
this is a reprint for flora....whose mother is 77, and having an art exhibit in the netherlands...
Monday, August 29, 2005
It's really crazy how things are happening lately....My last paycheck lost in the mail, with an ensuing 8 day wait., and today, when the new one was due to arrive...nothing....My check for the column..supposed to be here today...forgotten, and with my work schedule i won't be able to get it until after Labor Day....
My relationship with money has been worse then that with my ex's...and THAT speaks volumes! It's not that I don't work....I am out of the house 65 hours a week, not counting what I put in to research and write the column...So, what gives???
I am going to choose to take it as a choice...I can either become bitter and withdrawn, or be thankful for the many gifts I have...like the fingers I have to type this with. Lessons, that's all...Hopefully I will be up to the challenge of meeting dark with light...
My bike...I dearly loved it., for the heartfelt love the gift represented, for the ride back to my 7 year old self with a similar pink bike, for the funky silliness of my 50 year old self pedaling down the road.
Just another choice of reacting to dark with light.
I am not always up to the challenge. But I never give up trying. Later.
My relationship with money has been worse then that with my ex's...and THAT speaks volumes! It's not that I don't work....I am out of the house 65 hours a week, not counting what I put in to research and write the column...So, what gives???
I am going to choose to take it as a choice...I can either become bitter and withdrawn, or be thankful for the many gifts I have...like the fingers I have to type this with. Lessons, that's all...Hopefully I will be up to the challenge of meeting dark with light...
My bike...I dearly loved it., for the heartfelt love the gift represented, for the ride back to my 7 year old self with a similar pink bike, for the funky silliness of my 50 year old self pedaling down the road.
Just another choice of reacting to dark with light.
I am not always up to the challenge. But I never give up trying. Later.
Bayside 25
The lure of the beach was the final deciding factor in my move here from the Midwest, almost one year ago. Not just any beach, though, it was the thought of the wild ponies of Assateague Island that sealed the deal for me. Every little girl goes through a "Misty" stage, where she dreams of living on an island befriending wild ponies, and I was no exception. When I made a quick reconnaissance visit prior to the move, having the ponies try to nuzzle me in the parking lot of Assateague cemented my childhood fantasy.
Yet, the pristine 37 mile stretch of beach almost wasn't . In the late 1950's, plans were made to line the shore with businesses and condo's, ala
Ocean City. As I write this, Hurricane Katrina is threatening New Orleans, and the disaster scenario due to massive flooding is catastrophic. Mother Nature intervened on Assateague in 1962, also, with a storm whose surge plunged much of the island underwater. It put the kabosh on funding for the project, and in 1965, Assateague was declared a National Seashore.
I usually visit the State Park part of the island, rather than the National. It's just easier to walk past the camp store and concession stand, and setup a chair. Once there, if you face the ocean and make a left, you can walk all the way to the Ocean City inlet if you are so inclined. I have never done it, but I have walked far enough so that the brightly colored umbrellas and swimmers fade away, and all you can see is wild, wide sand and sea. ( And a few very natural sunbathers.)
Assateague offers quite a bit more, though. I am determined to camp there, even though dire warnings of summer mosquitoes, biting fly's, and ticks have quelled my desire to do so in the summer months. I'm waiting for late fall, when the biting bugs go home with the tourists. I plan on combining my trip with a canoe rental, and making the three walking tours offered, Life of the Dune, Life of the Forest, and Life of the Marsh. (thank goodness they each come with a descriptive brochure.) I can smell the burgers on the grill and see the stars above my campfire as I speak.
This year I want to be more than the tourist that just takes pleasure at the beach and goes home, though. The Maryland eighth annual Coast Day is being celebrated Sept. 17th, with a huge party after the early morning clean up at the National part of the park. Unfortunately, I can't quit my day job, so I will miss the festivities that Saturday, but they include live animal exhibits, yummy shore foods, arts and crafts, and music. (I plan on being part of the clean-up crew on Monday.) Volunteers are needed Friday, Sept. 16th, Saturday, Sept. 17th, and Monday, Sept. 19th. For information or to volunteer call Dave Wilson at 410-213-2297.
Last, but not least....Remember my hot pink Della Cruiser bike I got for my 50th birthday last month? If you spot one abandoned in the area, please send me an email... Yup, you guessed it...someone snatched it. Oh well, walking is good for my soul, anyway... See you next week!
The lure of the beach was the final deciding factor in my move here from the Midwest, almost one year ago. Not just any beach, though, it was the thought of the wild ponies of Assateague Island that sealed the deal for me. Every little girl goes through a "Misty" stage, where she dreams of living on an island befriending wild ponies, and I was no exception. When I made a quick reconnaissance visit prior to the move, having the ponies try to nuzzle me in the parking lot of Assateague cemented my childhood fantasy.
Yet, the pristine 37 mile stretch of beach almost wasn't . In the late 1950's, plans were made to line the shore with businesses and condo's, ala
Ocean City. As I write this, Hurricane Katrina is threatening New Orleans, and the disaster scenario due to massive flooding is catastrophic. Mother Nature intervened on Assateague in 1962, also, with a storm whose surge plunged much of the island underwater. It put the kabosh on funding for the project, and in 1965, Assateague was declared a National Seashore.
