Downtown (the smaller version)

Hop in my car, and I'll take you on a quick tour from the countryside of central Virginia to the bustling Tidewater region. The picture on the left was taken in front of the Chrysler Museum in Norfolk, but we'll start in Montpelier, Virginia, and we'll explore that area before we leap to the east. I don't have any details on the equine statue, anyway; It was a cold night and I snapped the photo from the warmth of my car.

From the previous blog post, in addition to exploring Morris's grandmother's house, our travels took us through portions of Hanover, Louisa, Orange, and Madison counties. We made a calculated decision to take backroads - true backroads that veered off of the two-lane byways - that were paved but off the standard roadmaps. This allowed us to see places like Beaverdam, Bumpass, Fredericks Hall and Cutalong. Some were just crossroads, others were towns that declined when rail travel fell out of favor.

When I ride through these areas, I often wonder how I would like living in such a bucolic setting. In my fantasy I can visualize an old cottage, surrounded by flowers in the spring, and a comfy chair & a book next to a crackling fire in wintertime. I think I would enjoy living in the country, as long as I had a reliable connection to the Internet. And no job to slog off to each day. And a Useful Man (link to The Old Foodie, a very interesting blog) to take care of tasks that would confound me. In other words, I'm better off in my maintenance-free home unless an unexpected & sizable windfall drops into my bank account.

Downtown Montpelier

House in Downtown Montpelier

Church of our Savior (Episcopal)
Montpelier

The Aaron Hall Free School

Just south of Beaverdam, near a place with the alluring name of Old Bandana, we happened upon the Aaron Hall Free School. Boarded up but well maintained, it was obviously an historic property, and we stopped to take a closer look. Aaron Hall, a farmer, bequeathed funds upon his death to establish a school for his neighbors who could not otherwise afford formal educations for their children. What an act of love! The central portion of the structure is obviously the oldest part of the school, constructed with rough-hewn logs in 1844 at a time when this section of Virginia had no nearby schools.

I love exploring city & countryside with Morris because we share a curiousity about our surroundings. I like taking pictures, and Morris never gets impatient when I pull over or turn around for a photo opportunity. No road is too narrow and no village too obscure when we set out for a drive. We took one road near a dot on the map called Rising Sun, but turned around when it began looking suspiciously like someone's driveway.

When we return to our homes, each of us likes to research what we've discovered via the Internet or area libraries. A wealth of information from reliable sources is at our fingertips nowadays. The Library of Virginia, the Virginia Historical Society, the National Park Service, and Virginia Commonwealth University have established websites where we can view court records, maps, essays on history, and old photographs.




Downtown Beaverdam

The old train station in Beaverdam

Terrell's Store, across from the Beaverdam train depot

The Court Cafe in Louisa
The outside looked promising, but the Court Cafe was obviously more bar than restaurant, since at midday we were the only two patrons. People probably swing from the ceiling lights at night. Still, we had good food & very friendly service.

A railroad building in Louisa

A simple country church at a crossroads called Cutalong


Old and new buildings in downtown Norfolk

Madison Hotel
Norfolk

Delicious fare on Granby Street
Norfolk

Colley Avenue Pharmacy
Norfolk
I made a spur-of-the-moment trip down to Norfolk to see Suzanne, who was in town from Amsterdam visiting her mother. I doubted I was going to see her, because we didn't talk until the midpoint of her stay, but I was able to arrange a day away from the office on short notice. We had a fine time. We rode by our old high school, stopped & sat awhile in front of the house where I grew up, and had a nice dinner in Norfolk.

