The Eye of the Beholder

When I was in New York last week, I did more than lose my wallet–I visited three of the museums that make that city a cultural mecca. Let me be the first to say that what I know about art would fit comfortably on the head of a pin. I never took an art class in college and am ignorant of many aspects of art. Huge museums like the Louvre drive me crazy and that’s why I always gravitate to smaller places that I can wander around in for an hour or two before my attention span conks out.

The Frick is just about perfect as far as I’m concerned. It’s not too big and it encompasses an era that fascinates me–New York’s gilded age that Edith Wharton captured so perfectly in The Age of Innocence. It was the time when the old money of the original settlers of New York headbutted the newer riches of the robber barons named Vanderbilt, Rockefeller and Frick. Those men amassed huge fortunes, built fabulous houses and collected some of the world’s greatest art.

The Frick Collection is showcased in the 5th Ave. home the Frick family once lived in. There are works by Rembrandt, Titian, Renoir, Constable and Monet. But this was my favorite.

 

It’s called Lady Hamilton as Nature. Lady Hamilton–Emma–was quite the gal about town. She was born the daughter of a blacksmith and worked as a housemaid in her younger years. She also worked as an actress and model and was the muse of artisit George Romney who painted this picture. Emma was the consort and mistress of several influential men and eventually married  Sir William Hamilton, British Envoy to Naples. While in Naples she met and became the mistress of Lord Horatio Nelson. She outlived both her husband and her lover and died deeply in debt. Ironically, the many paintings Romney painted of her are priceless today.

This is the kind of art I like. Art with a story. Most of the paintings I own have a story–they’re of a place I love, a place I’ve been, are painted by a friend or have been handed down. They’re personal.

The next day I visited MoMA–the Museum of Modern Art. I saw a shoebox on the floor…

…and four yogurt container lids glued to the wall.

I love yogurt, and I have quite a collection of empty shoe boxes.

I just never considered them art.

Finally, the Weather Channel Got It Right

Yesterday it snowed.

It started around 11 at my house.

 

The weather gurus had been predicting it for a week. But they’ve made so many empty promises before that it was hard to believe that this storm would actually materialize. Just two weeks ago they tantalized us predictions of fluffy flakes that never arrived.

This time,though, they seemed a little more certain. A storm was working its way through Oklahoma and Arkansas and would make to Franklin by midday Friday. By 1 p.m., it looked like this.

I know that if you live in a place with lots of snow…say Iowa or Russia, then you’re probably rolling your eyes. Rest assured, I would if I were you. But you have to understand, we haven’t had a bona fide snow here in YEARS. Here’s the progress a couple of hours later.

And when we woke up this morning…we found not only snow…

But ice as well…

That’s bamboo bent to about half its normal size.

The best thing about snow and ice around here is that it never lasts long enough to get dirty and ugly. It’ll melt away in a day or so, making way for the daffodils that are sure to follow in about a month.

Out of My Comfort Zone

I’ve been fortunate enough to travel quite a bit. Over the years I’ve figured out places where I could potentially live, at least part of the time. Paris is at the top of the list, of course. The Florida Keys are right up there as well. There’s a great appeal of the ancient holy places like Lindisfarne in the far north of England. Or Assisi way up on a hill in Italy.

But there’s one place I could never, ever live–New York City.

Don’t get me wrong–I think New York is a wonderful place and if I had unlimited funds, I might splurge on a pied-à-terre there. But not until I’ve secured living quarters in all the other places first.

We spent last weekend in New York. I left my wallet in the first cab we took.

Hell damn and hell.

No wallet=no ID=equal sticky wicket when passing through airport security.

Husband said not to worry, and I attempted to do (or not do) just that.

The next day I spent some time with a gracious woman who has spent a great deal of time in New York. We had a very elegant lunch. We strolled down 5th Avenue and she pointed out some of the sights. We went to her apartment and saw the polar bears in the Central Park Zoo from her terrace.