I usually visit the State Park part of the island, rather than the National. It's just easier to walk past the camp store and concession stand, and setup a chair. Once there, if you face the ocean and make a left, you can walk all the way to the Ocean City inlet if you are so inclined. I have never done it, but I have walked far enough so that the brightly colored umbrellas and swimmers fade away, and all you can see is wild, wide sand and sea. ( And a few very natural sunbathers.)
Assateague offers quite a bit more, though. I am determined to camp there, even though dire warnings of summer mosquitoes, biting fly's, and ticks have quelled my desire to do so in the summer months. I'm waiting for late fall, when the biting bugs go home with the tourists. I plan on combining my trip with a canoe rental, and making the three walking tours offered, Life of the Dune, Life of the Forest, and Life of the Marsh. (thank goodness they each come with a descriptive brochure.) I can smell the burgers on the grill and see the stars above my campfire as I speak.
This year I want to be more than the tourist that just takes pleasure at the beach and goes home, though. The Maryland eighth annual Coast Day is being celebrated Sept. 17th, with a huge party after the early morning clean up at the National part of the park. Unfortunately, I can't quit my day job, so I will miss the festivities that Saturday, but they include live animal exhibits, yummy shore foods, arts and crafts, and music. (I plan on being part of the clean-up crew on Monday.) Volunteers are needed Friday, Sept. 16th, Saturday, Sept. 17th, and Monday, Sept. 19th. For information or to volunteer call Dave Wilson at 410-213-2297.
Last, but not least....Remember my hot pink Della Cruiser bike I got for my 50th birthday last month? If you spot one abandoned in the area, please send me an email... Yup, you guessed it...someone snatched it. Oh well, walking is good for my soul, anyway... See you next week!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Bayside 24
Art, like writing, is purely subjective. Critics and experts can critique brushstroke and grammar, but, to me, the true litmus test is how art touches the heart.
Patrick Henry's art touches mine. Attending The Waterline Gallery's reception last Friday night, entitled "Transitions", I realized I was not alone. Fellow artists Bill and Deborah Rolig sent a bouquet of vibrant sunflowers, and Patrick was engulfed by well-wishers. Gallery owners Karen and David Prengaman provided finger foods, and the crowd sipped wine as they viewed the paintings spanning 20 years of his body of work.
Patrick's eyes hold a light that intrigues me, and when he graciously offered to speak with me the following day, I couldn't wait. We sat in his backyard gazebo, with a pitcher of ice water and a backdrop of homegrown, red tomatoes as a backdrop.
"God is where you take your energy." Patrick calmly stated. With that statement, I knew the source of the light in his eyes. I put down my eager little pen and just listened.
You see, Patrick Henry the artist was almost Patrick Henry the teacher, but he chose to follow his heart instead of his head. Spending the summer in Richmond, Va., Patrick was readying himself for graduate work towards his teaching professorship. A call for help from his mom changed his mind, and he returned to Berlin, instead. Often heart choices are painful and confusing, and only time's perspective clarifies intuitive wisdom.
It was in Berlin that he became reacquainted with the love of his life, Velda, his wife of 16 years. One of the pictures in the exhibit is of the sea, with three birds skipping across the sand. He gave it to Velda early in their marriage for Christmas, when that's all he could afford. It still hangs in their den today. He pursued his art, though not without resistance from family and friends. Patrick shook his head slowly, and said, "They told me to just give it up, and quit pipe-dreaming." He continued, " I became a success in spite of it all. He continued painting, interspersed with art in it's more commercial form. He was noted as the graphic artist in the 80's renovation of The Atlantic Hotel, and made hand-painted t-shirts and signs. As his works became celebrated, he branched out and opened The Henry Art Center, in Berlin. Life was to take another unexpected turn, with the deaths of 4 family members in two years. Increased family pressures, his growing popularity outside the boundaries of Delmarva, coupled with the daily operation of the center , caused his artistic focus to blur.
He decided to let go of The Henry Art Center, and concentrate his focus on his painting and his family. He paints now with inspirational tapes and posters as his companion, in his studio behind his house.
This morning before I started writing, I went back to The Waterline Gallery to get another feel for his work. I walked the length of the exhibit, and found myself captured by three paintings created since closing his art center this past July. The brushstrokes are deeper, the colors richly multifaceted. They have the depth of a mature man, sharing his vision with the world.
I idly flipped through the gallery guest book from Saturday night’s reception. In it I found a passage from Patrick and Velda's daughter, Stephanie. "My Dad is the best painter in the Universe. I wish he will never change!" That's my idea of true success. See you next week!
Art, like writing, is purely subjective. Critics and experts can critique brushstroke and grammar, but, to me, the true litmus test is how art touches the heart.
Patrick Henry's art touches mine. Attending The Waterline Gallery's reception last Friday night, entitled "Transitions", I realized I was not alone. Fellow artists Bill and Deborah Rolig sent a bouquet of vibrant sunflowers, and Patrick was engulfed by well-wishers. Gallery owners Karen and David Prengaman provided finger foods, and the crowd sipped wine as they viewed the paintings spanning 20 years of his body of work.
Patrick's eyes hold a light that intrigues me, and when he graciously offered to speak with me the following day, I couldn't wait. We sat in his backyard gazebo, with a pitcher of ice water and a backdrop of homegrown, red tomatoes as a backdrop.