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.
George Eliot

I've got two friends, Suzanne & Brenda, whom I've known since childhood. We have so many shared memories and stories.We have seen each other through the calamities of life: loss of romantic relationships, financial uncertainty, ill health, crazy thinking, financial uncertainty, change of careers, and the death of loved ones. We have celebrated each others' joys & successes. We have shared hours of unbridled laughter. We have seen one another at our best and our worst, but we remain constant. Old friends know us better than we know ourselves, in some ways.
And a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship
And he answered saying:
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And he is your board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
Kahlil Gibran

Cake made by the owner's wife at Jenro's Diner
Virginia Beach

To Grandmother's House We Go

Door with peeling paint
Her first name was Ivy. She was the grandmother of my friend Morris, and she moved into this house in Mineral in the mid-1940's. Although the house was probably a single-family home originally, by the time Ivy moved in, it had been divided into two flats. She lived in the lower half of the house. Aunt Dot lived upstairs; she was the sister of one of Ivy's daughters-in-law. Not really an aunt, in other words, but that's how we say things here in The South.

Morris remembers visiting his grandmother, and staying overnight on weekends frequently. He & his brother would also spend at least one week each summer with her. The house is in Mineral, originally known as Tolersville. Morris recalls hearing the train wail in the quiet hours of deepest night, for the house is situated just a couple of streets over from the train tracks that run through town.

The town was known as Mineral at least as far back as 1902, when it was incorporated as such because of the many nearby mines. Fool's Gold (pyrite), as well as real gold, copper, sulphur, and iron ore were mined by various companies, and hauled out of Mineral over the railroad. At one time there were fifteen gold mines within two miles of town.

The picture above shows the current view of the guest room where Morris slept when he stayed with his grandmother. Like my own grandmother, Ivy was poor but feisty, and she enjoyed having her family in to visit. Although the home was small, with two bedrooms, a living room, and an eat-in kitchen, places were found for everyone to sleep. Privacy wasn't a priority when it came to family get-togethers. There were two double beds in the guest room, and the overflow would sleep on sofas or with Ivy.

All the women would pitch in to cook the family meals. Ivy had a "modern" stove in a corner, and a wood stove along the center of one wall. The kitchen was large, but there was no dining room, so meals were served in three sittings at the kitchen table. Ivy ate with the men at the first seating, since it was her house. Her presence probably discouraged food fights, also. The rest of the women took the second seating, and the kids ate last.

The women cleaned up after the meal, except for Aunt Kat who disappeared upstairs to her siser's flat with a promise to be back to help in a minute. The other women exchanged looks, because they knew they wouldn't see Kat & her manicured nails until the last pot was washed & dried. The men & children ran off to play.

Morris and I were on one of our explorations, this time through the countryside northwest of Richmond. We visited his mother's grave in Hanover County, and then continued into Louisa County, stopping in Mineral to see his grandmother's old place.

Both of our grandmothers lived through hard times in the Great Depression, and both spent most of their lives in rented homes. My grandmother bought her first home in the 1960's when she herself was in her 60's. Morris's grandmother lived at her home in Mineral until she died at the hospital in the 1980's. Both of our grandmothers were widowed in their 60's, and lived into their 90's. Both used wringer washers, and enjoyed their stories (soap operas) on afternoon television. You could hear the trains pass by from both houses; one in Mineral, the other in Morrison, Iowa. For their grandchildren, both created lasting memories of home-cooked meals and the fellowship of family.

Ivy never locked her doors. In fact, when new tenants moved in following her death, the landlord had to install locks on the doors. Now, the house has been vacant for many years. It was the first time that Morris had been inside since the estate sale. It was good to see him walking through the rooms, and hear him share his memories. Mineral is today a sleepy town with many of its businesses gone and old buildings demolished. Coleman Hotel, Mineral Hotel, Noel's Store, and the Mineral Tea Room exist only in photographs. The town has a population of a little over 400 souls, quite a drop since the 1910 census tallying 3,200.

Morris remembers when staying in Mineral meant excitement. We both grew up in suburban neighborhoods; you got in the car to go places. At his grandmother's, he was right in town, with trains chugging by, stores a short stroll away, and the fire station down the block. It was heaven for a child from suburban Richmond.

As we drove away for more adventures, we both reflected silently on our childhood memories. I would walk to the post office to fetch Grandma's mail, and return to her house for a glass of cold milk & a handful of homemade cookies. The postmistress, Jessie, would put a notice of our visit in the social column of the Grundy County Register, and it was always exciting to see our names in the newspaper. Grandma knew who lived in every house in town. Times sure have changed.

