I have not been on a vacation in years - that is, a vacation that has taken me out of town more more than three or four days at a time. My teaching schedule, court schedule, and church schedule run pretty much daily, and getting out of town requires that I find a teaching substitute, a piano substitute who will play for the praise team and for the choir, an organist, and a substitute judge. Until this past year, any trip out of town also required a puppysitter, who usually was our loyal secretary and dog-lover Michelle (and her family).
This year is different.
I am not teaching any summer classes, the second Sunday in June was Juice and Joplin, which meant no choir, no praise team and no organist (we bring in a Scott Joplin Festival pianist who plays for the one casual service in the Fellowship Hall), the substitute judge was free for one Wednesday - and as you all know, Fluffy is no longer with us.
So I planned to take a trip to Savannah for Emily's graduation. Max didn't have as many vacation days available as I wanted to be gone, so though we would normally have driven down together, I planned to drive by myself and he would fly down. This was going to be an adventure! I was going to put the top down on the car and drive as fast as each state's highway patrol would allow through Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia.
So last Wednesday, I changed clothes at City Hall, jumped in the car, and drove off toward Savannah, Georgia, where my little girl was going to graduate without our being there (see previous blog entry if you have forgotten what happened - as if there is not more!). The day was warm, but not hot, the sun was shining, but not too intensely, and when the wind hit me full force as I breezed across Missouri on I-70, I was simply invigorated.
My plan was to get to Nashville by 8 p.m. and then eat dinner at the Bonefish Grill. Max and I had found that restaurant on the way back from Savannah at Thanksgiving, and the food was good and reasonably priced. The restaurant also pours really good wine, and I figured I would be able to use a glass after an 8-hour trip.
Well, as plans go, that sounded fine, but my plans had already been somewhat adjusted because of the graduation SNAFU, and then when I tried to get a reservation at Aloft, I found that the hotel was sold out because of some music festival called Bonnaroo. So while I drove toward Nashville, Max looked on line for a hotel where I could stay, and we lucked out because the Doubletree was available. It was not, however, close to the Bonefish Grill, and so my lovely dinner was out of the question. I simply was not going to check into a hotel and drive another 30 minutes or so to a restaurant. I figured there would be some chain restaurant close to the Doubletree that would do. It would be, of course, required to have a bar.
The drive to Nashville took about eight hours, as expected. I got through St. Louis with little fuss and bother, except that driving 80 miles per hour is somewhat stressful, especially with big trucks on both sides of my little car, and Lexi and "big-assed" trucks and SUVs whizzing by me faster than 80 miles per hour. Max usually drives through that area, and so I had not experienced the exhilaration of speed under my own foot for some time, but I was triumphant after I completed my solo drive-through - and I didn't get lost even one time!
The drive through Illinois and then Kentucky was uneventful, but fast. The speed limit in both states, in more rural areas, is 70, so I drove 75 and was passed continually by lots of travelers who were going much faster. As I passed through Paducah, I remembered my trip to the LowerArts District and the historic downtown, and thought about eating dinner at Cynthia's or Max's, but by this time - probably around 5:30 - I was hot and dirty, so I decided to keep on driving. Nashville was but 140 or so miles away, and I would easily arrive before dark. I had noticed more than a few "armadeddos" (say it fast) lying on the side of the road, and certainly more dead deer than I care to remember, so I was not thrilled about the possibility of finding a buck of my own to hit, and I had to travel through beautiful and wooded Kentucky lake country, likely full of deer trying to hit my car.
So I got to Nashville a little before 7:30, driving somewhat more slowly than I had on the open highway - I saw MANY troopers! - and discovered that lots of people live and work in Nashville, and that rush hour lasts until 7:30. The Doubletree was on the south side of the city, so I got to drive all the way through and around Nashville in order to find the exit to my hotel. Even with the Google map on my phone, I took the wrong turn off the interstate and took an additional 15 or so minutes to find myself in the only suburb of Nashville without a chain restaurant. The Doubletree, however, had a sports bar/restaurant off the lobby, and so I ate some food, and more important, had a Scotch and soda to burn off the stress of the day. The server asked me if I wanted a particular Scotch - I guess she doesn't drink Scotch. Why get a good one only to sully it with club soda?
After eating the mediocre food, I went to my room and celebrated my successful trip and my making the trip it on my own by reading a book: Burden of Proof, by Scott Turow. It was his first book after Presumed Innocentand deals with some of the same characters. I had begun reading it before I left for the trip, and was enjoying the story and reading itself.
As I fell asleep, finally clean and tired and tanned regardless of 70SPF sunblock, I reveled in the idea of being away, and looked forward to what the next day would bring. Stay tuned.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Thursday, May 31, 2012
The Oak Room at the Algonquin Hotel, NYC
I was half awake this morning while NPR's talking heads were educating me about this and that, when I heard a voice mentioning the Oak Room at the Algonquin Hotel in New York. The Oak Room is closing (I don't know about the hotel), and the story was about some of the people who have played there, the room itself, and why it is such a special place. Even in semi-dreamland, I went back to the one time Max and I went to the Oak Room, a time when I actually saw my friend Terry Teachout instead of just reading his blog or something else he has written, a time when I could simply sit and listen to the thing I love best - good music.
The year might have been 1995, but I can't really remember. I do know that we had, on a whim, decided to go to New York, one of my favorite places, with Bob and Susan, two of our favorite people. Bob and Susan were New York Newbies, and we promised to take in a variety of events while showing them how to get around on their own. Our plans included an obligatory tourist East River tour around the Statue of Liberty, an obligatory tourist trip to The Today Show, the New York City Ballet on its season closing night, Bring in Da Noise, Bring in Da Funk, and what I was looking forward to most, a trip to the Cafe Carlyle to hear the legendary Bobby Short. I also planned one evening of down time so that I could go see my good friend Terry, who at that time lived on the Upper West Side in a "garden apartment," which turned out to be two floors in a brownstone with a kitchen that had one time been a closet. The "garden" consisted of a small (!) patio surrounded by stacked cement blocks forming a two-foot high, three-dimensional fence upon which sat two flower pots containing straggly flowers trying desperately to find the sun some 200 feet higher than they.