"God is where you take your energy." Patrick calmly stated. With that statement, I knew the source of the light in his eyes. I put down my eager little pen and just listened.
You see, Patrick Henry the artist was almost Patrick Henry the teacher, but he chose to follow his heart instead of his head. Spending the summer in Richmond, Va., Patrick was readying himself for graduate work towards his teaching professorship. A call for help from his mom changed his mind, and he returned to Berlin, instead. Often heart choices are painful and confusing, and only time's perspective clarifies intuitive wisdom.
It was in Berlin that he became reacquainted with the love of his life, Velda, his wife of 16 years. One of the pictures in the exhibit is of the sea, with three birds skipping across the sand. He gave it to Velda early in their marriage for Christmas, when that's all he could afford. It still hangs in their den today. He pursued his art, though not without resistance from family and friends. Patrick shook his head slowly, and said, "They told me to just give it up, and quit pipe-dreaming." He continued, " I became a success in spite of it all. He continued painting, interspersed with art in it's more commercial form. He was noted as the graphic artist in the 80's renovation of The Atlantic Hotel, and made hand-painted t-shirts and signs. As his works became celebrated, he branched out and opened The Henry Art Center, in Berlin. Life was to take another unexpected turn, with the deaths of 4 family members in two years. Increased family pressures, his growing popularity outside the boundaries of Delmarva, coupled with the daily operation of the center , caused his artistic focus to blur.
He decided to let go of The Henry Art Center, and concentrate his focus on his painting and his family. He paints now with inspirational tapes and posters as his companion, in his studio behind his house.
This morning before I started writing, I went back to The Waterline Gallery to get another feel for his work. I walked the length of the exhibit, and found myself captured by three paintings created since closing his art center this past July. The brushstrokes are deeper, the colors richly multifaceted. They have the depth of a mature man, sharing his vision with the world.
I idly flipped through the gallery guest book from Saturday night’s reception. In it I found a passage from Patrick and Velda's daughter, Stephanie. "My Dad is the best painter in the Universe. I wish he will never change!" That's my idea of true success. See you next week!
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Sunday August 15?
Where on earth did the poem i just published come from? Obviously, I need to sit on top of a mountain in a cold stream and cool off for awhile. I guess the buttermilk fried chicken, the potato salad with chives and eggs, the coleslaw, Okeechobee style with orange juice and pineapple, and the salsa, hot, red, meaty, with homegrown tomatoes is a metaphor for repressed passion in my life. Bon Appetit, it could be worse.....Celibacy, properly channeled, feeds people well. later.
Where on earth did the poem i just published come from? Obviously, I need to sit on top of a mountain in a cold stream and cool off for awhile. I guess the buttermilk fried chicken, the potato salad with chives and eggs, the coleslaw, Okeechobee style with orange juice and pineapple, and the salsa, hot, red, meaty, with homegrown tomatoes is a metaphor for repressed passion in my life. Bon Appetit, it could be worse.....Celibacy, properly channeled, feeds people well. later.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
here it is~~22...not stellar, but it worked...no time to go explore and cover something fun...
Social Column 22
The first time my former mother-in-law came to visit, I scurried about cleaning like mad. My husband walked in the door from work and looked around at the mess in astonishment..."What in God's name happened here?". "Deep Cleaning, you're Mother's coming, it's a female thing." I frantically replied. I wondered if the town of Berlin would go through something similar to prepare for Governor Robert L. Ehrlich, Jr.'s visit on August 19th, to honor Berlin's designation as an arts and entertainment district. I moseyed downtown to ask local shopkeepers what they were doing special for his visit.
First stop, tiny Patricia's Bakery. Many a Sunday morning I have stopped in for her moist apple bread. " The Governor's coming?," She exclaimed in her lilting Italian accent. " I will just make sure I have more of everything." It only took me 30 steps from the entrance to reach the cash register, but the place makes up in taste for what it lacks in size. (Try her giant éclairs, and Rosemary Bread...both are to die for.)
Next stop, my friends Peggy and Les Katona at The Main Street Gift Gallery. " He wouldn't be treated any different then we treat our other customer's." Peggy said, thoughtfully. " However, we will have artists on hand, demo-ing various visual and performing arts." I believe her, too, because there is a warm coziness that engulfs me every time I walk in. The Katona's have come up with some really creative plans to encourage the arts in Berlin, but I'm not telling til they are ready to go public. (The second I get the word, you will be the first to know!).
I have been meaning to go the Lavender & Old Lace antique store since it opened two months ago. Owners Janice and Dennis Johannsen moved to Berlin 8 years ago, and say simply, "We love Berlin." Procurers and collectors of "Moon and Stars" glassware, and many fine Victorian antiques, the couple encourage customer's to browse, or even sit for a chat in one of the store's comfy Victorian chairs. A special hello to my friend Frances Blank, owner of Berlin's first antique store. At 91, she often stops by to visit with Janice and Dennis on her walks downtown.
I asked The Treasure Chest what they were doing for the Governor's visit. I am no different from any other woman...I love beautiful jewelry, and The Treasure Chest has a gorgeous selection of precious gems in distinctive settings. The Treasure Chest has been a family run business for 28 years, and current owner Terri Sexton said " It will just be business as usual- our town has so much to offer, we are proud of it just as it is."
