Truth and Scales

 Each time I walk into my kitchen a piece of cake whispers "Come hither and partake", while the salad and fruit are mute. And in the bathroom, my scale gives me bad news, actually it speaks the truth. In denial, I never equate the allure of cake with the attitude of my scales.

I can remember years ago, while I was in school I had a suite mate, Emily, who was  'big boned' as my Grandmother would say. As often happens with a group of young ladies, there was an obsession with weight. The 4 of us decided to diet - all for one and one for all. So sandwiches and cookies were sacked, replaced by salads. All cake and candy were done away with. Chicken became the sole meat around the place.

Upon our weigh-in after the first week, the results were mixed. 3 of us lost a pound or 2. However, dear Emily gained a pound. No doubt due to the stash of cookies she kept hidden in her room, supposedly for those times she had low blood sugar, although she was not diabetic. But we were not to judge.

The weigh-in after our second week had similar results, 3 of us lost a pound or so and poor Emily gained another pound. She acted shocked at the results, after all, according to her, she had been very faithful to her diet. (There was no mention of her "blood sugar" issue.)

At the end of the 3rd week, prior to our 'weigh in', we decided to help Emily. After all, each of us had at one time or another suffered by the wrath of the scales. So we adjusted the scales at negative 2 so it would show our true weight less 2 pounds. That evening we gathered for our weekly moment of truth. Needless to say the 3 of us knowing the scales had been doctored, pretended to have mixed results.  But, we waited for Emily's moment of truth, knowing she would be excited.

But, we were all shocked at the look on her face as she stepped off the scales. "Well", she said. "At least I only gained 1 pound this week." We then realized the situation with Emily was a bit worse than we suspected. 

Jennifer, the most successful dieter among us just laughed. "Well, at least she seems pleased." After that we jut let the chips fall where they may. The scales were readjusted for the truth and each week we commiserated with Emily as her diet continued to fail. 

Ah, To Be Able to Go

I was talking several days ago with a friend about traveling. Since March of 2020 and this blasted pandemic, traveling (for pleasure) has pretty much ceased to be. I had a trip planned to Cayman that April, that was cancelled. Looking back on it, had I been able to go, I do not think I would have returned for a long while.

Many of you who know me are aware of my wanderlust and love of traveling. As a psychological fall back, I have always known, if all else fails, I could drop everything and catch a plane to some other place. I always said Aruba. However, for the first time in my life, this pandemic has prevented that vicarious escape. I never thought I would live to see the day when it was not safe to to go ANYWHERE. But, alas for these past 18 months this has been our new norm. 

In total confession, I have taken several plane trips during this time, but they were all stateside. I long for trips to far away places with strange sounding names. Hard to believe, but my last international trip was to Brazil and Argentina 2 years ago. 

As with everyone, I have that list of things I would do with my winnings from the lottery. Top of that list would be a share of Net Jet (ie a fractional jet ownership). With one phone call, I could book a flight anywhere I wanted to go on my schedule. Forego the lines, the screaming children, the inconsiderate fellow passengers talking loudly on their mobile phones. Ah, that would be the life. 

Most folks have a "Bucket List" of things they wish to do before their time comes. Mine is more of a detailed list of destinations. The place I most wanted to visit was Cuba, and thanks to a birthday gift from my oldest daughter, I traveled there. For the record, I would love to go back. It was everything I thought it would be and more. However, there is still much more of the island I wish to see. And, I hope to return before it is developed into a Disney World and Club Med and ruined.

Top of my list is India, followed by Morocco. Rounding out the list is Nepal, Bali, Chili, the Canary Islands, Dubai, the Seychelles, the Maldives, Singapore, Vietnam, Micronesia, Nauru, Vancouver, Toronto, Banff, Cayman Brac, and Portugal (in no particular order.) Also, I would love to go back to the Cote D'azure, Argentina, London, and a few other places in Europe. (I can always dream!)

However, for now my passport sits on my dresser. There is also the issue of time and money, both I will need a lot of - but those are just details.

The Flying Circus

 There are few things in life that are truly brilliant (IMHO). Lately, I was reminded of one - Monty Python. Earlier this week I stumbled upon a documentary on the group. Watching it reminded me that most TV comedy is nothing compared to the writing and acting of Monty Python.