I was in charge of getting tickets and set to my task earnestly, finding good seats for the musical, the ballet, and a special Picasso exhibition at MOMA (where another exhibit was a cherry nineteen-sixty-something Jaguar X-12 that Bob would LOVE). I was striking out, however, on seats at the Carlyle, and took the maitre d's advice to show up one night and something would turn up.
So off we went. Things were going swimmingly, and I was so excited to see Terry after so many years of NOT seeing him. He told us of his life as a writer in New York, doing pieces for The Wall Street Journal, The Congressional Quarterly, even Time Magazine. He was doing music reviews, had fallen into the art world, and was at that point in love with modern dance. He asked about our itinerary, and I gave him the list. In his matter-of-fact voice, with an almost-imperceptible nod to being one in the know, he said, "Oh, my dear, you MUST go to the Oak Room. Susannah McCorkle is playing there, and she is such a wonderful, smart singer. She is doing a program on Cole Porter. It is a fabulous show."
What Terry says must be done, and so when we got back to our hotel, I called the Algonquin Hotel and made reservations for the Oak Room to see Susannah McCorkle. We were going to a real cabaret - a NIGHT CLUB in NEW YORK CITY!!! We got the last table available, and when I reported back to Terry, he said, in the same tone, same voice, "Oh, dear. I'll bet you got the Table of Death." Being one NOT in the know, I asked what that was.
"Well," he said, "the Oak Room is very small, and one table sits about five feet from the singer on the singer's right. I'll bet that was the last table, and I'll bet you got it. For Heaven's sake," he said, as though he were talking to a rube from Thayer (Oh, wait! I AM a rube from Thayer!), "DON'T talk while she is singing. That will drive her crazy and she won't be able to concentrate."
So we got dressed that night and went to the Oak Room in the Algonquin Hotel to hear Susannah McCorkle sing. We were all somewhat hushed as we entered the room, as it was very tiny, even smaller that Terry had prepared us for. I think that fewer than 100 people would be in that room at one time, even when it was very, very full. The room had a series of tables around its perimeter where some people would eat after-theatre supper. The rest of the room looked more like what I expected a cabaret to look like - several small tables scattered about where patrons would be served the drink minimum and listen to background music while carrying on a conversation. And then we were taken to our table - the Table of Death. We were indeed about five feet from where Susannah McCorkle would be standing as she sang Cole Porter's songs to us and to the rest of the room.
We ordered our drinks, and then the time was upon us where we would hear what Terry called a smart singer making Cole Porter come alive. There was no reason for Terry to have warned us not to talk. Being so close to the singer and being able to watch her piano accompanist move his ten fingers to make beautiful music was nothing short of magic. I don't think any of us said a word during the entire show. It was as if we were holding our collective breath. I did note that she had on the same Bruno Magli shoes I had bought that afternoon, except mine were gold-toned and hers were black. I was entranced, and I will never forget that evening or her performance or the feeling that I had done something really special that I would rarely, if ever, be able to describe or explain.
After that night, we had a really good time at all the other events we had scheduled. We went to the Cafe Carlyle and saw Bobby Short, but that evening was tainted because we had to wait an hour in a really hot lobby to be admitted, and we spent over $200 for eight watered-down drinks, AND the drummer was too loud and Short too, and I mean this, trite. And I at that time was disappointed to have to say that the legend of Bobby Short could not and did not compare with the unplanned evening we spent in a quiet little night club, where we heard a smart singer breathe life into not only Cole Porter's songs, but into Cole Porter himself - a smart singer who, tragically, a few years after we heard her, heard something in her own head, a different kind of music, that sent her to her death from a very tall New York skyscraper.
So things go on: the Oak Room is closing, The New Yorker will list Patti LuPone as the opening act at a new cabaret, and Bobby Short died several years ago. But this will never change: I still have that night that came back to me with stark clarity this morning - sitting at the Table of Death at the Oak Room at the Algonquin Hotel in New York City, listening to Susannah McCorkle sing Cole Porter. Magic.
The year might have been 1995, but I can't really remember. I do know that we had, on a whim, decided to go to New York, one of my favorite places, with Bob and Susan, two of our favorite people. Bob and Susan were New York Newbies, and we promised to take in a variety of events while showing them how to get around on their own. Our plans included an obligatory tourist East River tour around the Statue of Liberty, an obligatory tourist trip to The Today Show, the New York City Ballet on its season closing night, Bring in Da Noise, Bring in Da Funk, and what I was looking forward to most, a trip to the Cafe Carlyle to hear the legendary Bobby Short. I also planned one evening of down time so that I could go see my good friend Terry, who at that time lived on the Upper West Side in a "garden apartment," which turned out to be two floors in a brownstone with a kitchen that had one time been a closet. The "garden" consisted of a small (!) patio surrounded by stacked cement blocks forming a two-foot high, three-dimensional fence upon which sat two flower pots containing straggly flowers trying desperately to find the sun some 200 feet higher than they.
I was in charge of getting tickets and set to my task earnestly, finding good seats for the musical, the ballet, and a special Picasso exhibition at MOMA (where another exhibit was a cherry nineteen-sixty-something Jaguar X-12 that Bob would LOVE). I was striking out, however, on seats at the Carlyle, and took the maitre d's advice to show up one night and something would turn up.
So off we went. Things were going swimmingly, and I was so excited to see Terry after so many years of NOT seeing him. He told us of his life as a writer in New York, doing pieces for The Wall Street Journal, The Congressional Quarterly, even Time Magazine. He was doing music reviews, had fallen into the art world, and was at that point in love with modern dance. He asked about our itinerary, and I gave him the list. In his matter-of-fact voice, with an almost-imperceptible nod to being one in the know, he said, "Oh, my dear, you MUST go to the Oak Room. Susannah McCorkle is playing there, and she is such a wonderful, smart singer. She is doing a program on Cole Porter. It is a fabulous show."