I was puzzled as I walked over to The Atlantic Hotel, where the governor is purported to speak. Where was the frantic "spiffing up?" The marching band, or at least a fiddle or two?? THEY didn't have anything firmly in place for his visit, either.
Sorry, Governor Ehrlich. What you see is what you will get....along with the dose of good old-fashioned warmth and courtesy that is extended to everybody. See you next week!
Social Column 22
The first time my former mother-in-law came to visit, I scurried about cleaning like mad. My husband walked in the door from work and looked around at the mess in astonishment..."What in God's name happened here?". "Deep Cleaning, you're Mother's coming, it's a female thing." I frantically replied. I wondered if the town of Berlin would go through something similar to prepare for Governor Robert L. Ehrlich, Jr.'s visit on August 19th, to honor Berlin's designation as an arts and entertainment district. I moseyed downtown to ask local shopkeepers what they were doing special for his visit.
First stop, tiny Patricia's Bakery. Many a Sunday morning I have stopped in for her moist apple bread. " The Governor's coming?," She exclaimed in her lilting Italian accent. " I will just make sure I have more of everything." It only took me 30 steps from the entrance to reach the cash register, but the place makes up in taste for what it lacks in size. (Try her giant éclairs, and Rosemary Bread...both are to die for.)
Next stop, my friends Peggy and Les Katona at The Main Street Gift Gallery. " He wouldn't be treated any different then we treat our other customer's." Peggy said, thoughtfully. " However, we will have artists on hand, demo-ing various visual and performing arts." I believe her, too, because there is a warm coziness that engulfs me every time I walk in. The Katona's have come up with some really creative plans to encourage the arts in Berlin, but I'm not telling til they are ready to go public. (The second I get the word, you will be the first to know!).
I have been meaning to go the Lavender & Old Lace antique store since it opened two months ago. Owners Janice and Dennis Johannsen moved to Berlin 8 years ago, and say simply, "We love Berlin." Procurers and collectors of "Moon and Stars" glassware, and many fine Victorian antiques, the couple encourage customer's to browse, or even sit for a chat in one of the store's comfy Victorian chairs. A special hello to my friend Frances Blank, owner of Berlin's first antique store. At 91, she often stops by to visit with Janice and Dennis on her walks downtown.
I asked The Treasure Chest what they were doing for the Governor's visit. I am no different from any other woman...I love beautiful jewelry, and The Treasure Chest has a gorgeous selection of precious gems in distinctive settings. The Treasure Chest has been a family run business for 28 years, and current owner Terri Sexton said " It will just be business as usual- our town has so much to offer, we are proud of it just as it is."
I was puzzled as I walked over to The Atlantic Hotel, where the governor is purported to speak. Where was the frantic "spiffing up?" The marching band, or at least a fiddle or two?? THEY didn't have anything firmly in place for his visit, either.
Sorry, Governor Ehrlich. What you see is what you will get....along with the dose of good old-fashioned warmth and courtesy that is extended to everybody. See you next week!
Monday, August 01, 2005
this one i love~it made me feel passion as i wrote, made me pull my hair and pace, and that is all good.
Social Column 21
The brown brick building is plain, unassuming, and I almost missed it , but for the fountains surging around it. Wakeup, Delmarva. Up off our beach chairs and out of our jeans and t-shirts, because swank sophistication has arrived in our midst. What and where is this all about? It's The Fountains, in Salisbury, a wedding/event facility that opened on July 16th.
I talk to everybody, and find every human being I met a source of fascination. Thankfully, strangers and friends talk back, and that is how I met Ray Strawley, general manager for The Fountains. He invited me to tour the facility during the gala "Silver Swing", a celebration of Coastal Hospice at the Lake's 25th anniversary.
Greeted courteously by Charles Pryor at the door in his proper Penguin attire, I suddenly wished I wore my pearls and slicked back my hair, instead of flying through the door in my everyday black pants and corkscrew curls.
Holy Cow! The sheer luxury hit me like a ton of caviar flung from a silver spoon. No less than 12 chandeliers hung from the 21 foot ceilings in the main ballroom. Sage walls complemented the soft, scrolled carpet under my feet, and my eye was immediately caught by the exquisite Ice Sculptures that highlighted the buffet, crafted by Ray himself. Women floated by in long gowns, sparkling with jewels and scented with expensive perfumes. (Jean Nate, it was not.) Press people with slightly bored expressions and huge cameras talked to guests and snapped pictures, and I heard the words "Metropolitan Magazine" and "WCBS" floating around.
I wandered into the silent auction, and found myself mesmerized by a flowing chocolate fountain that even Willie Wonka would have coveted. A confirmed, unrepentant chocoholic, I confess it was I who seduced guests Clary Jackson and Helen Walsh into dipping the provided sticks into the fountain for a quick chocolate fix. Heaven!
If I ever, ever get married again, the reception will be here. Not because of the gourmet food, the impeccable service, the sophisticated ,subtle beauty of the place... It's the brides room that has me hooked. ..a little girl' s dream of cotton candy ruffles and pink chintz, done up Big Girl fashionin sultry champagne silk and bows. With no less than 8 vanity stations, it's the quintessence of all that's female and secretly ceremonial. Not to leave the guys out, the groom's room almost made me want to be a man. Deep, rich brown leather couches, a wide screen TV, and a full service bar, I could smell the sports and Havana’s as I entered the room.