I have always appreciated British humor. Saturday night live aside, US comedy pales in comparison. Years ago, our family watched the BBC shows on PBS regularly. Such shows as "To the Manor Born", "Are you Being Served","Yes, Minister", "As Time Goes By", and "Keeping Up Appearances" - to name a few. 

Memorable actors of these shows included John Inman ("Are you Being Served"),  Patricia Routledge ("Keeping Up Appearances"), John Cleese ("Faulty Towers" and "Monty Python"), and Judy Denche ("As Time Goes By").

The thing about British Humor is the quality of the writing, the willingness to push the envelope, the excellent scripts, the physicality, and the attitude of taking no prisoners. There are so any great examples, I cannot even start to name the characters and the plots. If one has not experienced British humor, it would be lost in translation. 

But "Monty Python" was the Holy Grail - no pun intended. The acting, the writing, the wit, and the irreverence was amazing. SNL comes close, but even that is tamped down due to American sensibilities, however, I give them credit for pushing the envelope. 

I could go on and on, but I will not. I could never do it justice.  Either one gets it or not. 

Angels and Irises

 In the past 2 weeks I have had the opportunity to take advantage of 2 incredible experiences. One was the traveling Michelangelo exhibit on the Sistine Chapel. The walls and ceilings of the famous chapel in Rome have been recreated on enormous canvases. When you walk into the exhibit it is as if you are walking into the chapel itself. But, one advantage is that you are closer to the art. The ceiling is lower, allowing you to see the incredible detail of the artist's work.   

I traveled to Europe while I was in college. However, at that particular time, there were some issues in Italy and the US State Department was not encouraging Americans traveling there. So I made my grand tour sans Italy and therefore missed the Vatican. This exhibit allowed me to see what I missed, just more up close and in person. If you have the opportunity to experience this, do, it will be well worth your time.

 

Although we missed Italy, we did visit Amsterdam. While there we went to the Van Gogh Museum which was an incredible experience. This past week I visited the traveling Van Gogh Immersive Experience in Charlotte. I was not disappointed at all. This is set-up in an old warehouse. It is described as "immersive" because you are truly "immersed" into Van Gogh's most famous paintings. Sitting in this dark room, his paintings are projected on the walls (and sometimes floors). 

You are looking at a wall with green leaves and purple irises. Slowly as the picture enlarges you soon find yourself in his Iris painting among-st the purple flowers.

That fades and fields of golden hay appear and the black crows "fly" in. Then the crows leave, and workers and hay stacks appear to move you from one masterpiece into another.

At one point the walls go black, then slowly turn dark navy. Slowly stars appear and you find yourself in "Starry Night".  And on it goes. You truly have to be there to appreciate it. I found that this method allows one to pay more attention to the details of his work. 

For instance, a hand pouring a cup of tea appears and the picture widens to show a table surrounded by diners and you are "in" the Potato Eaters - at the table. And, then there are the sunflowers.

If you have the chance, take advantage of one or both of these exhibits, especially the Van Gogh Experience. In today's madding world, for just an hour or so, it is nice to lose yourself in the brush strokes and color of a master. 

  

Walking the Dog - Not Just a Yoyo Trick

Let me make one thing straight - a fenced in back yard is highly under rated. For years as a dog owner, "putting the dogs out" entailed opening the back door and letting them run past you. The only hardships were when it was a cold morning and you felt the freezing weather on your face when you opened the door or the frustration of them scrambling around your feet to see who was going first.

Those were the salad days, the carefree times when I was innocent - the years I never appreciated. When I moved to Charleston and brought Ellie with me, we had a new reality. The first morning at 5:30 I awoke to a furry face looking at me with this, "Well, are you taking me out or what?" look. 

It was cold outside, I was still sleepy, and "going out" was now a participation sport. So I got up, pulled on some decent warm clothes, put her leash on her and we headed out the door for her morning constitutional. Now, I will say, Ellie is very good on a leash - when it suits her.  However, like a determined Sumo wrestler, she can just stop, dig her little feet in and no one is going anywhere. That is until she decides she wants to. 

Thankfully, I live in a wonderful neighborhood. I do not need a bigger dog with a bigger chip on her shoulder than 10 inch tall Ellie who, bless her heart, never got the memo that she falls in the "little dog" class. She definitely has the Napoleon Complex.