So Long, 2010!

Let me apologize in advance. I had dreams of crafting a poignant and deeply meaningful post about personal growth and the transition of the years with such simple eloquence that you would be left dabbing your eyes and whispering "Bravo. Well done."

But, here it is New Year's Eve already and I'm dressed for a party, and my French cuffs make typing an annoyance. You're stuck with another dashed off bit of fluff and a few recent photos. Who was I trying to fool, anyway? Deep & meaningful? You can't get blood from a turnip.

The picture at the top was taken at Homemades by Suzanne, a fine cafe & bakery in a small town just north of Richmond. Morris & I were eating lunch in the front dining area when I noticed the warmth of the old wood of the tables & chairs. It was a cold, windy day and the cafe was cozy.

We rode up the Old Washington Highway to Ashland. The narrow road was still icy from our Christmas weekend snowstorm. Along the way, we passed through the former whistle stop known as Elmont which is surrounded by large stretches of farmland. The wind raised snow wraiths from the fields, and we were happy for the warmth of the car.

Ashland is a charming town with the railway running right down the middle of the main street, Railroad Avenue. Many beautiful old homes and buildings line the split street, and an Amtrak train rumbled by as we drove along.



The picture below was taken at an old church on England Street.

Next we have the train station, built in the 1920's when some Ashland residents would take the local train into Richmond each day for work. Behind the station is the Henry Clay Inn, still in operation.



Ah! Lunchtime! The fare at Homemades by Suzanne is mouthwatering comfort food, especially on a cold, wintery day. I had a deviled egg, succotash salad, and macaroni salad. Perfect.


Later that day, back in Richmond, we had dinner at Garnett's. After Morris & I parted, I walked for a bit along Park Avenue and took a picture of one of my favorite churches at the corner of Park Avenue and Meadow Street.



During my workday, one of my duties is answering the local Alcoholics Anonymous hotline. By now I know that the call volume ramps up during and after the holidays. At the end of the day, I transfer the calls to a volunteer for the night. While I was at home one evening, I got a few text messages from that night's volunteer.

Lyssa: (9:12pm) Lord...was I this pathetic and wallowing?

Lyssa: (9:18pm) Clearly, I was. Don't want to sound callous.

Lyssa: (9:20pm) I must have been a real bite in the ass to be around...

Me: (9:23pm) Are you on the phone with the still-suffering or just randomly musing?

Lyssa: (9:25pm) Just hung up but was held captive by former (still, occasionally?) self for twenty minutes.

Me: (9:27pm) I know the feeling. I talked to me this afternoon for about the same amount of time.

And that's how it can be when we answer the phone. Sometimes the caller is ready for help. Sometimes they just want a sympathetic ear. Some callers get hooked on the sympathy, and still keep on drinking until they lose everything.

I always keep in mind something a man with 30-plus years of sobriety shared in a meeting:
"Sympathy will kill an alcoholic."

I remember that, and dole out sympathy sparingly, but I can go long with empathy & encouragement. I'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to answer those calls. Those of us who do agree that it goes a long way in helping us stay sober. It's a marvelous mirror of our former selves. When I hear the misery, self-delusion & self-absorption, the bewilderment & madness, it reminds me that that's how I was, too. I do not want to ever return to the life I led before I found recovery.

Happy New Year, everyone! I'm off to a big ol' party. See you next year.

Cake Walk

Last Saturday morning was an opportunity to sleep late. The soul was willing, but the body woke up at four in the morning. I could tell it would be useless to fight it, so I went ahead & got up, fixed coffee, got scoured & dressed, and went to Walmart before everyone else decided to go. There were few shoppers (nice!), but I also missed out on photo-ops for POW. I wasn't there to roam the aisles, though; I was on a mission to buy my neighbor some holiday containers for the party mix she makes each Christmas.

I went to my group's Saturday morning meeting (8:45 instead of the weekday 6:45), picked up a box of pastries that Romeo made for a party I was attending in the evening, and went to Jean-Jacques Bakery for a cake I had ordered for the same party. By the way, the first photo shows a sidewalk dispenser for a local weekly periodical, in case you were wondering, and no, I have no idea who that lady is supposed to be.

