So yesterday, Robert and I sashayed over to the Telfair Museums here in Historic District Savannah. (Yes, it’s plural—there are three separate buildings and locations.) One of the joys of living downtown is its walkability. (Is that a word, or did I just make it up?)
I wanted to see one of the newer and smaller exhibits at the Jepson Center.
I have always considered birds to be the personification of elegance and upper echelon beauty.
I was enthralled.
Why oh why, with all of my arthritis, couldn’t there be a …
PAIN UNAWARENESS MONTH?!
So today, after buying the winning ticket for Monday Night’s $1.5 billion Mega Millions Lottery …
… a distressing thought occurred to me, interrupting my more-pleasant day dream about the hippest colors for matching Land Rovers for Robert and me. The Distressing Thought:
“What if, because of some Freak Accident by The Universe, I DON’T WIN?!”
After hyperventilating and falling into the depths of despair far too long for a man of my age, I finally came to my senses, realizing that there’s more than one way to get 1.5 billion dollars. Duh.
Then, Creative that I am, it didn’t take me long to come up with a viable Plan B.
A PICKLE BUSINESS!
Right?! Yes?! You with me?
I got to work, feeling so lucky that HR and I had just purchased some beautiful fancy cucumbers.
TIB (Truth in Blogging): Robert prepped the cucumbers, using his Fancy Stainless Steel Kitchen Mandoline Slicer thingy, which he won’t let me ANYWHERE near. He says I would kill myself because of my wandering attention span.
See? You’re believing in me now, I bet.
The name of my new $1.5 Billion Pickle Company?
“NEAL’S DILLS,” of course.
So for lunch on Thursday, HR (“Husband Robert” for the uninitiated) suggested we drive across the Savannah River to Bluffton SC and eat at Cahill’s.
We’ve eaten there several times before, and their Meat and Three is just scrumptious.
Oh goodness, Cahill’s Fried Chicken is Southern Culinary Joy.
For my Three, I chose sweet potato soufflé, collards and creamed corn. Robert got mashed potatoes with gravy, pickled beets and stewed cabbage. (We kept reaching our forks across the table to each other’s plates.). Washing it down with sweet tea, the “champagne of the south,” as Dolly Parton says.
The grounds of the working farm are simply beautiful.
Robert, who grew up in Inner City Baltimore, kept trying to pet and then milk this fake cow (bull?).
When I told him it was a statue of a cow, he got all huffy and stormed off toward the (real) chicken coops and the giant oaks proudly displaying their recently rained-on Resurrection Fern. (Do you know about Resurrection Fern? It looks brown and dead until rain. Then it is gloriously alive.)
When we got home, with our odds and ends we purchased at Cahill’s Market, Robert placed the few items on the cutting board for a photo op. The peppers and the tomato quickly scooted close to each other in a Group Hug.
If we could all be like vegetables!
Okay, sorry, if we could all be like fruits and vegetables.
So this afternoon Robert and I enjoyed a Late Lunch of Smash-burgers at the Crispi Food Truck in front of local brewery Two Tides here in Savannah.
Here’s HR negotiating the colorful stairs afterwards, sporting his expensive Braves jersey (don’t get me started), knee brace (long story) and little gay socks.
What? You can’t really see them and want a better look? Okay, no problem …
Well, after a long time getting down the stairs, we walked a bit in the cool and hip Starland District of Savannah. And we ran across this also cool and hip tattoo parlor/clothing boutique.
I love their … “entry requirements.”
If only every establishment in these United States of America could hold the same “entry requirements/blessings.”
I love the sky. It’s ever-changing. It’s mysterious. It has a mind of its own.
I’m Thankful to live in Savannah’s National Historic Landmark District, where daily walks never fail to reveal yet another source of marvel-worthy beauty.
As I’ve said before, HR and I live off Washington Square, the northeastern most of our 22 extant squares. It’s the tiny green one in the upper righthand corner on the map below. Across from the Savannah River.
The historic district is a walker’s dream, with surprises hidden down tiny lanes and in secret gardens.
Here a few sightings from our midday walk.
And a bit of gratitude and love to Jimmy Carter …
Thankful & Peaceful Saturday to you all.
P.S. I even thought some “weeds” were pretty, perched proudly at the curb, their dynamic green exuding roadside royalty.
This is why I never learned to fly an airplane …
Seriously?
If I were actually flying that plane, the only survivor would probably be the cobra.
I recently finished the book Anxious People. And I love this bittersweet bit of dialogue about holding hands with our little ones.
“Have you ever held a three-year-old by the hand on the way home from preschool?“
“No.”
“You’re never more important than you are then.“
What truth!
NealEnJoy 