Marshall, on the other hand, can be schizophrenic. One moment he is this sweet little thing making his way down the street tail wagging and then, at a moment's notice, my fiercest defender. This is the point when I think he is on a suicide mission. It doesn't matter how loud he barks, how menacing his growl is, or how hard he pulls on his leash, the pair of Golden Doodles around the block are not going to be phased, the black lab 2 doors down is not going to really care, and, should he engage the elegant Weimaraner down the street, he is going to lose every time. 

Even the squirrels and chipmunks know the score. They know the dogs are on a leash that is only so long. It is not unusual for a squirrel to dash across our path just a few feet ahead. There is one daring chipmunk, who will sit on the grass calmly eating his nut in full view of us as we walk by. Ellie's lunges and Marshall's antics do not phase the little thing at all. 

There is the other "Ellie", a lovely older Australian Sheep Dog, who is faithfully walked every morning at 7 and again every evening around 6. If we are venturing out at that time, we go out the back door and walk down the private road that runs behind us. Best let Ellie, the sheep dog, enjoy her constitutional in peace.

We have established our route. We know the characters on the block.  We know the house that has the Brittany Spaniel that sits by the front window and move quickly by that door, hoping to go by unnoticed. There is the regular schedule of the little old man who wears a funny hat and his well behaved Jack Russell - best avoid them less I be humiliated by my pups' antics.

Don't get me wrong, friendly folks are always stopping and noting Ellie and Marshall's perky little terrier personalities. Neighbors are quick to acknowledge them. One kind lady even has treats ready to share with them should she be on her deck when we pass. 

However, the one variable in the calculus that I have no control over is the yellow Cheshire cat who often lies in wait. I have no clue as to when or where she will make her presence known. So each time I open the door and we venture out, the games are afoot and hopefully our timing will be favorable. 

Somewhere Between the Ghouls and the Jolly Ol' Elf

This is the time of year when it seems as if the train of life suddenly becomes the Acela. Just a few weeks past July 4th, the stores start filling their aisles with Halloween goods. Before one knows it, there will be inflatable witches on brooms, Draculas posed to pounce on any warm blooded creature that comes near, and round orange pumpkin coaches with happy ghosts hanging out the windows, all atop the stores shelves. 

The worse of all this is the candy - bags and bags of mini bars - Snickers, Milky Ways, Three Musketeers, to name a few. I find these calling from the shelves - 'Buy me, you know you want me, we’re small consider us low calorie.'

Then even before the remaining pumpkins, witches, and vampires are deflated and hidden away, the orange and black morphs into red and green. Now it is the beginning of the 7 weeks of Christmas.  Boxes of colorful balls, bells, and lights fill the aisles. From atop, on the shelves there will be Santas, reindeer, elves, and inflated snow globes. Even the candy aisles turn red and green. After Thanksgiving the air will be filled Christmas music.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, just where in all this madness is Thanksgiving - my personal favorite holiday. Once again this celebration of family and thanks gets lost in the melee of goblins and elves. How can this be? How can the grand American tradition of a festive meal, much like Normal Rockwell depicted be overlooked? Is the remembrance of that first Thanksgiving where the settlers and the Native Americans shared a feast just a pause between All Hallow’s Eve and Yuletide. Are inflated Turkeys, plastic cornucopias, and dancing pilgrims not fancy enough to grace the shelves? 

Hopefully this year, after the worldwide pandemic of the past 15 months, we will all stop and give thanks for the family we have and remember those we have lost. How can anyone not look forward to that obnoxious uncle with his corny jokes or the cousin who embraces goth? Who doesn’t miss the burnt turkey, Aunt Sara’s god awful cauliflower and parsnip casserole, or the unavoidable argument over whether plain corn bread dressing or oyster dressing is preferred. 

This November I look forward to the family get-together, complete with the arguing children, the store bought pumpkin pie, and Aunt Mary and Uncle Al’s late arrival. So let us gather to together to ask the Lord’s blessing . . . to hasten and chasten . . . the wicked oppressing to cease from distressing. 

The Eastern View

A bit of a change.