This all leads to the photos I'm posting today. I had called Jean-Jacques Friday to order an Almond-Amaretto cake, but they told me they couldn't make one for the following day so I went with a Chocolate-Rum cake.

Jean-Jacques is a bakery of local renown in Carytown, an upscale street of retail establishments in Richmond. I popped in at ten on Saturday morning and was told the cake wasn't quite ready. I said it wasn't a problem at all and that I'd just wander around Carytown for awhile. I grabbed my camera from the car and took a few pictures.

The bakery is in Cary Court, a very small shopping center in the heart of Carytown that opened in 1938. It was Richmond's first strip shopping center, and was an instant hit. Soon, other properties along Cary Street were converted to retail shop space, and the area drew tourists as well as locals.

Below are some views of modern-day shop windows. Sorry about the glare on the windows; it wasn't the best time of day for taking pictures.





Today's Carytown is billed as "A Mile of Style" and is clearly a commercial street, but this merchant district got its start during the Great Depression (the economic depression of the 1930's; not the current one) when residents began converting the lower floors of their homes into small shops. With the fabulous Byrd Theater and Cary Court drawing visitors from surrounding counties, residents gladly took advantage of ways to make the most of the traffic. These blocks of Cary Street gradually transitioned from residential to retail, and by the 70's became known as Carytown.

Below is a new photo of a placque in Cary Court that shows an old photo of Cary Court. Trippy, huh? Other than the cars, it looks very much the same today.

More window shopping below, this time at For The Love Of Chocolate, a very dangerous store in Cary Court. Very, very dangerous. This photo shows a mere snippet of the alluring perils that await visitors. For a candy store, it covers a lot of square footage, and every nook & cubbyhole is packed with sugary hazards and menacing chocolate pitfalls.

I stumbled out of the chocolate shop with my virginity intact, and went back to Jean-Jacques to see if my cake was ready. The young woman behind the counter greeted me with a rather sick expression on her face.

"Um, we found your order and I don't know what happened I'm sorry we've looked everywhere and here's your order form but they must have forgot to make the cake we're so sorry would you pick out another one from the case and we would like you to take it please for free okay?"
"Gee, sure. No problem at all. Could I have that Almond-Amaretto cake?"

So, somehow - planetary alignment, Fortuna's Wheel, my Higher Power peeking at my bank balance, take your pick - I walked out of the bakery with my original choice free of charge.

I actually felt a twinge of guilt, as if this shouldn't have happened to me. Then I considered that I've learned to accept the bad things in my past and the troubles of today with as much grace as I can muster, and I need to learn to do the same when good things come my way.

Farewell, Fall! ...or Guerillas in the Mist

Winter doesn't care about our calendars. She has already flounced in and sat down, disdainfully waving off December 21 and declaring "I just happened to be in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd drop by." It's been quite brisk in the mornings when I leave the house, and the Farmers' Almanac is predicting "colder-than-normal temperatures" for my little God's half-acre.

It was 16º when I drove away from home this morning. The air felt cold & harsh; Sarah Palin weather.

I am grateful for a home with heat, a car with heated seats, and an indoor job. It's also a beautiful, clear-skyed sunny day, even if it is cold.

Before autumn gave way to winter, I was out early one morning when a lingering layer of fog gave an ethereal look to Richmond. I took a few pictures on Monument Avenue before heading to the office, and I'll share a couple of them here. The first is of the Matthew Fontaine Maury Monument, erected in 1929. This monument is unusual in that Maury is depicted seated, and is not the dominant feature. F. William Sievers, a Richmond sculptor, felt that a man's ideas are bigger than he is; a large globe behind Maury is surrounded by farmers & sailors in a storm. The globe itself is detailed with wind currents that were mapped by Maury, the Pathfinder of the Seas. These images are appropriate to Maury's analysis of weather systems to improve the lives of sailors & farmers. The base of the monument is surrounded by reverse intaglio images of fresh & saltwater fish. It is a lovely and atypical memorial sculpture along Richmond's famous avenue.

