Hardware Stores

Don’t you just love the old hardware stores? The ones where your shoes step onto creaky wood floors that announce construction with every step. You can find small drawers filled with different size screws and bins of various nails. You can fill a bag or buy just one. Even the aroma is so distinct in a hardware store.

I have three that stand out in my memory. The one on Liberty Street in Trenton was about five blocks from the home of my youth. It was built in a V. I remember my father taking me there when I was under five years old. We entered at the point and I’m sure he carried something in his hand that he needed to ask about and to replace. That was probably the beginning of my love of architecture. I made many trips there alone as I grew. Sometimes just to browse around and soak up the feeling of the place.

The second one is App’s Hardware on Farnsworth Avenue in Bordentown, New Jersey. I’d go in when Mel was still alive and explain to him what I needed for my old house. If he didn’t have it (and that was very unusual) he’d tell me where I could get it. That’s hometown service that you’ll never get in a box store. Later Neil followed Mel’s ways and searched through those little drawers or bins or somewhere in the back where he remembered seeing exactly what I needed. He’d also give me advice on how to fix or repair an item I was having trouble with, sometimes losing a sale.

The third is the hardware store on N. Main Street in Warrenton, North Carolina. They’ve got it all including help and advice. In the spring I just have to stop my car and go in as soon as I see the racks on the sidewalk filled with herb, vegetable and decorative plants. Of course as soon as I arrive home, I realize I’ve forgotten to buy what I went in there for.

Changing Names

Recently I was voted onto the Board of a volunteer group. The following month when the minutes were sent out via email my name came up as Arlene White. A great, deep laugh erupted from me immediately. It seems to be an inherited curse on the women of my heritage.

My mother’s name was Anna May Philkill Daniels Bice Riggi. Her father was adopted. When he found out his real name he changed it and hers too. This took place after my mother carried his adopted name for five years. Bice was her first husband’s (my father’s) name. She remarried about ten years after my father died. Riggi was her second husband’s name

My great-grandmother carried the Daniels, Krieser, Hardy and Philkill names. Whew! That’s the result of a lot of genealogy! The mystery continues. . . . . .her mother was a Bell, a Daniels and died a Martin.
I've changed my name three times, carrying the name of the man (usually called a husband) in my life. So I’ve received mail in the name of Bice, Morrison, Brady and Falvo. And back to Bice again. When I finally took my maiden name back it felt like putting on a pair of old comfortable shoes. That’s it, I swear! I’ll never change my name again. Fortunately I bore all sons, never a daughter to be concerned about what name she will carry.

Silence

I attended an all-day writers’ workshop in Chapel Hill recently. When we broke for lunch workshop presenter Debra Moffitt planned that we each eat in silence. She stated that most Americans are uneasy in silence. Their houses are filled with music, TV or other sounds that float in the background. It’s true. Most of us are unused to the quiet. Until I moved to North Carolina to write full-time, I usually had music playing in the background, maybe softly but it was there while I worked. I sold music CDs in my bookshop so I always featured a CD, varying the type of music to appeal to different tastes.

Silence filled my house for my first year in the south. It fed my creativity allowing my mind to really think without distracting noises. I live rurally surrounded by forest. Trees are a great filter of noise. I don’t live near an airport or large city so when on rare occasions an airplane flies over I notice it. It took me back to my childhood when we stopped to point out a plane spotted in the sky. Unusual in those days.

So I delighted in taking my lunch and finding a shady spot under a tree in the forest that circles the library. A couple of folks couldn’t do it. They sat on a bench outside and chatted away. Oh, she also told us that reading at lunch doesn’t count. That’s mind noise.

Book Anger

Have you ever picked up a book to read yet it made you so angry that you couldn’t read it? That’s how it was recently when I tried to read ‘Under the Banner of Heaven’ by Jon Krakauer. It was the book discussion group selection.

Twice I started from the beginning, becoming so incensed at the abuse of women and children in our country, in the area of Utah and Arizona by the Fundamentalists of Latter Day Saints. This abuse of women and children is largely overlooked while our brilliant political leaders stamp out the abuse of women in the Middle East. Figure that one out.

Twice I had to put the book down so I didn’t explode with anger. The story is an insight of Mormon Fundamentalists. Our government sends four million dollars per year to Colorado City public school district, which, according to the Phoenix New Times “is operated primarily for the financial benefit of the FLDS Church and for the personal enrichment of FLDS school district leaders.”
I finally read the author’s remarks at the end of the book, finding it very interesting that he set out to write quite different story. Then I read a chapter in the middle of the book. Crazy way to read a book, but sometimes it’s whatever works. I never did finish all of it.

Haunted Bordentown, New Jersey

Now that I can think again after those awful Shingles have receded, I’m engaged for book signing events at the Old Book Shop of Bordentown on the Friday evening of 28th March and the Saturday afternoon of the 29th at the Bordentown Library on E. Union Street. Bordentown, New Jersey of course.