What Terry says must be done, and so when we got back to our hotel, I called the Algonquin Hotel and made reservations for the Oak Room to see Susannah McCorkle. We were going to a real cabaret - a NIGHT CLUB in NEW YORK CITY!!! We got the last table available, and when I reported back to Terry, he said, in the same tone, same voice, "Oh, dear. I'll bet you got the Table of Death." Being one NOT in the know, I asked what that was.
"Well," he said, "the Oak Room is very small, and one table sits about five feet from the singer on the singer's right. I'll bet that was the last table, and I'll bet you got it. For Heaven's sake," he said, as though he were talking to a rube from Thayer (Oh, wait! I AM a rube from Thayer!), "DON'T talk while she is singing. That will drive her crazy and she won't be able to concentrate."
So we got dressed that night and went to the Oak Room in the Algonquin Hotel to hear Susannah McCorkle sing. We were all somewhat hushed as we entered the room, as it was very tiny, even smaller that Terry had prepared us for. I think that fewer than 100 people would be in that room at one time, even when it was very, very full. The room had a series of tables around its perimeter where some people would eat after-theatre supper. The rest of the room looked more like what I expected a cabaret to look like - several small tables scattered about where patrons would be served the drink minimum and listen to background music while carrying on a conversation. And then we were taken to our table - the Table of Death. We were indeed about five feet from where Susannah McCorkle would be standing as she sang Cole Porter's songs to us and to the rest of the room.
We ordered our drinks, and then the time was upon us where we would hear what Terry called a smart singer making Cole Porter come alive. There was no reason for Terry to have warned us not to talk. Being so close to the singer and being able to watch her piano accompanist move his ten fingers to make beautiful music was nothing short of magic. I don't think any of us said a word during the entire show. It was as if we were holding our collective breath. I did note that she had on the same Bruno Magli shoes I had bought that afternoon, except mine were gold-toned and hers were black. I was entranced, and I will never forget that evening or her performance or the feeling that I had done something really special that I would rarely, if ever, be able to describe or explain.
After that night, we had a really good time at all the other events we had scheduled. We went to the Cafe Carlyle and saw Bobby Short, but that evening was tainted because we had to wait an hour in a really hot lobby to be admitted, and we spent over $200 for eight watered-down drinks, AND the drummer was too loud and Short too, and I mean this, trite. And I at that time was disappointed to have to say that the legend of Bobby Short could not and did not compare with the unplanned evening we spent in a quiet little night club, where we heard a smart singer breathe life into not only Cole Porter's songs, but into Cole Porter himself - a smart singer who, tragically, a few years after we heard her, heard something in her own head, a different kind of music, that sent her to her death from a very tall New York skyscraper.
So things go on: the Oak Room is closing, The New Yorker will list Patti LuPone as the opening act at a new cabaret, and Bobby Short died several years ago. But this will never change: I still have that night that came back to me with stark clarity this morning - sitting at the Table of Death at the Oak Room at the Algonquin Hotel in New York City, listening to Susannah McCorkle sing Cole Porter. Magic.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum
So, I booked Max’s flight from KC to Savannah for Friday, June 8 (because he has only 3 days of vacation by that time), with a return on Tuesday, June 12. I asked Southwest to send a confirmation e-mail to me, to him, and to Emily. About an hour later, I got a text from the Divine Miss Em saying that “Daddy booked his flight for the wrong weekend.” Several frantic texts later, the truth was revealed: the date for Emily’s graduation is NOT June 9, as previously thought. It is June 2. The truth is out: Emily has inherited her father's calendar genes. So we will be celebrating Emily’s graduation one week later, with pictures of her in mortarboard and black gown and NOT having to sit in some stadium or arena watching people we don’t even know trudge across the stage.
Max and I plan to carry forward with our previously scheduled arrangements – my leaving Sedalia after my docket on June 6 and maybe picking up Susie in St. Louis that evening on the way to the Aloft and Bonefish Grill in Nashville Wednesday night, and arriving in Savannah on Thursday afternoon; Mother and Don’s flying into Savannah on Thursday; Kevin, Kim, and Kate’s, and Kelsey’s, we hope, arriving on Thursday sometime; Johnny’s thinking of us while his granddaughter graduates from high school in San Antonio; Patty’s and Libby's wishing they could be there; and Max’s flying in the next day to Jacksonville and getting a car to get to Savannah on Friday; and a plethora of entertainment for the weekend with our favorite family and friends.
Best, I am planning a couple of tours and a couple of dinners at a couple of fabulous restaurants, including the one that serves the best wine and Irish whiskey we have EVER tasted.
Regardless of our calendar-challenged mess, we will not really miss a graduation ceremony. In order to satisfy our graduation hunger, we will make Emily wear her cap and gown to dinner. I hope no one will need to change plans, but if that is necessary, we will understand and will never hold it against anyone. We will simply think of him or her or them while we drink margaritas on the beach!
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Court
Court last week was, to say the least, extremely frustrating; however, the day gave me fodder for the Book That Should be Published. I had not one, but three, dog cases, two with the same two dogs, and the third with a heretofore unknown dog, as well as the couple whose house will be torn down as they say inside, "Did you hear a noise?"
I pray for the wisdom of Solomon, but so far, it has not appeared. I will keep hoping.
The older couple, although I believe they are probably pretty close to my age, have been appearing in court over several years, always for violating the housing code. I have seen pictures of their home, which seems to be similar to the tar paper shacks common to the area where I was born and grew up. Over the years, the pictures show some windows having been replaced with corrugated tin and some with plywood. The roof now has, instead of a few small blue tarps hiding a few small spots of disrepair, a huge blue tarp covering about one-third of the house. A porch has been torn off but not rebuilt. Shrubs and vines abound in the summer months, so that the area looks like the scary forest in Walt Disney's Snow White. The house is probably Webster's picture definition of the word "dilapidated." I have no idea how they live in that excuse for a house.
But live there they do.