They even have a mini-T.V. station, with the ability to broadcast your event on the internet, as well as record it for posterity.
Downstairs again, I met Sallie Klunk, wife of the piano player for Doc Scantlin and his Imperial Palms Orchestra, the featured entertainment for the night. If Doc Scantlin is here in Delmarva, you better get out your sequins and polish those spectator shoes. His mix of swing, comedy and big band is a hot-ticket pass into cosmopolitan A-list functions.
It might have been alot of glitz and glamour, but the spectacular setting was nothing next to the work The Coastal Hospice of the Lakes provides. My Dad died at age 44, after a long term illness, at the peak of his professional and personal life. I only wish that there was an organization then that could have eased his passing, and held the hand of his wife and children as he did. That is what this non-profit organization does, and expensive perfume and fun aside, they provide an invaluable service not only to those leaving this earth, but for the loved ones left mourning. They may be contacted at:(410) 742-8732, by the patient himself, or an involved friend, relative or clergyman.
I have the rest of the day off, and I am going crabbing. To me, the sea, the cornfields, and the hint of salt in the air, are the greatest luxury of all. See you next week!
Social Column 21
The brown brick building is plain, unassuming, and I almost missed it , but for the fountains surging around it. Wakeup, Delmarva. Up off our beach chairs and out of our jeans and t-shirts, because swank sophistication has arrived in our midst. What and where is this all about? It's The Fountains, in Salisbury, a wedding/event facility that opened on July 16th.
I talk to everybody, and find every human being I met a source of fascination. Thankfully, strangers and friends talk back, and that is how I met Ray Strawley, general manager for The Fountains. He invited me to tour the facility during the gala "Silver Swing", a celebration of Coastal Hospice at the Lake's 25th anniversary.
Greeted courteously by Charles Pryor at the door in his proper Penguin attire, I suddenly wished I wore my pearls and slicked back my hair, instead of flying through the door in my everyday black pants and corkscrew curls.
Holy Cow! The sheer luxury hit me like a ton of caviar flung from a silver spoon. No less than 12 chandeliers hung from the 21 foot ceilings in the main ballroom. Sage walls complemented the soft, scrolled carpet under my feet, and my eye was immediately caught by the exquisite Ice Sculptures that highlighted the buffet, crafted by Ray himself. Women floated by in long gowns, sparkling with jewels and scented with expensive perfumes. (Jean Nate, it was not.) Press people with slightly bored expressions and huge cameras talked to guests and snapped pictures, and I heard the words "Metropolitan Magazine" and "WCBS" floating around.
I wandered into the silent auction, and found myself mesmerized by a flowing chocolate fountain that even Willie Wonka would have coveted. A confirmed, unrepentant chocoholic, I confess it was I who seduced guests Clary Jackson and Helen Walsh into dipping the provided sticks into the fountain for a quick chocolate fix. Heaven!
If I ever, ever get married again, the reception will be here. Not because of the gourmet food, the impeccable service, the sophisticated ,subtle beauty of the place... It's the brides room that has me hooked. ..a little girl' s dream of cotton candy ruffles and pink chintz, done up Big Girl fashionin sultry champagne silk and bows. With no less than 8 vanity stations, it's the quintessence of all that's female and secretly ceremonial. Not to leave the guys out, the groom's room almost made me want to be a man. Deep, rich brown leather couches, a wide screen TV, and a full service bar, I could smell the sports and Havana’s as I entered the room.
They even have a mini-T.V. station, with the ability to broadcast your event on the internet, as well as record it for posterity.
Downstairs again, I met Sallie Klunk, wife of the piano player for Doc Scantlin and his Imperial Palms Orchestra, the featured entertainment for the night. If Doc Scantlin is here in Delmarva, you better get out your sequins and polish those spectator shoes. His mix of swing, comedy and big band is a hot-ticket pass into cosmopolitan A-list functions.
It might have been alot of glitz and glamour, but the spectacular setting was nothing next to the work The Coastal Hospice of the Lakes provides. My Dad died at age 44, after a long term illness, at the peak of his professional and personal life. I only wish that there was an organization then that could have eased his passing, and held the hand of his wife and children as he did. That is what this non-profit organization does, and expensive perfume and fun aside, they provide an invaluable service not only to those leaving this earth, but for the loved ones left mourning. They may be contacted at:(410) 742-8732, by the patient himself, or an involved friend, relative or clergyman.
I have the rest of the day off, and I am going crabbing. To me, the sea, the cornfields, and the hint of salt in the air, are the greatest luxury of all. See you next week!
Saturday, July 30, 2005
I really hated social column 20. It is like dry toast stuck in my throat. But, it is my child, after all, so after ignoring it's existance for a week, here it is~~Social Column 20
This week my travels took me to Snow Hill, and I found it fitting that the town's sign was nestled in a field of wildflowers. Snow Hill has three hundred years of history under it's belt, much of it directly related to the Pocomoke River, meandering next to it. In yesteryears, three-mastered schooners brought freight and passengers, followed by steamboats and barges. Today, it is a favored spot for boat and canoe travel. In the town proper, right next to the white drawbridge, you can rent canoes or kayaks from The Pocomoke River Canoe Company. For the less adventurous, there are two riverside parks, Sturgis Memorial and Byrd Park. Sturgis has a covered Pavilion, and once a month features Dancing Under the Stars, hosted by local service organizations. ( The next one is August 19th). You can also tour the river from Sturgis Park on The Miss Rai, a local riverboat.