That’s the way to live in the city. She knows how to do it. I, on the other hand, lose my wallet within 30 minutes.

By and by, it was time to travel home. We got our boarding passes and headed to security.

When I got to the front of the line I presented my boarding pass and told the agent I had lost my ID.

“Stand to the side,” she told me. (Husband asked for and received permission to stand by me.)

It was crowded in our little corner of LaGuardia and we had to keep telling people that we weren’t in line. One woman heard us talking and decided to share her thoughts on the situation.

“Oh my god–that happened to a friend of mine and it turned out that she had THE EXACT SAME NAME AS A PERSON ON THE NO FLY LIST.”

“Shhhh,” I said. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“Why not?” her male companion said. “Are you a PERPETRATOR?”

“Would the both of you PLEASE quit talking now?” I asked in my nicest voice.

They huffed away, clearly not understanding why I didn’t want to hear about other people’s misfortunes.

In the end, a nice man came and had me fill out a form. He asked me a few questions and then made a call. Evidently the person on the other end had a copy of my permanent record and deemed all my answers acceptable and I was cleared. I got patted down and wanded, and another nice young man saw way more of the inside of my suitcase than I’m sure he wanted.

We made it on the plane and now I’m back in my zip code.

It’s not New York’s fault that I lost my wallet. I just always feel a little out of step there. Like I’m moving too slowly. Talking too slowly.

In New York I’m wading through chocolate pudding while everyone else is zipping by on hovercrafts. Or in cabs–only they remember to take their wallets when they get out.

When Did Children Become Breakable?

A little while ago I was watching a show called House Hunters. This is a show about people looking for new homes. In a typical show, the buyers look at three homes and then choose one at the end. On tonight’s show a young couple was looking at houses in West Palm Beach, Fla. At every turn, they would comment on whether Mia, their daughter, would like a certain feature.

“I’m not sure Mia would like that,” the mother said of the pink walls in the guest bedroom.

“Oh, there’s steps…that’s not good for Mia,” dad said.

“Oh, Mia would love this kitchen,” they both said.

I got to wondering about this Mia person and her strong opinions. Then they showed Mia. She’s two. But evidently she already has strong opinions on paint color, stairs and yards. I don’t remember my parents consulting me on much of anything until I was in college.

On the other hand, I imagine that I had a lot more freedom than Mia will ever have.

Here’s where this is going.

A few weeks ago I interviewed a man for a magazine article I was writing. He is the executive director of a land trust out west. He said that one of the biggest challenges his group faces is that children today are growing up with a total disconnect from the land–they’re scared of nature, scared to explore their own backyards.

He and I are close to the same age. We grew up in what must be just about the last generation to experience the freedom to roam. We lived in the country. We played in the woods without supervision. We caught crawdads in the creek. We were gone for hours on end and no one thought a thing of it. We rode our bikes for miles–without helmets.

The man I was interviewing commented that kids used to learn a lot of useful problem-solving skills building treehouses and forts. But today’s children are so over-scheduled and so over-protected that they seemingly have no time to figure things out on their own. As soon as one problem presents itself, a quick call on the cell phone to mom or dad takes care of it.

Of course, I don’t have children, so my observations should be taken with a grain of salt. We might’ve been the most over-protective parents ever. Who knows.

But I do know this–I fell off  plenty of ponies, crashed plenty of bikes and splashed through plenty of creeks without adult supervision. I can promise you that whatever I did, Husband did ten times as much of–except for falling off ponies.

We turned out ok–and we have a deep appreciation for and love of the nature that surrounds us.

I’m not saying that kids should ditch their bicycle helmets or seat belts. I’m just saying that a little freedom to explore on their own is a good thing. Even if it’s just in their own backyards.

The Power of 10

10 wine glasses

10 water glasses

10 salad plates

10 dinner plates

10 salad forks, dinner forks, spoons and knives

10 coffee mugs

10 glasses for after dinner drinks

10 linen napkins

10 friends at my table.

And even though I totally forgot dessert, a great time was had by all.