Over the years, they begin a project here and there, but never finish: their son needed to use his truck and couldn't lend it to them; he has been sick; she has been sick; he has a bad heart; they didn't understand what I wanted them to do; and on and on. Finally, this year, when the blue tarp took on its now gigantic proportions, I asked, "Do you think that his chronic bronchitis could have something to do with the mold that probably is in the walls at your house? Do you think that the roof might leak into your house and cause mold?" They looked at me as if they had never heard of such a thing. In fact, they probably haven't heard of such a thing.
So the City has finally had it and has declared the house to be a dangerous building and subject to demolition. They have the right to challenge that finding, and they can show that the building is not dangerous; however, they have not done so. The challenge time period is six months; that time period expires in June. They are still living in the house.
I saw them three months ago. The City's housing specialist came into the court to report that they had picked up paperwork, and that they needed to complete it. After that, the housing authority would call them when an apartment became available. "We don't want an apartment. We want a house," the wife said. The housing specialist patiently explained that houses didn't come open very often, but they would be next on the list when one appeared. It was then that I found out that this couple has an adult son who lives with them. I got the idea that he might be unemployable, because although he is about 30 years old, he has never had a job. The wife told us that he had "bad teeth." I asked about his going to a dentist. "We can't afford a dentist." I explained that Medicaid would help them with medical costs. "He's not on Medicaid," the wife said. I asked why not, and she told me that they had never signed up for Medicaid.
I encouraged them to sign him up for Medicaid so that he could get the health care he needed, including a visit to the dentist. They nodded, and I ordered them to come back the next month to report. I really wanted to keep them on the move so that they wouldn't get too comfortable in their own home and just forget that it was going to be torn down.
The next month, they appeared, and I asked for a report. They had picked up the paperwork, and the son had gone to the dentist. The dentist had pulled a lot of teeth, and the son was in pain. I asked whether they had called the dentist's office to see if something could be done for the pain. They kind of looked at each other, and the wife told me, "No, we haven't called back. It hurts too much for him to go back." I explained that maybe an infection had developed and that their son needed some medication. They looked at each other again and she said she would call.
Then I asked about whether they had completed the paperwork. They looked at each other and she said, "No." I asked why not, and, you guessed it, they looked at each other.
I ordered them to complete the paperwork and take it back to the housing authority and return to court the next month. They left and I sighed.
The next month, they appeared and proudly reported that they had completed the paperwork requesting housing. They told me that they had also called the dentist but could not get in to see him because there were no more vouchers and they couldn't afford it. I was happy because they had completed the paperwork, and let them go, but ordered them to return the next month. Again, I didn't want them to forget that they were living in a condemned house and would have to move.
That takes us to last Wednesday.
They came in and approached the bench when it was their turn. Jamie, the housing specialist came downstairs and was smiling, so I thought the problem had been solved. She said, "The housing authority offered them an apartment this week!" I began smiling because I thought this was good news. Then the wife said, "We don't want an apartment. We want a house." Jamie looked at me. I looked at her. She said, "You won't be able to get a house right away. They don't come open very often. But you will be first on the list for a house when one is available." They looked at each other. The wife said, "We didn't ask for an apartment."
I threw up my hands, both literally and figuratively. I asked Jamie whether the apartment would still be available. "Oh, no," she said. Once they turn it down, it will go to the next person on the list."
I looked at the couple and said, "I have tried to do everything I can to get you a habitable place to live, and now you have turned down a place that will get you out of the house before it is torn down. I don't know what else to say. Your house will be torn down in June. It will be gone. Where will you go?"
They looked at each other.
"You're dismissed," I said, and moved on to the next case.
Later, the clerk asked me what to do with the case. I told her that we couldn't do any more with it.
Then I went to my church staff meeting and asked for prayers that I could find some answer that would keep these people in a house and not make them new members of the homeless community.
Solomon, where are you?
I pray for the wisdom of Solomon, but so far, it has not appeared. I will keep hoping.
The older couple, although I believe they are probably pretty close to my age, have been appearing in court over several years, always for violating the housing code. I have seen pictures of their home, which seems to be similar to the tar paper shacks common to the area where I was born and grew up. Over the years, the pictures show some windows having been replaced with corrugated tin and some with plywood. The roof now has, instead of a few small blue tarps hiding a few small spots of disrepair, a huge blue tarp covering about one-third of the house. A porch has been torn off but not rebuilt. Shrubs and vines abound in the summer months, so that the area looks like the scary forest in Walt Disney's Snow White. The house is probably Webster's picture definition of the word "dilapidated." I have no idea how they live in that excuse for a house.
But live there they do.
Over the years, they begin a project here and there, but never finish: their son needed to use his truck and couldn't lend it to them; he has been sick; she has been sick; he has a bad heart; they didn't understand what I wanted them to do; and on and on. Finally, this year, when the blue tarp took on its now gigantic proportions, I asked, "Do you think that his chronic bronchitis could have something to do with the mold that probably is in the walls at your house? Do you think that the roof might leak into your house and cause mold?" They looked at me as if they had never heard of such a thing. In fact, they probably haven't heard of such a thing.
So the City has finally had it and has declared the house to be a dangerous building and subject to demolition. They have the right to challenge that finding, and they can show that the building is not dangerous; however, they have not done so. The challenge time period is six months; that time period expires in June. They are still living in the house.
I saw them three months ago. The City's housing specialist came into the court to report that they had picked up paperwork, and that they needed to complete it. After that, the housing authority would call them when an apartment became available. "We don't want an apartment. We want a house," the wife said. The housing specialist patiently explained that houses didn't come open very often, but they would be next on the list when one appeared. It was then that I found out that this couple has an adult son who lives with them. I got the idea that he might be unemployable, because although he is about 30 years old, he has never had a job. The wife told us that he had "bad teeth." I asked about his going to a dentist. "We can't afford a dentist." I explained that Medicaid would help them with medical costs. "He's not on Medicaid," the wife said. I asked why not, and she told me that they had never signed up for Medicaid.
I encouraged them to sign him up for Medicaid so that he could get the health care he needed, including a visit to the dentist. They nodded, and I ordered them to come back the next month to report. I really wanted to keep them on the move so that they wouldn't get too comfortable in their own home and just forget that it was going to be torn down.