Walking the historic downtown, with it's warm red brick buildings, I couldn't help but notice the emphasis on art in the community. Bishop's Stock, opened in 2003 by Worcester County natives Ann and Randy Coates, showcases and supports both established and emerging local artists in their Green Street Gallery. They also host "First Friday's" each month, from 5-8pm., to showcase featured artists and exhibits.
My hunch is that Snow Hill is going to blossom as a working artist's community, with many unique, creative businesses gracing it's lovely downtown. I ate lunch at one such place, The Courthouse Cafe. Decorated in a funky, upscale style, the food was just as different and delicious. Sadly, the owner is going on to other things, and the restaurant is "hanging up it's potholders" on July 29th. (Watch for a new restaurant opening in September.)
Snow Hill boasts over a hundred historically valuable homes. These places are gorgeous! I cheated, and drove Washington, Federal and Market streets, but I want to walk them in the fall, when it's not so hot. Grab the brochure titled "Historic Walking Tour" if you go, because it lists the history of over fifty of the homes you will see. Take the time to visit The Julia Purnell Museum, too. Located in a former church building, it was created in the 1940's by William Purnell honoring his mother who lived from 1843-1943. It is chockfull of articles dating from the Colonial Period to the late 19th century.
As I headed back home my eye was caught by a Gothic Revival style home that is now a B&B called The River House Inn. Innkeepers Susanne and Larry Knudsen allowed me to wander at will, and I was impressed. It is nestled along the river, with cottages as well as rooms in the antique decorated main house. I can't wait for the opportunity for a weekend getaway there.
Next week is the event that I am really looking forward to, though. August 6th brings The Blessing of the Combines in downtown Snow Hill. It will be an all day affair, with an antique tractor pull at 4:30 pm. I might not be politically correct, but I give a thumbs up to a town that openly blesses the tools of their livelihood, and I won't miss it. See you next week!
This week my travels took me to Snow Hill, and I found it fitting that the town's sign was nestled in a field of wildflowers. Snow Hill has three hundred years of history under it's belt, much of it directly related to the Pocomoke River, meandering next to it. In yesteryears, three-mastered schooners brought freight and passengers, followed by steamboats and barges. Today, it is a favored spot for boat and canoe travel. In the town proper, right next to the white drawbridge, you can rent canoes or kayaks from The Pocomoke River Canoe Company. For the less adventurous, there are two riverside parks, Sturgis Memorial and Byrd Park. Sturgis has a covered Pavilion, and once a month features Dancing Under the Stars, hosted by local service organizations. ( The next one is August 19th). You can also tour the river from Sturgis Park on The Miss Rai, a local riverboat.
Walking the historic downtown, with it's warm red brick buildings, I couldn't help but notice the emphasis on art in the community. Bishop's Stock, opened in 2003 by Worcester County natives Ann and Randy Coates, showcases and supports both established and emerging local artists in their Green Street Gallery. They also host "First Friday's" each month, from 5-8pm., to showcase featured artists and exhibits.
My hunch is that Snow Hill is going to blossom as a working artist's community, with many unique, creative businesses gracing it's lovely downtown. I ate lunch at one such place, The Courthouse Cafe. Decorated in a funky, upscale style, the food was just as different and delicious. Sadly, the owner is going on to other things, and the restaurant is "hanging up it's potholders" on July 29th. (Watch for a new restaurant opening in September.)
Snow Hill boasts over a hundred historically valuable homes. These places are gorgeous! I cheated, and drove Washington, Federal and Market streets, but I want to walk them in the fall, when it's not so hot. Grab the brochure titled "Historic Walking Tour" if you go, because it lists the history of over fifty of the homes you will see. Take the time to visit The Julia Purnell Museum, too. Located in a former church building, it was created in the 1940's by William Purnell honoring his mother who lived from 1843-1943. It is chockfull of articles dating from the Colonial Period to the late 19th century.
As I headed back home my eye was caught by a Gothic Revival style home that is now a B&B called The River House Inn. Innkeepers Susanne and Larry Knudsen allowed me to wander at will, and I was impressed. It is nestled along the river, with cottages as well as rooms in the antique decorated main house. I can't wait for the opportunity for a weekend getaway there.
Next week is the event that I am really looking forward to, though. August 6th brings The Blessing of the Combines in downtown Snow Hill. It will be an all day affair, with an antique tractor pull at 4:30 pm. I might not be politically correct, but I give a thumbs up to a town that openly blesses the tools of their livelihood, and I won't miss it. See you next week!
Monday, July 18, 2005
July 18th``
here is#19...Social Column 19
They say it's hell to grow old. I turned 50 today, and I don't think so.
I prefer to liken it to the contrast between living in a brand-new house in a raw sub-division, versus a charming Victorian with it's well-aged charm and established landscaping.
Sounds better then just getting "old" anyway. Thanks to my brother, George, who brought my 4 year old nephew, Sebastian down from New Jersey for the weekend, I had a chance to be "young" again. The party started late Friday night, with George and Sebastian coming from Jersey, and his best friend from college, Bob, coming from Virginia Beach. I knew a present awaited me. They pulled me outside, and there was a beautiful, hot-pink bicycle! ( I will never be able to discreetly be seen around town again.) I jumped aboard, and felt the years slip from me, as the wind kissed my face, and I pumped the pedals.