The new Haunted Bordentown book is exciting with new stories of recent and distant happenings in and around town. There’s a great story with pictures involving the original Clara Barton schoolhouse. This was a 'happening' on the Bordentown Historic Rout of December in 2006. An experience that includes two people.

Another story tells you different experiences of varied members in the same family. Yet again do those that pass over leave their skills behind for the next occupant of a house? Do we have spirits around us all the time, yet only some can see them? Sometimes the spirits show up in photographs.
Other happenings will tingle your toes and give you a new way of looking at an old town.

Shingles

It’s amazing how experiencing an illness gives me a new understanding of the pain and suffering others go through. I just never give thought to stuff like that, but my recent bout of Shingles on my face has done just that. My excruciating pain was short-lived, the earaches, toothaches (where I have no teeth) and headaches lasted for three weeks. I still can’t touch the top of my head without feeling near-screaming pain. Who knew?

It all began with what I thought was a sinus headache/earache/toothache. As soon as I used Nasacort Nasal Spray the right side of my face swelled, distorted and broke out in a rash! I assumed it was a reaction to the Nasacort. It wasn’t. It took an exam by an Ear, Nose & Throat doctor to detect the real problem. I was ten days in getting to her. All the time not knowing what creepy thing was attacking me. Awful. I don’t recommend it to anyone.

Hooray! The new ‘Haunted Bordentown’ book is on its way! Schiffer Publishing tells me it should be in the bookstores by the end of February. The Old Bookshop of Bordentown on Farnsworth Avenue has their order in and probably will be the first shop to have it stocked. It looks great, has 160 pages, photos and true ghost stories for you to enjoy. It’s been a long three years getting it together, writing, taping interviews, writing, taking photos, writing, making telephone calls, writing and re-writing.

Plans are in the works for book-signings at the Bordentown Library and Old Bookshop of Bordentown on Farnsworth Avenue. We're aiming for March. I’ll keep you posted when the dates are set in concrete. This is so exciting. I hope you enjoy reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Deer Head

While I was buzzing down a back road five days before Christmas heading for Littleton, I saw an object on the road surface ahead of me. I swerved around it glancing over to check it out. It was the head of a deer! It appeared to have a small rack but I was driving too fast to know for certain. No body was to be seen, no bones either.

I immediately thought of The Godfather by Mario Puzo and the scene where movie producer Jack Woltz refuses a request of Don Corleone. The next morning he wakes up to find his prize $600,000 thoroughbred racehorse’s head lying next to him on his bed. Ugh! Shivers ran down my back. (That scene and Alfred Hitchcock’s shower scene are imbedded in many minds forever!)

I’ve heard of some creeps killing a deer and taking the head or the rack for a trophy, wasting the rest instead of using it for food. I’ve never heard of taking the body and leaving the head. Does anyone have any idea why someone would do this?

Christmas Dinner

Setting the table in holiday dinner mood, I selected a ruby-red damask tablecloth, lacy white napkins, the good flatware and fine wine glasses. We’re conserving water in respect to the drought North Carolina has been experiencing this year. Our rosemary Christmas tree adorned the center. The rosemary spices the air with its aroma. No candlelight this year. Brother Al is on oxygen. Christmas carols played softly in the background to enhance conversation, not over power it.

I opened the DuBoeuf Beaujolais Nuveau before dinner to drink with appetizers (little fingers of anchovies in a potato and flour dough.) The bouquet was rich and fruity, more full-bodied than the one we opened in Nov. It was perfect before dinner. To drink with the standing rib roast I opened a Torre Spina Valpolicella again it was just right.

In memory of Charles Dickens, et.al. I made Yorkshire Pudding for the first time, ever. It was quite different than I expected. Not something I would eat more than once a year-it’s made from the fat of the roast. It finishes like a puffy bread crust. Tasty. In memory of good health I made fresh spinach cooked with pine nuts, raisins, garlic and olive oil. In memory of all my good friends, we toasted to their health, wealth and happiness.

Wife Needed

When reading a book I sometimes get more out of it than I expected. I’m referring to ‘The Red Rose Girls’ An Uncommon Story of Art and Love by Alice A. Carter. I was reading intensely when I found the answer to my biggest problem in life. I’ve always been the wife instead of having one. Darn it!

It quotes an article from Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine “The chief obstacle to a woman’s success is that she can never have a wife. Just reflect what a wife does for an artist: Darns his stockings, (this is an old magazine) keeps his house, writes his letters, Visits his benefits, Wards off intruders, etc. Always an encouraging and partial critic, etc. A husband would be quite useless. He would never do any of these disagreeable things.”

Bread Crumbs

As I learn about a person and they of me, usually bit-by-bit over a period of time, it’s determined whether we will become casual friends, life-long friends or just acquaintances.