Of course, I also had to see how General Lee & Traveller were handling the fog. They were in the thick of it on their forty-foot granite pedestal. Traveller was the most famous of Lee's horses, and Lee remarked in Lexington, following the Civil War, that his horse was "presenting the appearance of a plucked chicken" because souvenir seekers yanked his tail nearly bald. Traveller walked in Lee's funeral procession with his saddle & bridle draped in black crepe, and died the following year from tetanus. The Lee Monument was unveiled in 1890, and stood alone in the middle of nowhere for eleven years until development of Monument Avenue caught up.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Four years ago I would have been home drinking & feeling sorry for myself. Each year in sobriety has been better & better. I had a full day, and was tired by the time my head hit the pillow.

I was out of the house before the sun woke up, and went to my usual 6:45 meeting at Holy Comforter Episcopal. Then Robespierre & I met at Lakeside Presbyterian because we thought they'd be eating breakfast. When we walked in they were having a meeting, so we turned tail and met friends for breakfast at Aunt Sarah's (a pancake house, not a relative). After that, Sherry & I went back to Lakeside for a 10am meeting. From there, I dashed over to Ginter Park Baptist for a Thanksgiving dinner/midday meeting. Then I bought a plant for my friend Brenda, and went by her place for a visit. From there, to Robert's so I could meet his mother who was in town for Thanksgiving. I ended the day at my neighbor Karen's for our own Thanksgiving dinner, and she made enough food for an army. Just when I thought I would pop after dinner, she announced that she had made a sweet potato pie (her first), so what could I do?

I woke up in the night with a food hangover. I felt a bit miserable until I considered that it was a hangover borne of food & fellowship, not loneliness & alcohol. I met some new friends, and spent time with some dear old ones. All in all, a wonderful Thanksgiving that left me feeling very thankful, indeed.

Autumn Night at Ashland Presbyterian Church

American Suburban

Cast an eyeball at that crazy kitchen countertop. Doesn't it send you into orbit? Isn't it the most? Well, it probably was in 1960. This chrome-banded countertop was paired with the de rigueur pine cabinets in a house I saw Sunday afternoon. Morris & I enjoyed another afternoon of free entertainment exploring some of the open houses in town, and I wanted to share a few Sunday photos.

I also want to say Happy Anniversary to my pal Scott in Texas! He will quietly celebrate 7 years of sobriety today, and start working on his eighth year of living in gratitude & wonder. He's an artist with considerable talent, and you can see some of his work by clicking here. Thanks for being there, Scott!

Sunday was a beautiful autumn day, and I took the picture below outside the library that's around the corner from my home. A cold front came through with high winds Tuesday night, so a lot of the colorful leaves have been stripped off the trees, so I'm glad that Morris & I took advantage of the lovely day Sunday. We looked through ten homes in four hours!

Before we get to the few pictures I took while fake-househunting, let me tell you about Weird Pizza Night. On Mondays, I usually go to a meeting that I helped Jiffy start in Carytown, which is a stretch about a mile long of shops & restaurants in town. After the meeting, the two of us went to Mary Angela's, a casual little place that serves some of the best pizza in Richmond.

We were seated in a booth toward the back of the restaurant, and we noticed that we kept getting occasional but pervasive whiffs of something quite unpleasant - not a good thing in a dining establishment. It was the unmistakeable smell of good old-fashioned B.O.

And it was really, really strong. My first reaction was that of most people: OMG, is it ME? But Jiffy assured me that it wasn't, because she had just sat in a small meeting room with me for an hour. Through careful analysis, we came to the uneasy realization that it was one of the two servers. Ew! More evidence proved that it was both of the servers on duty that night. Ewwwww!

We were so happy when our pungent pizza arrived to fragrance our table. The pie had been baked on the surface of the sun, whisked to our table, and I (unaware) immediately scorched the roof of my mouth on the first bite. I hate burning my mouth, but in this case it did distract me somewhat from the wafting body odor of passing waitresses. Jiffy found another distraction...