The next month, they appeared, and I asked for a report. They had picked up the paperwork, and the son had gone to the dentist. The dentist had pulled a lot of teeth, and the son was in pain. I asked whether they had called the dentist's office to see if something could be done for the pain. They kind of looked at each other, and the wife told me, "No, we haven't called back. It hurts too much for him to go back." I explained that maybe an infection had developed and that their son needed some medication. They looked at each other again and she said she would call.
Then I asked about whether they had completed the paperwork. They looked at each other and she said, "No." I asked why not, and, you guessed it, they looked at each other.
I ordered them to complete the paperwork and take it back to the housing authority and return to court the next month. They left and I sighed.
The next month, they appeared and proudly reported that they had completed the paperwork requesting housing. They told me that they had also called the dentist but could not get in to see him because there were no more vouchers and they couldn't afford it. I was happy because they had completed the paperwork, and let them go, but ordered them to return the next month. Again, I didn't want them to forget that they were living in a condemned house and would have to move.
That takes us to last Wednesday.
They came in and approached the bench when it was their turn. Jamie, the housing specialist came downstairs and was smiling, so I thought the problem had been solved. She said, "The housing authority offered them an apartment this week!" I began smiling because I thought this was good news. Then the wife said, "We don't want an apartment. We want a house." Jamie looked at me. I looked at her. She said, "You won't be able to get a house right away. They don't come open very often. But you will be first on the list for a house when one is available." They looked at each other. The wife said, "We didn't ask for an apartment."
I threw up my hands, both literally and figuratively. I asked Jamie whether the apartment would still be available. "Oh, no," she said. Once they turn it down, it will go to the next person on the list."
I looked at the couple and said, "I have tried to do everything I can to get you a habitable place to live, and now you have turned down a place that will get you out of the house before it is torn down. I don't know what else to say. Your house will be torn down in June. It will be gone. Where will you go?"
They looked at each other.
"You're dismissed," I said, and moved on to the next case.
Later, the clerk asked me what to do with the case. I told her that we couldn't do any more with it.
Then I went to my church staff meeting and asked for prayers that I could find some answer that would keep these people in a house and not make them new members of the homeless community.
Solomon, where are you?
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Spring in Savannah
I thought spring in Missouri was lovely, but spring in Savannah is simply entrancing. We went last weekend to visit Emily, and we took along dear old friends; we stayed at a fabulous hotel and ate at wonderful restaurants, and I can hardly wait to go back.
Savannah is a very old city and is divided by city squares that serve as parks for the surrounding neighborhoods. Each square boasts huge live oak trees, most of which are covered in Spanish Moss - except for three of the trees on the old court square. Legend has it that Spanish moss will not grow on a tree where innocent blood was shed, and three live oak trees on that particular square are moss-less - the square where gallows supposedly once stood, or maybe a hanging tree or three.
Azaelas in gorgeous shades of pink grow in hedges on most of the squares; some of the plants are taller than our friend, who stands 6'8". Green is the other plentiful color on the squares, as all the trees were leafed out and all the grass was fresh and bright.
The squares are populated at all times of day with people walking their dogs, tourists taking walking tours, people going to and from work, and some people who are just sitting on park benches loving the warm air and sunshine. Occasionally, someone might be playing an instrument, or telling whoever will listen that the world will soon be ending. Each square looks different, and they all have different feels.
Most of Savannah's hot spots are in the downtown area - not tourist locations, but places where the locals eat lunch and dinner, or enjoy a martini or two after work.
We arrived on Thursday evening and ate dinner at one of my favorite restaurants: Circa 1875. This is a little French bistro that serves a seasonal menu of good dishes such as duck confit and pate de fois gras. That Thursday, the special was trout cook so beautifully that my friend ate all of hers, which she never does. Max had the lamb shank, and Emily and I shared the duck. Most of all, we loved the wine. We tried two different bottles, and our favorites were a Hahn Meritage. I am still trying to locate that label.
On Friday, we took the free ferry from our Westin Resort hotel over the Savannah River to the city, where we did a lot of walking and sightseeing. We traipsed across River Street, which is known for its tourist attractions; we spent no time there, as we were not interested in buying trinkets with which to remember our trip, instead heading up to the part of town that is populated with SCAD buildings and students, seeing what Savannah looks like on a workday around noon.
Around 1:00, we met up with Emily and drove to Tybee Island, which, depending on traffic, could be about a 20-minute drive. We found a little place - AJ's - to eat lunch, and we sat out in the sunshine on a deck drinking beer and eating the most unhealthy type of food, but that which is required in a seafood joint on the ocean - fried everything! We had boiled shrimp for an appetizer, and then we chowed down on food we have been forbidden to eat since we were in our 20s. I didn't believe I was in New Orleans when I ordered the fried shrimp po' boy, but I didn't care. I ate it anyway. The requisite cole slaw was good, and the sweet potato fries tasted just right with whatever beer I was drinking. By the time we were finished, it was about 5:00 - and we had dinner reservations at 9:00!
We got back to the hotel just in time to see, from our hotel room window, a wedding rehearsal on the lawn of the hotel, right next to the Savannah River. Everyone looked young and beautiful and excited - just the way a wedding party should look. I felt like an interloper - watching something to which I was not invited from a hotel window - but I couldn't break away.
Eventually, we drifted out of the hotel toward the free ferry, and sailed across the river to downtown, where we made our way to Alligator Soul, a restaurant that had been recommended to me the first time Emily and I had been in Savannah to scout out a place for her to live. This restaurant was, just like Circa 1875, located underground. We traversed down a staircase and entered a cave-like room with a bar running parallel to the wall and a fireplace and seating area at the opposite end of the room. We were lucky enough to make our way to the area by the fireplace, and while we were there, we had oysters on the half-shell with a tomato vinaigrette and a cucumber-lemon vinaigrette.