I find it’s the same in the place I live. It’s important to learn about today’s every day life. Soon to follow is researching and learning the history of where I live. What happened in earlier times, how the folks responded to events, often forms the character of the people living here now.

The histories of Warren County and the rest of North Carolina are impressive from the first settlers, to those that carried on with bravery, willingness to contribute and the intelligence to learn new ways as became necessary.

It makes a difference knowing the character of my neighbors and the folks in the community where I socialize, volunteer and make friends. Hopefully, life-long friends. Now that I’ve lived here for two years I feel my instinct led me here like the breadcrumbs of Hansel and Gretel leading them home. Fortunately for me, no birds swooped down to eat the crumbs and I found the right place to settle.

Christmas Cards

I love sending and receiving Christmas cards! I search early in the season to find just the right cards that reflect my personality. Size is not important. I want the receivers to say to themselves, “Ah, this is just like her.” Or “Only Arlene would send this card.” I want a smile from them even if I can’t see it.

I start by loading up the CD player with some favorite Christmas songs, filling the wineglass half-full so I can have seconds without feeling piggy and to soften the mood so the sentiments will flow easily.

Next I think about what I want to say. Writing a personal note takes time. Some notes are longer than others but they’re all meaningful. The more often I fill the glass, the longer the note.
Now that I don’t see many of my friends from New Jersey often, the card is a connective thread saying, “even though we’re not in close proximity I still think of you and still consider you my friend.” As I write I think of them and the memories we’ve enjoyed together. Good memories should not be forgotten just because of physical distance. Hmm. Actually memories become more important then.

Warren County, North Carolina Ghosts

When something is meant to be, it can just drop in front of you like a squirrel dropping an acorn from a tree. That’s what happened in Oakley Hall Antique Shop in Warrenton, North Carolina a few months ago.

I was talking to owner Don Arnold; he was asking, “Are you retired or what do you do?”
“Not retired, I’m still writing. My latest book “Haunted Bordentown’ is being published by Schiffer.”
“Gee, I wish someone would write about the ghosts of Warren County.”

Another manuscript was born in that moment. Since that conversation I’ve interviewed several folks about their experiences with the ‘after-life’ population. One story has cast a thread that leads me to another………. and another.
If you live in Warren County or have brought a ghost story or a psychic experience with you, email me and we’ll record it to educate others about life-after-life.

Latest News from England

An article in the New York Times by D.T. Max reports Lord Redesdale whose family has been in England since 1049 is taking up arms against the American Gray squirrels. The Grays are taking over the United Kingdom and replacing their Red squirrels! How odd that sounds. Somehow when I think of the Brits trying to take over our country in the 1700s, I see them as all wearing red uniforms. I never realized the squirrels sport the same color coats.

Our squirrels were brought over to England in the 19th century as an oddity, a plaything to be kept in cages. But when the aristocracy became bored and tired of their latest toy, they let them loose. Now the Grays are outnumbering the British Red squirrels. The Brits are trying to preserve their own species.

The Reds are considered well-behaved, never making a nuisance of themselves or misbehaving like the ‘you-know-who’ obnoxious squirrels do. Sounds like their common opinion of our citizens, too.

Just the Two of Us

This morning I woke up singing. Where does that come from? I’d no music playing in the house last night. And the song, "Just the Two of Us" was from the ‘70s, a few phrases just running around in my head. Who sent this song to me and planted it there to play and re-play until I can find something to crowd it out of my mind? I’ll never know for sure.

My son Guy Arlen’s birth day is today. He would have been 45 years old. Hmmmm. I wonder if he sent me that song. I was talking about him yesterday to a woman whose son also passed away in his 20s. It would be just like Guy to send me a song for his birthday.

Synchronicity continues

A month or so ago I regaled in the synchronicity of a lost dog twelve miles away and the thread of people and events that led him back to his grateful owners. I had no idea, even after the dog was returned, where he belonged. I needed to know only that he was home safe and sound and everybody was happy again. End of story? Not really.

I got to talking with a couple I’ve never met before at the Lake Gaston Estates Association Hors d’ourves Social Night last week. As our conversation began flowing and became more animated I mentioned sitting at the beach early in the morning to write in my journal.

“Oh, my gosh! You’re the woman who wrote our telephone number on her shirt.”

I had to laugh ‘cause I knew immediately what she was talking about. The synchronicity that led the lost dog home, led the dog’s owners to me, too. In a moment we became fast friends when this unseen thread brought us together. As we continued talking we found other similarities in our lives also.

But that’s another story.

Golf Links

There’s nothing like stepping into a new situation and learning a new job that leads to seeing what others always saw and I didn’t. I recently started working at the Golf Links here in Lake Gaston. It took one ride in a golf cart over the hills, down the valleys, through the forests, and around the pond to have this golf course slip under my skin and open my mind.