I had noticed that whomever was seated in the booth behind us seemed restless. There was a rhythmic jostling I could feel at my back, because all the booths were attached, tabletops & seats, in a long line down the wall. I could also detect a heated discussion from the next booth, although I could only hear one side of the conversation. Soon, Jiffy was looking over my shoulder with a curious expression.

There seemed to be a pesky bit of crust stuck in my mouth, and as I worried it with my tongue, Jiffy whispered that the lone diner behind us was having an argument with her magazine. The page featured a full-face shot of some blond celebrity, and our neighbor was jabbing at the photo vehemently - that was the movement I sensed. It was a two-way conversation in our neighbor's head, however, because there would be pauses in her discourse as she listened to her glossy adversary.

By now I came to the sad conclusion that this was no wayward pizza crust in my mouth. The roof of my mouth was sloughing off and tickling my tongue. This made me as nauseated as the circulating body odor. We asked for a box for the remaining pizza, and made our way to the cash register. I fought Jiffy for the check & won, and she asked how much she should leave for the tip. "Three dollars and a bar of soap," I said, sotto voce.

But not softly enough. The woman at the register looked at our ticket to see who had served us. I felt bad initially, but decided that a manager would want to know about a situation like that before they start losing business. I'd rather put up with a burned mouth or a nutty patron at the adjacent table than a server with horrible body odor. And you know how it is if you've ever found a tick crawling on you? You itch all over. I kept having a sense-memory of body odor even when I got out into the fresh air.

Okay, the picture up there is of the Murder House that Morris & I toured Sunday. I don't think anything bad really happened in this particular house, but when a house is devoid of furniture, you seem to notice every stain in the carpet. This home is in an established, upscale neighborhood, and was surely a showplace of modern living...in 1960, the last time the house saw improvements. There were four bedrooms, two with horribly stained & burnt carpeting, all for less than $400k. Plus, the mod kitchen with original fixtures & appliances. The little Air-Wick in the sunroom was no match for the strong mold scent that fogged the windows.

This has been my week for strange smells.

Also, you cannot imagine from the picture how steep that driveway is. I thought I was going to have to crawl up it on my hands and knees. It must have been a barrel of laughs last winter when sheets of ice & snow lingered for weeks on end. The entire lot was on a hillside, and I expected to see Heidi & Peter herding goats through the yard.

Here's a view of the split-foyer staircase from the living room of the Murder House. The killer must have really gone to town in here, because the carpet had to be replaced.

Next up are two bathrooms in a fabulous 1960 oversized brick tri-level. This place was top-notch all the way, with big rooms and custom details. Each bathroom had deluxe built-in features.

I love the tissue dispenser in the next one. The sink appears to be an original American-Standard Dresslyn Lavatory. All of the American-Standard bathroom sinks from the era have a "-lyn" suffix; Dresslyn, Gracelyn, Circlyn, Ovalyn, Spacelyn, Lauralyn, Ledgelyn. Toilets were named Carlyle, Luxor, Cadet, Glenwall and Norwall. Have you named your sink & toilet?

The next picture from the same tri-level shows the master bath, which was small but efficient. I nearly fainted with excitement when I opened a hatch near the floor and discovered a bathroom scale. The whirl-out toothbrush holder in the wall took me near the edge, too. I don't know whether the corner sink has a Lyn name, but I'm sure it didn't come with the undersink cabinet.

Morris & I had a grand day out. We saw some very interesting homes, ranging from 1939 to brand new. I love seeing the way households have changed through the years. For example, in the early to mid-part of the last century, homes were usually compartmentalized, with specific functions for each room. Later homes had more of an open flow, sometimes to the extreme when we got into the Great Room era where everything happened in one big, happy room and you wouldn't have been surprised to see a urinal hanging off the wall beside the fireplace.

We'll close the shop today with a picture from my mom's kitchen. Here's my dad's glowing birthday cake, so bright it took two of us to blow out the candles. In the background is Mom's stove, one of the appliances she mentions waxing as part of her housecleaning regimen. American Suburban, circa 1965.