We waited for a long time for a table, but it was worth it, as the staff brought in a table set for five, and placed it right next to us. From there, it got even better. We shared tempura-fried soft shell crab that had been caught that very afternoon - probably around where we ate lunch. While Emily and I shared a Caesar salad, my friends Susan and Gary shared a composed salad with grilled calamari as the featured ingredient, and they raved about it. Gary and Max both ordered grilled scallops, Susan ate swordfish, Emily had duck, and I had smoked pulled pork with gnocchi. The only thing lacking on my plate was that the gnocchi were underdone. Other than that, the whole dinner was, in the words of Billie Dawn of Born Yesterday fame, "su-poib."
Most enjoyable, however, was the Paraduxx wine, which is from the Duckhorn label. It was a blend of 70% zinfandel and 30% cabernet sauvignon. We had two bottles, and that wasn't enough. I am looking for that wine, as well, but so far, to no avail.
The chef of Alligator Soul is Chris DiNello, a handsome young man in his 30s, who is self-taught, and who obviously has done a really good job teaching. He has developed a very sophisticated menu, and the night we were there, executed most of it very well. I would go back to his restaurant to try more items on the menu; I think it could very well take the place of Circa 1875 as my favorite Savannah restaurant.
We ferried back to the hotel and tried to go to our room, but the NCAA tournament games were on the television in the hotel bar, and so we watched the last part of the Kansas game and the bridal party - the one we had watched earlier that evening from our window - as they readied themselves for the festivities the next day. I was thrilled that we had two more whole days to enjoy in this charming southern city.
The next day was wild and wet. Fortunately, we had taken advantage of the fabulous weather to hit the beach the previous day, so we spent the non-rainy part of the day exploring yet more of the downtown Savannah area, eating lunch at the Flip Flop Tiki Bar, where Emily was tending bar and waiting tables. Susan and I had margaritas (Emily had said that she makes excellent margaritas - she is right), and Max and Gary drank beer. We ate light Jamaican shrimp tacos and pulled pork tacos that were served with black beans and rice and mango salsa. Then we went exploring, trying to find the cemetery made famous by Johnny Mercer, who is buried there, and John Berendt, who wrote about it in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. When the mosquitoes started gnawing at us and it began to rain, we decided to take a drive north of town and check out Hilton Head, as none of us had been there. We saw a lot of traffic, but I still don't believe I have seen Hilton Head.
We got back to the hotel just in time to watch, again from our window, the wedding on the lawn, and then to take a nap before martinis at Jen and Friends and dinner at the Sapphire Grill. The weather turned beautiful again just as we headed to Jen's, where we enjoyed our martinis al fresco - because there was no room at the bar! Then we headed over to the Sapphire Grill, which is right next to Paula Deen's The Lady and Sons, where a real mixologist put on quite a show. Each of us ordered a different drink, and the bartender gave great care to each, muddling berries for Susan's berry martini, cutting fresh pineapple for my Mai Tai, and opening a new bottle of champagne for Emily's French 75.
We then went upstairs for yet another excellent dinner. Emily and I shared seared scallops, and the chef will allow diners to select a sauce for their entrees. My scallops came with truffle butter, and Emily ordered a mushroom sauce. Well-heeled and adventurous diners can order a wine pairing dinner, which includes a particular wine with each course that is designed to enhance the flavor of the food, at $100 per person. I am going to do that when I go back. It sounded heavenly, but I had already spent all my money!
Around midnight, we went back to the Westin to sleep for the last night in our Heavenly Bed. On Sunday morning, we took a guided walking tour of the downtown area, including many of the squares and beautiful old churches and homes. After that, we hustled back to the hotel to check out and to decide where we would eat our last meal in Savannah. We decided to finish the trip with - hamburgers and French fries! It somehow seemed right to end our trip on a Midwestern note, and so we went to the Moon River brewpub (Yes, that's its name) and chowed down before heading back to real life in Missouri.
The worst part of a vacation is the end, and this trip was no exception. The good news is that our next trip is coming soon - in June - and I will once again get to enjoy the ambience of Savannah. I can hardly wait!
Savannah is a very old city and is divided by city squares that serve as parks for the surrounding neighborhoods. Each square boasts huge live oak trees, most of which are covered in Spanish Moss - except for three of the trees on the old court square. Legend has it that Spanish moss will not grow on a tree where innocent blood was shed, and three live oak trees on that particular square are moss-less - the square where gallows supposedly once stood, or maybe a hanging tree or three.
Azaelas in gorgeous shades of pink grow in hedges on most of the squares; some of the plants are taller than our friend, who stands 6'8". Green is the other plentiful color on the squares, as all the trees were leafed out and all the grass was fresh and bright.
The squares are populated at all times of day with people walking their dogs, tourists taking walking tours, people going to and from work, and some people who are just sitting on park benches loving the warm air and sunshine. Occasionally, someone might be playing an instrument, or telling whoever will listen that the world will soon be ending. Each square looks different, and they all have different feels.
Most of Savannah's hot spots are in the downtown area - not tourist locations, but places where the locals eat lunch and dinner, or enjoy a martini or two after work.
We arrived on Thursday evening and ate dinner at one of my favorite restaurants: Circa 1875. This is a little French bistro that serves a seasonal menu of good dishes such as duck confit and pate de fois gras. That Thursday, the special was trout cook so beautifully that my friend ate all of hers, which she never does. Max had the lamb shank, and Emily and I shared the duck. Most of all, we loved the wine. We tried two different bottles, and our favorites were a Hahn Meritage. I am still trying to locate that label.
On Friday, we took the free ferry from our Westin Resort hotel over the Savannah River to the city, where we did a lot of walking and sightseeing. We traipsed across River Street, which is known for its tourist attractions; we spent no time there, as we were not interested in buying trinkets with which to remember our trip, instead heading up to the part of town that is populated with SCAD buildings and students, seeing what Savannah looks like on a workday around noon.
Around 1:00, we met up with Emily and drove to Tybee Island, which, depending on traffic, could be about a 20-minute drive. We found a little place - AJ's - to eat lunch, and we sat out in the sunshine on a deck drinking beer and eating the most unhealthy type of food, but that which is required in a seafood joint on the ocean - fried everything! We had boiled shrimp for an appetizer, and then we chowed down on food we have been forbidden to eat since we were in our 20s. I didn't believe I was in New Orleans when I ordered the fried shrimp po' boy, but I didn't care. I ate it anyway. The requisite cole slaw was good, and the sweet potato fries tasted just right with whatever beer I was drinking. By the time we were finished, it was about 5:00 - and we had dinner reservations at 9:00!