We spent Sunday doing something I spoke about in my last column~Crabbing! While George and Bob cast their manly poles in the water at Jane Island State Park, near Pokemoke City, Sebastian and I tied bits of soft-shelled crab to a string, and tummy down in the grass, waited to see what would happen. There they were! Fast-moving, claw grabbing, crabs, grasping the string and as startled as we were, as we flung them out of the water onto the bank. (We were too excited to use the net.) Note: You are supposed to use bits of chicken necks, but I forgot to pack them, and the soft shelled crab bait worked as well.) Jane Island offers camping, as well, and is a very cool place to go.
Today brought even more excitement to the Four and Older crowd. We spent the morning at Frontier Town, on Route 611 in West Ocean City. Take your kids there. Take YOURSELF there, when being a grownup seems like just too much work. Spend the whole day, and splash in the pool, watch a simulated Old West Gunfight, Ooh! La La! to the Can-Can Girls, and see an Indian Ceremonial Dance.
I rounded out my day with a visit to The Worcester County Arts Council, located in Berlin, Md., next to Sassafras Station. I have been urged to write about all the wonderful things The Council does for some time now, so I decided to take a peek and see what they offered for the small fry of the community. Turns out, there are all sorts of Summer Art Workshops. One I can highly recommend is being held July 25-29th, in Pokemoke, featuring Dawn Manyfeathers teaching Native American crafts. This workshop is geared for those in grades 3-7. Get those babies away from the TV and Playstation! The 12-17 year olds aren't left out in the heat, either. There is a photography workshop with Mike Gatty coming up August 9th-11th in Snow Hill. Costs for each are $25.00 per student, less then the cost for taking them out to McDonalds a couple of times. Call (410)-641-0809 for directions and more info.
I am so impressed with The Council that I cannot wait to do a full fledged column on it's mission, upcoming events, and on going services.
It's time to clothes-pin some cards on my spokes and take the pink party machine for a ride. Who knows? Maybe my 6oth will bring a pink Harley. See you next week!
here is#19...Social Column 19
They say it's hell to grow old. I turned 50 today, and I don't think so.
I prefer to liken it to the contrast between living in a brand-new house in a raw sub-division, versus a charming Victorian with it's well-aged charm and established landscaping.
Sounds better then just getting "old" anyway. Thanks to my brother, George, who brought my 4 year old nephew, Sebastian down from New Jersey for the weekend, I had a chance to be "young" again. The party started late Friday night, with George and Sebastian coming from Jersey, and his best friend from college, Bob, coming from Virginia Beach. I knew a present awaited me. They pulled me outside, and there was a beautiful, hot-pink bicycle! ( I will never be able to discreetly be seen around town again.) I jumped aboard, and felt the years slip from me, as the wind kissed my face, and I pumped the pedals.
We spent Sunday doing something I spoke about in my last column~Crabbing! While George and Bob cast their manly poles in the water at Jane Island State Park, near Pokemoke City, Sebastian and I tied bits of soft-shelled crab to a string, and tummy down in the grass, waited to see what would happen. There they were! Fast-moving, claw grabbing, crabs, grasping the string and as startled as we were, as we flung them out of the water onto the bank. (We were too excited to use the net.) Note: You are supposed to use bits of chicken necks, but I forgot to pack them, and the soft shelled crab bait worked as well.) Jane Island offers camping, as well, and is a very cool place to go.
Today brought even more excitement to the Four and Older crowd. We spent the morning at Frontier Town, on Route 611 in West Ocean City. Take your kids there. Take YOURSELF there, when being a grownup seems like just too much work. Spend the whole day, and splash in the pool, watch a simulated Old West Gunfight, Ooh! La La! to the Can-Can Girls, and see an Indian Ceremonial Dance.
I rounded out my day with a visit to The Worcester County Arts Council, located in Berlin, Md., next to Sassafras Station. I have been urged to write about all the wonderful things The Council does for some time now, so I decided to take a peek and see what they offered for the small fry of the community. Turns out, there are all sorts of Summer Art Workshops. One I can highly recommend is being held July 25-29th, in Pokemoke, featuring Dawn Manyfeathers teaching Native American crafts. This workshop is geared for those in grades 3-7. Get those babies away from the TV and Playstation! The 12-17 year olds aren't left out in the heat, either. There is a photography workshop with Mike Gatty coming up August 9th-11th in Snow Hill. Costs for each are $25.00 per student, less then the cost for taking them out to McDonalds a couple of times. Call (410)-641-0809 for directions and more info.
I am so impressed with The Council that I cannot wait to do a full fledged column on it's mission, upcoming events, and on going services.
It's time to clothes-pin some cards on my spokes and take the pink party machine for a ride. Who knows? Maybe my 6oth will bring a pink Harley. See you next week!
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
here it is...happSocial Column 18
I wonder what downtown Berlin looked like 20 years ago. I picture it being sleepy, with " for rent " signs in empty storefronts, and a big roughshod eyesore called The Atlantic Hotel as it's focal point.
