How It Happens

I write lists of things I need to do and when I need to do them, places I need to go in the order I need to go there, items I need to buy, but not before I need to buy them and other tidbits in my life that I don’t want to lose track. Petersburg, Virginia was in the middle of my Places to Go list.

Yet a couple weeks ago I found myself driving to Petersburg to follow up on some research I was doing for a story but had set aside to finish later. The story was second on my list, not the one I was immediately writing. I wound up in the interesting War Between the States Siege Museum which has all to do with, of course, the ten-month siege of Petersburg during that same war.

The research I wanted for this area was on the Revolutionary War period. So how did I come to be here? Once I spotted the sign in front of the building I was drawn in. The stories represented inside told of the stamina and determination of a town and its people. The docent was obviously enjoying the telling and showing.

I somehow fell into conversation with a couple as I was readying to leave. They were also slowly heading for the exit. The subject of ghosts and hauntings popped into our conversation.

The lady had a haunting experience to tell me. The docent overheard us and followed up with a story of her own. Synchronicity. Still at work.

Ashes

Does anyone else out there remember hauling ashes from the coal furnace in the basement to the icy/snowy sidewalk in front of the house? This was the answer of the times, to help keep folks from slipping, sliding and falling. Those were the days of pulling galoshes over top of our shoes with snap buckles closing them. One weak buckle always broke leaving a gap. Ugh. I hated pulling those boots on but it had to be done.

The stocking cap my cousin Wilma knitted for me, gloves and scarves dried on radiators (still the best heat, I think) while we drank hot cocoa to warm up before going out into the snow to get cold and wet all over again. Snow ball fights and snow igloos were as much a part of the Christmas season as the tree, the gifts and memorizing a piece for Sunday school.

The Story Behind

There is a story behind everything. Think about it. When you bought a certain painting, or piece of pottery, or stained glass, maybe it was gifted to you. What is the story that goes with it? There is a story to be told inside the painting and each person looking at it may interpret it differently. Then there’s the story about how it came into your possession.

How about the story in your memory about the scar on your knee or how my two kittens, now cats, came to lighten my life and teach me about unconditional love. Your first taste of ice cream, remember it? What's the story?

Most times we don’t even think about such things or we think that our stories are all the same. Ho-hum. But that isn’t true. The differences are what make our stories interesting to others. It’s our differences that kick up fascination. It’s our setting apart that creates compassion and understanding. It’s stuff that makes a story.

Autumn Scenes

Courthouse Square was a thick carpet of brilliantly colored autumn leaves when I pulled along the curb on Friday. The scene immediately took me back to the 70s when I bought a thick shag carpet for my first house in Bordentown. It was like walking on fire but soft and comfy-my carpet and the Courthouse leaves, too.

Funny, how a view in front of me can take me to a completely different place. The old movie with Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman where he is a temporary gardener filling in for a friend, is another autumn scene that pops into my head at this time of year. I haven’t seen that movie in probably 40 years and don’t even remember the title of it, yet a few scenes stick in my mind waiting to be rekindled. The other vivid scene from that movie was one of the old barn remodeled into a gorgeous home-think roaring fire in a huge stone fireplace and deep, untouched snow outside. A-h-h. The beauties of life.

Chapel Hill Excursion

Actually I was going to Durham to a particular outdoor furniture place that I’ve never been able to find open when I’ve been there early in the week. This is Saturday, what retail shop isn’t open then? This one. H-m-m. I drove over an hour to get here, no sense in wasting the gas I’ve already used, so, on to Chapel Hill.
Driving south on 15/501 as the map directed brought me around and back to a part of Durham I’d not seen before but a friend told me about the day before. Wow! Again, not to be defeated I stopped for a light lunch at Fishmonger’s and jumped onto 15/501 again.
This time I didn’t take the route through the town but stayed on the highway to Franklin Street and bingo! I finally found Chapel Hill. This has culminated a few years of saying “Yes, I want to explore Chapel Hill, maybe tomorrow, next week, later, in a month, etc.”
Saturday afternoon and the shops and restaurants were filled. Even the book shop had paying customers lined up in front of me. This was good to see after all the gloom and doom I hear daily about the economy. I even found a tiny little shop offering Cannoli. The gentleman said it was made with Italian hands by way of New York. After tasting it later that night, I knew he was telling me the truth.

Autumn Roadsides

Last Saturday the early morning fog still clung to the trees and bushes in the distance creating a beautiful but eerie backdrop for the ghostly-castle-in-Scotland-mystery I was listening to in the SUV. I was driving into Warrenton to shop at the Farmers’ Market downtown. The scene cast up beauty instead of spookiness. The autumn golden-yellow colored flowers adorned the roadside in thick bunches running all along the edges of the blacktop for miles. I continue to be overwhelmed with the abundance of wildflowers wherever I drive this September. Well behind the blooms that look like Black-eyed Susans are tall stems of greenery topped in clusters of little white flowers. These are tucked into the edges of the forests, in masses. A florist couldn’t have arranged them more stunningly for any amount of money. And they are there just for looking.

Obviously the grass cutting road crews have beauty in their souls. They trim the grass closely but go around the buttery flowers leaving a feast for drivers and their passengers for which I am thankful.

Pandolfi Concert

This afternoon I went to Cherry Hill to the Thomas Pandolfi Piano Concert. The grand piano is set up in the center hallway. I sat in the room to the right where I could watch his hands and expressions while he played. His first selection "Apres Une Lecture du Dante" by Franz Liszt thundered throughout the manor. I could feel the descent into Hell as Liszt intended it to be. As I watched Pandolfi play with vigor and intensity and later Chopin’s work, it felt as though George Sand, Chopin and Liszt along with his long-time lover, Countess Maria d’Agoult were in the room.

They spent many hours in the salons of the wealthy in France, Liszt playing with passion almost violently, Chopin often played with delicacy on the keys. Picnics, social events and visits to Aurore’s (George Sand) estate were part of their lives. Time eroded the lovers; Sand leaving Chopin and Liszt leaving d’Agoult, even Sand and d’Agoult became public enemies, but for some time music kept them close. Liszt and Chopin remained close friends until Chopin’s early demise from his ill health. Yes, Thomas Pandolfi played beautifully bringing the spirits of these four friends into the rooms of Cherry Hill.