We got back to the hotel just in time to see, from our hotel room window, a wedding rehearsal on the lawn of the hotel, right next to the Savannah River. Everyone looked young and beautiful and excited - just the way a wedding party should look. I felt like an interloper - watching something to which I was not invited from a hotel window - but I couldn't break away.
Eventually, we drifted out of the hotel toward the free ferry, and sailed across the river to downtown, where we made our way to Alligator Soul, a restaurant that had been recommended to me the first time Emily and I had been in Savannah to scout out a place for her to live. This restaurant was, just like Circa 1875, located underground. We traversed down a staircase and entered a cave-like room with a bar running parallel to the wall and a fireplace and seating area at the opposite end of the room. We were lucky enough to make our way to the area by the fireplace, and while we were there, we had oysters on the half-shell with a tomato vinaigrette and a cucumber-lemon vinaigrette.
We waited for a long time for a table, but it was worth it, as the staff brought in a table set for five, and placed it right next to us. From there, it got even better. We shared tempura-fried soft shell crab that had been caught that very afternoon - probably around where we ate lunch. While Emily and I shared a Caesar salad, my friends Susan and Gary shared a composed salad with grilled calamari as the featured ingredient, and they raved about it. Gary and Max both ordered grilled scallops, Susan ate swordfish, Emily had duck, and I had smoked pulled pork with gnocchi. The only thing lacking on my plate was that the gnocchi were underdone. Other than that, the whole dinner was, in the words of Billie Dawn of Born Yesterday fame, "su-poib."
Most enjoyable, however, was the Paraduxx wine, which is from the Duckhorn label. It was a blend of 70% zinfandel and 30% cabernet sauvignon. We had two bottles, and that wasn't enough. I am looking for that wine, as well, but so far, to no avail.
The chef of Alligator Soul is Chris DiNello, a handsome young man in his 30s, who is self-taught, and who obviously has done a really good job teaching. He has developed a very sophisticated menu, and the night we were there, executed most of it very well. I would go back to his restaurant to try more items on the menu; I think it could very well take the place of Circa 1875 as my favorite Savannah restaurant.
We ferried back to the hotel and tried to go to our room, but the NCAA tournament games were on the television in the hotel bar, and so we watched the last part of the Kansas game and the bridal party - the one we had watched earlier that evening from our window - as they readied themselves for the festivities the next day. I was thrilled that we had two more whole days to enjoy in this charming southern city.
The next day was wild and wet. Fortunately, we had taken advantage of the fabulous weather to hit the beach the previous day, so we spent the non-rainy part of the day exploring yet more of the downtown Savannah area, eating lunch at the Flip Flop Tiki Bar, where Emily was tending bar and waiting tables. Susan and I had margaritas (Emily had said that she makes excellent margaritas - she is right), and Max and Gary drank beer. We ate light Jamaican shrimp tacos and pulled pork tacos that were served with black beans and rice and mango salsa. Then we went exploring, trying to find the cemetery made famous by Johnny Mercer, who is buried there, and John Berendt, who wrote about it in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. When the mosquitoes started gnawing at us and it began to rain, we decided to take a drive north of town and check out Hilton Head, as none of us had been there. We saw a lot of traffic, but I still don't believe I have seen Hilton Head.
We got back to the hotel just in time to watch, again from our window, the wedding on the lawn, and then to take a nap before martinis at Jen and Friends and dinner at the Sapphire Grill. The weather turned beautiful again just as we headed to Jen's, where we enjoyed our martinis al fresco - because there was no room at the bar! Then we headed over to the Sapphire Grill, which is right next to Paula Deen's The Lady and Sons, where a real mixologist put on quite a show. Each of us ordered a different drink, and the bartender gave great care to each, muddling berries for Susan's berry martini, cutting fresh pineapple for my Mai Tai, and opening a new bottle of champagne for Emily's French 75.
We then went upstairs for yet another excellent dinner. Emily and I shared seared scallops, and the chef will allow diners to select a sauce for their entrees. My scallops came with truffle butter, and Emily ordered a mushroom sauce. Well-heeled and adventurous diners can order a wine pairing dinner, which includes a particular wine with each course that is designed to enhance the flavor of the food, at $100 per person. I am going to do that when I go back. It sounded heavenly, but I had already spent all my money!
Around midnight, we went back to the Westin to sleep for the last night in our Heavenly Bed. On Sunday morning, we took a guided walking tour of the downtown area, including many of the squares and beautiful old churches and homes. After that, we hustled back to the hotel to check out and to decide where we would eat our last meal in Savannah. We decided to finish the trip with - hamburgers and French fries! It somehow seemed right to end our trip on a Midwestern note, and so we went to the Moon River brewpub (Yes, that's its name) and chowed down before heading back to real life in Missouri.
The worst part of a vacation is the end, and this trip was no exception. The good news is that our next trip is coming soon - in June - and I will once again get to enjoy the ambience of Savannah. I can hardly wait!
Thursday, March 15, 2012
The World Looks Good Today
Very little feels better than preparing for spring break. Preparing means getting ready to have at least a few days without obligations, some days that may be spent lazily reading books or even guiltily watching old re-runs on television, and some time that belongs to no one but myself.
My favorite day of spring break is the day before it begins. This day brings with it the promise of what is to come, the excitement of anticipation, and the success of a stretch of days that have not yet occurred. My next favorite, of course, is the day it actually does begin, when the anticipation and promise are still palpable.
Spring break becomes not so much fun when I remember that I have to go to the doctor, or to the bank, or anywhere else for that matter, because when I remember those things, my time then becomes obligated, and although I don't have to work at school things, I have to do something. Something or someone else owns me for a portion of the time that should be mine and mine alone!!!