With North Carolina being so close, I have spent a lot of time over the years visiting the mountains there. Whether viewed from the Blue Ridge Parkway, the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, or Mount Pisgah, they are always awe inspiring. 

On my many visits I have been able to capture many images of the mountains, but even with the magic of the lens, nothing quite matches seeing it in person.

My favorite spot is an overlook on the Parkway, just past the Pisgah Inn. I have spent many mornings, often in the bitter cold, at dawn watching the sun rise over the mountains. And, as often as I find myself there, the view is never the same. The following are some photos I took at the exact same overlook at (approximately) the same time each morning over a period of 8 or 9 years.

This particular overlook happens to give one a 180 degree eastern view of the mountains. There were mornings when the view was a veritable rainbow of colors.

Sometimes, it seems the hills are swimming in the morning mist.

Then there are the lovely pink mornings.

And the blue mornings when it is if there are a dozen hues from navy to azure bathing the hills.

The misty mornings that show the hills and valleys awash in layers of light.

Some mornings seem almost heavenly.

Others are so cool, that the mist is heavy in the valleys.

And there are the mornings when it is as if the hills are wrapped in gossamer.

I have many more views, but I will bore you no longer. I will, however, say that the takeaway here, if there is one, is to never assume the view never changes.

The Judge

Today would have been the 70th birthday of a most incredible lady - one I had the pleasure of knowing for most of my life, and working with for 14 years. To say she broke barriers would be an understatement. She was the first woman to become a member of the local Rotary Club. She went on to become the first female judge on the 4th Circuit Court of Appeals.

Yes, I am referring to the late Honorable Karen J. Williams. Growing up, her father's Doctor's office was just behind my father's drugstore. Our town was only so big, so our paths crossed often. I was good friends with one of her younger sisters - there were 5 girls in the family. 

One Sunday afternoon at a family picnic, the Judge (as she was known) out of the blue, asked me if I would be interested in coming to work for her. I was a paralegal by training. A little taken aback, I replied, "I would love to but I don't type."

She laughed,"Oh, I don't need you to type, I just need you to keep my law clerks happy." 

And, so within a week, I found myself working in her chambers. Very soon I learned that "keeping her law clerks happy" was another name for keeping the trains running on time. These 'Law Clerks' she referred to were some of the best and the brightest young attorneys to come out of the top law schools in the country. Having a clerkship for a Federal Appellate Judge, was second only to one with a Supreme Court Justice. Keeping them 'happy' was not hard.

Juggling the schedule of a very busy federal judge, who was also a devoted and very much involved mother and grandmother, was active in many local civic and social organizations, often traveled internationally, and enjoyed entertaining (often a party of 100's), was a challenge. She was also very active in her church, a member of several social clubs, and with her extended family.

The Judge kept her own calendar. My job was just to make sure everything else flowed seamlessly around her. I quickly learned there was no "User's Manual" or "How to Guide". I found myself moving and sorting documents - court opinions for review, bench memos to be studied, court correspondence on the many motions, orders, cases, and opinions that were being circulated to be read and often responded to. 

Everything was digital, which made the work faster and easier to maintain. Well, that was the design. However, when you were working with a very active lady who carried a bag with her at all times, filled with "hard" copies of most of these documents, managing the paper alone was a job. She could be found in the stands of a baseball or football game with a pen and a proposed opinion in her lap - multi-tasking the work of the federal bench along with the keen interest and support for her children.

And, she never quit. Even as she traveled internationally, her work with the court continued. Other judges took time off to travel. They would notify their colleagues, that for the next week or two, they would be 'out of touch'. The court should carry on without them. I can never remember her doing so. Whether it was -South Africa, China, Argentina or Uruguay, her work continued.

I  quickly learned that in FedEx terms, "Overnight" to Athens, meant overnight while "Overnight" to Istanbul meant several days. When I tried to explain to her that to receive any postal mail at the ranch they would be staying at in South Africa involved a ride in a vehicle for 45 minutes through the bush to the nearest post, she was undeterred. "Well, call UPS. They say they go anywhere." After speaking with several folks in the UPS logistics office, I learned that 'anywhere' did not include this particular game ranch located deep in the bush of South Africa.

When she was with one of sons at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, she requested the use of the doctors' fax machine to send and receive documents. Needless to say, much to their dismay, several reams of paper were required to handle her 'project'.