I could be wrong, of course. Perhaps before the advent of Wal-Mart and the businesses that have sprung up on Route 50 it was a quietly bustling
community. I do know one thing for sure; The Atlantic Hotel was a grand lady past her time, without a stitch of makeup and her garters hanging down.
That's when the imagination, the entrepreneurial talent, the sheer power of seeing a vision and making it happen that we, as Americans, are famous for rallied around Miss Atlantic and gave her a makeover. Hmmnn, makeover? More like extensive plastic surgery with a full body tuck to boot.
Walk downtown today, and you will see a sweeping front porch embellished with bright flowers and rocking chairs, bracketed by a scrolled iron fence. It is a lovely first impression, and as you walk through her doors, the magic continues. To your left is the reception area, with an old fashioned check-in book. A grand staircase beacons your eye upwards, and dining areas spill to the right and far left. The menu is sophisticated, yet incorporates local produce and seafood. You can eat in the formal linen clad dining room, with it's marble topped sideboards, or in my favorite, The Drummers Cafe. . I thought it was so named for a famous drummer in the past, but the moniker comes from the hotel's most plentiful early patrons, traveling salesmen, nicknamed "drummers". I am embarrassed to say I have not had a drink in the cozy bar with the painted metal roof, nor eaten at the Hotel yet, but I will soon, and let you know if the taste lives up to the tantalizing menu. Word of mouth says it does. An added bonus; singing waitresses, and a sing along on Sunday nights with Heather, hosted by Dave Adams.
As fascinated by the hotel's past as I am, it's the present that I like the most. Each room is unique, from the wallpaper to the bedposts. I felt like I was visiting a long lost rich auntie, whose home was lovingly displayed with cherished family heirlooms and maintained with modern day conveniences. Long hallways surprise you with red velvet sitting rooms; bowls casually display fresh apples to snack on.
The Atlantic Hotel was built in 1895 by Horace and Ginny Harmonson, and remained a family business until the late 1930's. The second longest stretch of ownership was under the Coats family, who operated it through the 1960's. It was then operated under various owners until it's purchase in 1986 by The Atlantic Hotel Partnership.
It was they who stripped away the 1946 storefront that marred the hotel's architectural integrity, gutted the inside, and then carefully restored her to her present loveliness. They have a book behind the reception counter, showing the amazing transformation, and it is well worth browsing through.
I suppose we need the familiarity of coast to coast hotels in our uncertain world. Yet, every now and then, the adventurous child within needs to explore the unique, the special, the different.
Thanks, Atlantic Hotel. You're a diamond in a rhinestone world.
See you next weeky birthday to me! the eighteenth column...
I wonder what downtown Berlin looked like 20 years ago. I picture it being sleepy, with " for rent " signs in empty storefronts, and a big roughshod eyesore called The Atlantic Hotel as it's focal point.
I could be wrong, of course. Perhaps before the advent of Wal-Mart and the businesses that have sprung up on Route 50 it was a quietly bustling
community. I do know one thing for sure; The Atlantic Hotel was a grand lady past her time, without a stitch of makeup and her garters hanging down.
That's when the imagination, the entrepreneurial talent, the sheer power of seeing a vision and making it happen that we, as Americans, are famous for rallied around Miss Atlantic and gave her a makeover. Hmmnn, makeover? More like extensive plastic surgery with a full body tuck to boot.
Walk downtown today, and you will see a sweeping front porch embellished with bright flowers and rocking chairs, bracketed by a scrolled iron fence. It is a lovely first impression, and as you walk through her doors, the magic continues. To your left is the reception area, with an old fashioned check-in book. A grand staircase beacons your eye upwards, and dining areas spill to the right and far left. The menu is sophisticated, yet incorporates local produce and seafood. You can eat in the formal linen clad dining room, with it's marble topped sideboards, or in my favorite, The Drummers Cafe. . I thought it was so named for a famous drummer in the past, but the moniker comes from the hotel's most plentiful early patrons, traveling salesmen, nicknamed "drummers". I am embarrassed to say I have not had a drink in the cozy bar with the painted metal roof, nor eaten at the Hotel yet, but I will soon, and let you know if the taste lives up to the tantalizing menu. Word of mouth says it does. An added bonus; singing waitresses, and a sing along on Sunday nights with Heather, hosted by Dave Adams.
As fascinated by the hotel's past as I am, it's the present that I like the most. Each room is unique, from the wallpaper to the bedposts. I felt like I was visiting a long lost rich auntie, whose home was lovingly displayed with cherished family heirlooms and maintained with modern day conveniences. Long hallways surprise you with red velvet sitting rooms; bowls casually display fresh apples to snack on.
The Atlantic Hotel was built in 1895 by Horace and Ginny Harmonson, and remained a family business until the late 1930's. The second longest stretch of ownership was under the Coats family, who operated it through the 1960's. It was then operated under various owners until it's purchase in 1986 by The Atlantic Hotel Partnership.
It was they who stripped away the 1946 storefront that marred the hotel's architectural integrity, gutted the inside, and then carefully restored her to her present loveliness. They have a book behind the reception counter, showing the amazing transformation, and it is well worth browsing through.
I suppose we need the familiarity of coast to coast hotels in our uncertain world. Yet, every now and then, the adventurous child within needs to explore the unique, the special, the different.
Thanks, Atlantic Hotel. You're a diamond in a rhinestone world.
See you next weeky birthday to me! the eighteenth column...
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