Thuggery Revisited and an Unexpected Outcome

A few weeks ago I wrote about some players on the University of Tennessee football team getting into trouble. Three players were arrested and charged with attempted armed robbery. One player got off (he wasn’t present when the attempted robbery occurred) and two others were kicked off the  team.

It was a black eye for the team and an embarrassment for fans like me.

Fast forward to New Year’s Eve. The basketball team had a huge win over the University of Memphis. It’s an important win for bragging rights–and recruiting. But the next day, four members of the team were pulled over in Knoxville for speeding.

There was an open container and there was a small amount of  pot. Not a best case scenario, but troubling. However, a more thorough search of the car turned up two concealed weapons–and on one of those the serial numbers had been altered. What had started out as misdemeanor offenses had  just turned in felonies.

Bad news traveled fast and soon the whole sports world knew that Tyler Smith, our best player and a sure bet for the NBA, was involved. All four were suspended bearing further investigation. A few nights later the team played without the four suspended players. They won in convincing fashion against a good, but not great team.

But everyone was still waiting on a decision about the suspended players–particularly since the number one team in the nation, the Kansas Jayhawks, was the next game on the schedule.

On Friday the decision was made. Tyler Smith was dismissed from the team. The other three–who were not starters, but valuable contributors–were still suspended.

And the Jayhawks were coming to play in just two days.

No one gave the Vols a chance. After all, one third of the team was gone.

But the game started out close. The soldout crowd was loud and behind the team.

In the first half, no team led by more than eight and it was tied at the half.

As the second half started, two of Tennessee’s top players went to the bench in foul trouble. But the rest played tough. Kansas was bigger and undefeated. Minute by minute though, the Vols kept up. Leading by two…by five…by six…by three.

Free throws were missed and turnovers put the ball back in Kansas’ hand. The Jayhawks hit a long shot and the Vols’ lead was down to three with a minute to go. Tennessee races down the court and the tough defense of Kansas seems to confuse the players who normally sat on the bench at this stage of a tight game. A walk on, Skyler McBee had the ball and clearly had no idea what to do with it. He leaned one way, then took a step in another. The shot clock was ticking down…4…3…2…and he rose up and awkwardly heaved the ball to the basket.

In it went…three points for the Vols. The game was, for all intents and purposes, over.

The team that had been publicly humiliated and reduced by a third had just beaten the number one team in the country.

With the support of the crowd, they pulled together and pulled off one of the biggest upsets in Tennessee history.

Yes, there’s still the underlying problem of athletes, drugs and guns–not just at my school, but at most. These kids are influenced by the pros and they have their own culture of thuggery. Here’s hoping though, that some lessons have been learned.

As for me and the rest of the fans, it’s great night to be a Vol. And that’s a relief.

Up In the Air–A Movie Review of Sorts

Husband is rarely interested in movies, but because this one had been so cleverly promoted by American Airlines, it piqued his interest.

You see, Husband spends a lot time with American Airlines. Like George Clooney in the film, Husband travels light and navigates through the concourses of strange airports as well as he does streets of downtown Franklin. George spends his time between flights in the private lounge (the one behind the discreet, secret doors) and boasts of never buying a thing unless it adds to his frequent flyer account.

In the movie, George’s character flies around the country firing people for companies that are downsizing. Unfortunately, business is booming and that means George is always either taking off or landing. George has a goal–amassing 10 million miles making him a mythical, uber frequent flyer. In the movie, people reaching this milestone are visited by the chief pilot of American, feted with champagne and given their own titanium membership card.

But here’s what’s wrong.

In the movie we see George flying from Omaha to Dubuque to Milwaukee. He goes from Chicage to Denver to Dallas.

Short hops like those will not get you to 10 million miles. Not even in 20 years. Plus, most of those flights are on the commuter planes operated by American Eagle and the first-class seats we see George sitting in aren’t even available.