So this year, I have divided my spring break into two or three sections, the last one being taking off with old friends to see Emily in a city that offers quite a bit more fun than does this one. I will take one day, maybe two, to do obligations: go to the doctor, finish up some law work, and (eegad) clean the house. The rest of the time, I will simply sleep late, read books, and sit out in the sun or do yard work with the sun shining on me. I hope the sun is shining.
And you guessed it - today is the day before spring break begins, and I am wildly anticipatory about what the next ten days have in store.
My favorite day of spring break is the day before it begins. This day brings with it the promise of what is to come, the excitement of anticipation, and the success of a stretch of days that have not yet occurred. My next favorite, of course, is the day it actually does begin, when the anticipation and promise are still palpable.
Spring break becomes not so much fun when I remember that I have to go to the doctor, or to the bank, or anywhere else for that matter, because when I remember those things, my time then becomes obligated, and although I don't have to work at school things, I have to do something. Something or someone else owns me for a portion of the time that should be mine and mine alone!!!
So this year, I have divided my spring break into two or three sections, the last one being taking off with old friends to see Emily in a city that offers quite a bit more fun than does this one. I will take one day, maybe two, to do obligations: go to the doctor, finish up some law work, and (eegad) clean the house. The rest of the time, I will simply sleep late, read books, and sit out in the sun or do yard work with the sun shining on me. I hope the sun is shining.
And you guessed it - today is the day before spring break begins, and I am wildly anticipatory about what the next ten days have in store.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Aunt Alma's Birthday
Last Saturday night, Max and I drove to Kansas City to share my aunt's 80th birthday with her. My sister was there, as were my cousins Kelly and Kym with their husbands, Chad and Cougar respectively. Kelly's babies Amelia and Evelyn kept us entertained. My cousin John, whom I have not seen in some time, drove in from Oklahoma, and my cousin Derek, who I kept calling "Garrett" was also there for a short time. My cousin Patty and her husband Carl were the benefactors of the evening, and though some family members could not be there, I think I can safely say that "a good time was had by all."
I reflected on not only the evening, but also the lifetime that we have shared, sometimes in fits and starts, sometimes for years at a time, but always having each other within arm's length or a phone call away. We have not always been close - our lives have changed too much over the years - but we have generally always been happy to see each other.
For instance, I am sad that I missed Kelly and Chad's wedding now some ten or eleven years ago - maybe more. I was too lazy to drive from Sedalia to Lawrence, and I don't think Max could go for some reason. Now, all these years later, I regret not having made the trip and having fun when "the two became one," because as Kelly has grown up - she was only 19 at the time - she and I have gotten along famously. She is cute and funny and loves to laugh. Her husband is an artist and teacher, and he cares beautifully for their two little girls. I feel lucky that she doesn't hold it against me that I missed what was one of the most important days in her life, and that I can share with her other, not so important days - not important except that we see each other.
During those years, I didn't keep in touch with my family very well. We have our share of skeletons and ugly stories, and I didn't want to be connected with those; as a result, I have missed out on some good times and was not available to lend a hand during some times that were tough. As I am now older, and, I hope, wiser, I see that keeping some kind of continuty is important, if for no other reason, than to realize that these people in my family are threads that I don't want to break. As we become older and more scattered, though, and as life does to our family what life does to all, it takes more time, more effort, and more money to try to connect and to stay connected. I want to see these as simply challenges rather than insurmountable obstacles.
For instance, after spending time with Amelia and Evelyn, I really would like to see them grow up. I hope Kelly will send us school pictures and even some art they create or stories they tell. I hope that we will be able to resume our Easter tradition of meeting somewhere in the middle and having some kind of reunion where we all sit around and drink wine or Jameson's and laugh about the things that we did, or the things that someone is doing. I hope that when Kym and Cougar have children - assuming they will have children - we can be a part of that as well. I hope that when Emily gets married - assuming she will get married - they will all be there. I hope that the time, distance, and conflicts that have separated us in the past will stay in the past, and that we will be able to continue the relationship we have now, seeing each other on occasion and enjoying each other's company as we catch up on each other's lives.
Yes. A good time was had by all.
I reflected on not only the evening, but also the lifetime that we have shared, sometimes in fits and starts, sometimes for years at a time, but always having each other within arm's length or a phone call away. We have not always been close - our lives have changed too much over the years - but we have generally always been happy to see each other.
For instance, I am sad that I missed Kelly and Chad's wedding now some ten or eleven years ago - maybe more. I was too lazy to drive from Sedalia to Lawrence, and I don't think Max could go for some reason. Now, all these years later, I regret not having made the trip and having fun when "the two became one," because as Kelly has grown up - she was only 19 at the time - she and I have gotten along famously. She is cute and funny and loves to laugh. Her husband is an artist and teacher, and he cares beautifully for their two little girls. I feel lucky that she doesn't hold it against me that I missed what was one of the most important days in her life, and that I can share with her other, not so important days - not important except that we see each other.
During those years, I didn't keep in touch with my family very well. We have our share of skeletons and ugly stories, and I didn't want to be connected with those; as a result, I have missed out on some good times and was not available to lend a hand during some times that were tough. As I am now older, and, I hope, wiser, I see that keeping some kind of continuty is important, if for no other reason, than to realize that these people in my family are threads that I don't want to break. As we become older and more scattered, though, and as life does to our family what life does to all, it takes more time, more effort, and more money to try to connect and to stay connected. I want to see these as simply challenges rather than insurmountable obstacles.
For instance, after spending time with Amelia and Evelyn, I really would like to see them grow up. I hope Kelly will send us school pictures and even some art they create or stories they tell. I hope that we will be able to resume our Easter tradition of meeting somewhere in the middle and having some kind of reunion where we all sit around and drink wine or Jameson's and laugh about the things that we did, or the things that someone is doing. I hope that when Kym and Cougar have children - assuming they will have children - we can be a part of that as well. I hope that when Emily gets married - assuming she will get married - they will all be there. I hope that the time, distance, and conflicts that have separated us in the past will stay in the past, and that we will be able to continue the relationship we have now, seeing each other on occasion and enjoying each other's company as we catch up on each other's lives.
Yes. A good time was had by all.
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