My artist eyes feasted on the pale green of the ‘greens’ surrounded by a darker velvety green collar and another green flowing down the fairway with a different green of the rough. All this is framed by the many greens of the trees. The Carolina blue sky seems to compliment and complete the painting. Ireland’s patchwork quilt landscape came immediately to mind.

I’ve driven passed many golf courses over the years and just thought them boring. Ho hum. Where’s the excitement? Now I know. It’s here at the Golf Links.

A Note to My New Jersey Friends

Be not afraid that I am lonely in a strange land. Some of you, dear friends, were concerned when I first left the cozy, comfortable nest of Bordentown to settle as a recluse among the forests of North Carolina seeking the solitude of a writer’s life. No more delicate teas, convivial breakfasts at the Park Street Café. No more discussion lunches with my intelligent, interesting friends. No more wine-soaked dinners on the deck of Marcello’s or inside any of the wonderful Bordentown restaurants where we recorded the memories we hold so close to our hearts.

A few of you feared for my in-activity. What would I do with all that empty time?
Relax, I’m back working part-time, this past week I’ve put in 60+ hours. I’ve been meeting wonderful people, great discussions with folks just stopping by to chat, riding golf carts like a Texan surveying his 10,000 acre ranch and enjoying myself tremendously on the job. A customer even brought me half of a pound cake (that’s not a ½ pound cake.) Sound familiar? It’s my old life in a new place. Hmmmmm. I wonder if anyone will bring me real Irish Soda Bread in March?

Fish 'n Stuff

Journaling 7:30 in the morning while sitting on a picnic table at the beach is a lovely, peaceful way to begin the day. After a healthy walk the day seems to awaken slowly with grace. The fastest thing happening is the sun rising quickly this time of year. At least it seems too quick.

The water is still quiet without the wake of boats but I do see ‘nips’ in the water ending with circles of water moving gently. ‘The fish nibbling at the bugs in the air, appetizers’ I tell myself. But a week or so ago I saw a fish leap out of the water exposing half his body. It was a big body!

I’ve seen photos of this on covers of fishing magazines but I never thought I’d see this live! It must have been a special day ‘cause ten minutes later I found myself watching a sort of square-ish-shaped head moving around near the shoreline. I stared trying to decipher what it could be. ‘A snake’ I thought, ‘now that the rip-rap is in place.’ Later I realized it must have been a turtle with only his head showing. He was having a fun time swimming around before the crowd got there. I knew exactly how he felt.

Snow Day

While going through some files I came across a diary entry for the 6th of December 2003. If feels good just to read this in the 98-degree weather we’ve been having. It’s also a different world from my life today. Here goes :
I am fully awake at 6:30 am. Lady Jane lays at the top of my bed and Mz Lizzie is on the opposite corner. They wait patiently for me to stretch and rise. It’s been snowing now for 24 hours. Everything is covered with white including sky. Lying here, I’m thinking ‘why did I give my snow shovel to Bill Brady?’ Because it was beat up, that’s why. And I intended to buy a new one this year at the same time that I bought the sidewalk melt. But winter came on seemingly overnight. I should have parked my car in Sola & Elsie’s garage. But I didn’t even think of that yesterday, either.
Totally remodeling and moving the books into one shop has taken its toll on me. I am exhausted most of the time. I’m carrying books or finding room for stuff that hasn’t been sold on ebay yet. Today is my Holiday Open House so I’d better get up and get moving.
Lady Jane and Mz Lizzie dance around waiting for me to descend the stairs to select something good for their breakfast. When they peer out of the windows, their eyes open even wider than usual. ‘Just what is going on?’ seems to be their thoughts. They look from the outside white, to me and back again. Laughing, I tell them about snow. I’ve never seen this much snow before Christmas and we’re promised more!
By 7:30 I’m at the Farnsworth Deli. One can always rely on them being open in any kind of weather. Kinda’ grumbling, I stock up on the stuff for the Open House that I should have bought yesterday. But yesterday was my numb day. So here I am now trudging through ten inches of snow with a heavy sack over my shoulder. The air and snow isn’t really so bad though.
The Post Office is devoid of other ebayers. I am the only one here this morning. I mail another Christmas present to a lucky winner of my ebay auction. I have one less item to find room for in the bookshop. I’m rather enjoying this winter by the time I reach home.
Murat is in the shop before I even have the pot of chocolate hot. He’s been around town taking photographs. He insists that I step outside for a photo shoot. His natural joy in everything is refreshing. Not at all surprising is the number of people that have been in my shop by 11 am. On the first day of snow, everyone likes to cocoon, the second day it’s considered cabin fever. Cars are left parked where they were and everyone gets out to trek. As it quiets down a little, writing Christmas Cards seem like a good idea.