For most of us, our frequent flyer miles rarely add up to being worth more than a free magazine subscription. But if you fly on enough international flights and watch for deals offering double or triple rewards, you can earn some significant benefits.

In the movie, George finds out that those benefits aren’t worth as much as he thought they would be. In real life though, it’s nice to go behind those discreet, secret doors every now and then.

A Really, Really Cold Hike Along the Duck River. (And there was a cave!)

It was 14 degrees when we got up this morning–perfect hiking weather! I gave Husband a book titled 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles of Nashville and this was the first one we picked. We traveled about 30 miles south to an area mananged by the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency.

My clothes consisted of leggings, cargo pants, cotton turtleneck, hoodie, fleece jacket, thick socks, gloves, knit hat and, unfortunately, Husband’s boots which I had mistaken for my own when I grabbed them from the garage. (He has several pairs.) However, I didn’t discover this problem until we reached the trailhead and changed from car shoes to boots. Luckily, his feet aren’t too big.

 

Here’s a little of what we saw along the way. (You can click on some of the pictures to see larger images. Not sure why you can’t click on all of them.)

 

There were lots of plants with these icy curls around them.

Frozen creeks are not a very common sight around here.

This is as close to the edge I get.

We’re going to go back in summer and use this grill.

I like a well-marked trail. (Notice similarity of drawing and actual cave seen below.)

 

Yes. I went in there. It was dark. 

Here’s Husband on the other end.

When we got back to the car, the temperature had soared to 18 degrees. In celebration of the heat wave, we came home and had mimosas.

A very pleasant way to spend a Sunday morning.

Hey Alex Trebek–I Thought We Were Tight

Here it is…New Year’s Eve. The last minutes of the first decade of the new millenium are ticking away. But it’s not 2009 that I’ll be seeing in my rear view mirror tomorrow–it’s my chance to be on Jeopardy.

Early in 2008 I took an online test, the first step to being on the show. I thought I did pretty well, especially since Husband was nearby to tell me names of mountains and chemicals. A few months went by and then, in June, I was invited to audition in person in Chicago. So off we went to the big city. I auditioned with about 30 other people. They gave us a timed, written test and out of the 100 questions, I probably missed at least 20 (mostly about mountains and chemicals). Obnoxious ass in front of me was “quite certain” he had only missed two. After that, we went up in groups of three and played a mock game, complete with categories and clickers. I did better there and the people from the show seemed enchanted by my Southern charm. Plus I totally figured out the buzzer and beat the pants off my fellow contestants.

They told us that they would score our written test and combine that with our mock game performance and that our names would go in the  hopper with the thousands of others trying out for the show. We were in the contestant pool, they told us, for the next 18 months.

That 18 months is now down to 6 hours and I just don’t think Alex will be calling Franklin on New Year’s Eve.

I watch the show most nights and I know that on some of those shows I would’ve cleaned up. Categories dealing with word play, literature, food and sports are right in my wheelhouse. And I’m unbeatable in Potent Potables. But if it’s night heavy on Africa, explorers and presidents, I’m toast.

Alex, I won’t hold it against you. I know that you really don’t have much to do with who gets on the show and who doesn’t. But I think we could’ve had some fun…had some laughs. I didn’t want much–a hundred thousand would’ve been perfect. Enough to redo the kitchen and have enough left over for a really swanky trip.

I know my time is up…but if you ever find yourself needing a contestant on short notice, you know where to find me.

A Wish and Two Questions

The Wish

I hope that all of you out there have a wonderful holiday filled with good cheer. I’d like to thank all of you for reading, commenting and, if you blog, sharing your own stories. I feel like I have new friends all over the world–from Australia to England to Spain and who knows where else. From big cities like New York and Chicago to Ozark hamlets, Canadian towns and even right here in Franklin. Merry Christmas, y’all.

Question #1

Is this the cutest thing ever? I made it for great niece #3:

Question #2

What in the heck is in this box and how on earth did Husband get it up the steps into the house? It’s approximately 4 feet by 3 1/2 feet. Any guesses?