But that was the "Judge" side of her. There was also the lovely, tall, thin, elegant lady, who spoke with a soft southern accent. She dressed in designer suits, she managed to pay only pennies to the dollar for, having a dear friend who could buy her clothes directly from market. She was the first to show up with a homemade cake when someone was ill. Never missed a former law clerk, friend, or colleague's birthday. And always had a personalized baby blanket made for the birth of the child of any of her 40 something law clerks.

Often the local people were clueless and that suited her just fine. When asked what the Judge did, a fellow church member replied,"Well, I know she's some kind of Judge although she doesn't have a court room. She must not be too important, she can't fix a parking ticket."

Once a law clerk was taken aback when her hair dresser, upon learning who the attorney worked for, commented,"We always knew she would be someone special. She always had such beautiful skin." Or one of her former teachers who lamented, "I just don't understand, she could have been so successful had she learned to type."

The whole office would go eat BBQ at the local establishment every Thursday (if we were in town). The only things that set her apart from everyone else who sat at the long communal tables enjoying lunch were her perfectly coiffed hair and immaculate suit. Although everyone their knew her, I would guess 95% were not aware of her professional stature. And, she would have it no other way.

She was beloved by everyone. A reporter from the New York Times once interviewed one of other judges on the court, one on the opposite end of Judge Williams on the ideological spectrum, hoping to get a disparaging comment about Judge Williams. He was sorely disappointed in Judge Micheal's response: "Well I'll tell you one thing, if someone in my family dies, she will be the first to show up with food." 

There is so much that can be written about her life and her career. She would compliment me to friends and colleagues as her 'right hand.' To which I reminded her that she was left handed. The Judge set a high bar. She is one of the few people I can honestly say touched everyone she met. We often laughed at the truth that she and I spent more time with each other than we did with our spouses. She was a role model, a mother figure, a dear friend, and the sister I never had. My life is so much richer thanks to her being part of it. And, so much emptier, now that she is gone.

Not a day goes by that I do not think of her. I miss her dearly. And,in that, I know I am not alone.

No, I Really Don't Do That

It's not unusual to get the odd request concerning my photography. An example being, "I see you have this picture of downtown Charleston, do you have one of Scranton, Ohio?" Or - "I notice you do landscapes, could I hire you to photograph my pet bunny?" - Honest to God, a true story.

One lady asked me if I did family Christmas card photos, when I told her I did not have the talent to photograph people, she was incensed. "But my family would be easy, we are all so photogenic."

I had the owner of a gym call me out of the blue and ask me to come discuss a project doing a series of macro shots of equipment, sweaty arms, taut muscles, etc. After spending a good 90 minutes with him, he asked when could I start on the project.  I asked if wanted me to give him finished pieces (ie canvases or prints) or did he want the digital files he could use to produce whatever he wished? He gave me an odd look. I went on to explain how much each medium would cost him. He was shocked - not at the price, but that I would charge him a fee for the photography. "I had no idea you would charge me, since I gave you the idea," he said.

Rethinking it I said, "Oh, so if I do this - then I can sell the photos?' 

"Oh no," he replied, obviously aggravated. "That's not what I meant at all. It was my idea. I just need you to come do the photography. I thought you would enjoy the experience. The prints would all be mine. In fact I may sell them."

Needless to say, this project never went any further.

Then there was the lady who had her heart set on one particular print, but did not like the frame. No problem, I was quick to change the frame to a more suitable one. She was thrilled but wanted to take the picture home to see how it looked in her hall. The following day, she called to say that the picture looked great but the canvas was too "thick" and could I order her a thinner one? I agreed to do so.

Then she asked if she could keep the one she had for the next day or two, she was hosting her supper club and the photograph just looked grand in her hall. Being the polite southern girl, I agreed. After all, I knew my Aunt Kat would have told me that was the right thing to do.

Three days later, the new canvas was in,  The following day she called to complain about the frame - it had a "mark" on it. This would be a mark neither of us had noticed when she first saw it, when she took it home, or while it was on her wall before her dinner party. Long story short - she returned the framed canvas. I ordered  new frame and let her know when it came in. To this day, she has never come to get the newly reframed picture, on the canvas I especially ordered for her.

But the winner of all time (so far) came in an email through my online store. The inquiry concerned an image I have of red bicycles and a rickshaw. The question was, "How much does the rickshaw weigh?" I did some quick research and saw that the shipping weight was 1.1 lbs, so I replied that I could only estimate, but my best guess would be somewhere around 1 lb for the 16x20 size.

The customer responded fairly quickly, "Oh, there is some confusion here, I thought you were selling a rickshaw for $189. The price looked so good, I just wanted to see how heavy it was." (As an aside, over the years I have received no less than 3 similar requests to purchase the rickshaw. Each time I have clarified that it is an image for sale, not a rickshaw.)

Perhaps I should add a line to my policy statement, "No kids, no pets, as is, where it is, and what it is. Any questions, refer to former statement."

Going to Hell, Making Donations, and Taking No Prisoners

Aunt Kat, please turn the other way (in your grave) for this will not make you proud. Sometimes a southern woman needs to make herself clear.

A week or so ago, I received the following email:

           Hi Ann!  I hope things are going well with you.

          We are gearing up for our seventh local book and author luncheon to be held this year at              the Orangeburg  Country Club.  Last year you donated a beautiful framed print for our silent           auction and I was wondering if you would be willing to do the same this year.  100% of the             proceeds from the auction, sponsor ships and ticket sales go to our Newspapers in                          Education program.

           If possible,  would like to have the items by Friday, the 13^th.

         Please let me know.  I have attached a copy of the ad with information in case you might be           interested in attending!

        Thank you!

Now for those of you who follow along, you may remember, last year when I was approached by this same lady, I immediately said I would be happy to donate to photograph to their auction. Then upon rereading her email I called her back and after explaining that I, too, was a local author, I asked what the criteria was to participate as an author. She acted as if I never asked the question and just asked when they could pick up the photograph.

Fast forward to this year. When I received her email this morning it dawned on me that until the mention in this current missive, no one had ever thanked me for my donation last year. And after reading this year's email it seemed as if I was going to be asked every year now. Also, no one every offered a complimentary ticket to attend the event. More like - can we please have your donation for our cause - thank you.

"Politely", I responded:

       Actually Carla in addition to my interest in photography, I have published 2 books and being         a local author would like to know what the criteria is for being included as an author. I am just         curious as I mentioned this last year  when I generously donated to the auction and you                 never replied.

        

        I am always happy to support a local cause.

I may be going to Hell. I know this was not "Nice", but Nice girls finish last. I took grave offense, given her response, or lack there of last year. After all it is not like I did not donate to the cause. 

I have nothing to lose but she does.

After all, what is the worse they can do? Take away my birthday?

The Queen's Purse

 What, pray tell, does the  Queen carry in her purse.  You know the one  she  always has draped across her arm. Even in the series "The Crown", Queen Elizabeth always carries it with her as she moves from room to room in which ever residence she is at the time. When she sits, she places it on the floor by her chair. But, I digress.

My mother always had a few Kleenexes, a bottle of aspirin, a roll of Certs (usually opened with half gone), a comb, her wallet, and a small pad with phone numbers and addresses on it. Also, there was the ever present cellophane wrapped package of cheese Nab crackers. Now for those of you who may not be aware, my mother was a true believer that a package of these crackers could solve world peace. Well, maybe not that, but certainly they could calm an upset tummy, satisfy the qualms of restless little ones asking, "Are we there yet?", and even go as far as to settle a back seat argument between siblings. That said, I doubt the Queen carries such.

The only time her Majesty drives is when she is rumbling around one of the estates in an ancient land cruiser dressed in an old Barbour coat with several Corgis in the back.  I doubt then a driver's licence is required. She never shops, so there would be no need for a wallet. A comb perhaps? But then again she doesn't strike me as a lady who does her own hair. Maybe a compact of powder and a tube of lipstick. Kleenexes are possible, although in her case no doubt it is a starched lrish linen handkerchief with her initials or the royal standard embroidered on it. 

I guess on state occasions she may need a place for the notes of remarks she may be giving.  Perhaps her reading glasses or a pair of sunglasses. I wouldn't be surprised for her to have a copy of the Daily Racing Form stuck in there. Who knows? I certainly don't but would be most curious to find out.