Happiness in beautiful Savannah, Georgia
Historic District Savannah has 22 beautiful extant squares. Plus two more that were partially destroyed by “progress.“
On an evening walk near us today, I came across this kitty resting in Warren Square.
“Hello there,” I said, trying to project friendliness.
“Hmmm,” he sighed.
Welcome to the alley of the angels
Hey, they say your eyes can gleam
When you can a just tell the truth all night
(And you can chase them dreams all night)
Welcome to the alley of the angels.
— John Cougar Mellencamp
Places–I love the poetic resonance of that word. Some places are special; you had them growing up, of course you did. And do now. Magical places. Special because of their cocoonishness, or their broad openness. Their smell, or their connection to friends or family. Their lightness, or darkness. Their safety, or risk.
So I was aghast a few years back when I attended a writing conference at the Sea Turtle Inn in Atlantic Beach, FL, and one afternoon decided to skip the meetings and drive down memory lane. I headed south to Jacksonville Beach to find the motel where my family and I vacationed from about the time I was six or seven till I went away to college. It had those wonderful beds where you inserted a quarter into the headboard, and the mattress vibrated! For fifteen minutes! My mother, father and brothers would all hop on. Who needed the Ritz?
I knew exactly where the Horseshoe Motel stood. I had been there SO many times as a kid. But I started to doubt myself when I passed the lifeguard station and came to the ridiculously sharp turn in the road far beyond my memory motel location. I can be dense, so it took me at least three to-and-fro trips before I realized (admitted?) that the place had been demolished for a condo. Sad. A childhood memory also demolished.
I live in beautiful downtown Savannah, smack-dab in the middle of the nation’s largest historic district, to be exact. I can hear the huge freighters blowing their bass notes at night …
… as well as the clatter of horseshoes as carriages tour past Colonial Park Cemetery across the street.
I love walking the Savannah streets, breathing history.
I don’t really have a backyard, in the traditional sense of the word. But, boy, do I have a backyard! It’s really a small alley, which runs behind the building where I live.
Even though it is communal, and somewhat small, there are hidden crannies where one can sit and read, or laptop, or daydream. It exudes a trace of otherwordliness, a fragrance of excursion. I step into my “backyard,” and suddenly I’m in Europe–Florence, Italy perhaps, trying to decide on which trattoria to frequent. I sit to read in its botanical wealth and am lost, not just in the book’s maze, but in the place, the green, the leafyness, the nowness of nature.
This place calls me to look up, to pause and see.
To view from unfamiliar perspectives and angles.
A tremendous perk of having place appreciation is that windows appear, and open (or shut), and allow you to see just what you desire to see. Or simply, and deliciously, to dream.
There’s power in place.
Both growth and potential growth. Both static and kinetic.
Sometimes sitting is all that’s needed in life. To embrace “is-ness,” accept “am-ness.” Breathing in, breathing out.
A sense and celebration of place, our place, they gift us with calm assurance that we are where we are, for good reason. That rhythm and movement take us (or keep us) where we need to be.
My backyard invites me to …
A fantastic ACORN I recently found.
She is simply fantastically beautiful. Don’t you think?
Each day, I continue to be amazed at the incredible, diverse joy of Plant Life.
This post could go on and on, but I’ll end with perhaps The Joy of My Life, the southern Longleaf Pine …
Here’s to Plants!
Strolling through Warren Square (one of Savannah’s 22 beautiful squares) this evening, Robert and I came upon this Cool Cat sprawled in the sun on the evening grass.
“Cats are connoisseurs of comfort.” – James Herriot
A post from about a decade ago. What was I thinking with my outfit for the day?!
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Anyone who has been to Savannah on or around March 17 knows that Saint Patrick’s Day is a pretty …
… in this city! From the Greening of the Fountain and Tara Feis onward, Savannah embraces its Irishness, shamrocks growing and showing up everywhere, an already diverse and fesitval-driven city photosynthetically converting excited energy into green Gaelic joy. And since 2013 St. Paddy Day was Sunday, Savannah opted to hold its primary celebration on Saturday with the parade (the nation’s second largest), River Street revelry and other merrymaking events.
Since Yours Truly lives DIRECTLY on the parade route along Abercorn Street, and since some green Irish blood flows through my veins (Saye =”one who lives by the sea”), I decided to host a little parade-viewing party.
Party Prep Notes: For some reason I will never fully grasp, I decided to make Cabbage and Ham in the Crock Pot (or as I call it, Beverly Hillbilly-ishly, “the Slow-Cooking Pot”).
Now cabbage sounds fine, and even a bit Irish, until you understand that my place is a little under 800 square feet, positioned at the front of a beautiful old building completed in the 1800’s. Well, the slow-cooking cabbage produced a Rather Strong Aroma (try not to imagine it), first in my apartment, then wafting across the hall to my next door neighbor and fellow party hostess Audrey’s place, then throughout the entire old building, and probably up and down the parade route and on to the South Carolina border across the river. People were so nice and pretended that the smell made the party more “Irish authentic.” But a bunch of folks had drinks in their hands, so I’m not at all certain their sensory perception was on target. AND I noticed they would get a bowlful of steaming, fragrant cabbage and then quickly run out the door to see the next band or float they “had been waiting on.”
Here’s me helping to set up the area for guests to sit and watch the parade outside my building (my windows have the St. Patty tacky shamrock cutouts and green garlands).
Before the parade started, I made a quick tour of the squares close to me. A few sights:
I met some cool green-clad new friends:
I found this pretty lady pirouetting in front of my apt, so of course I had to get my pic with her:
Here’s across-the-hall stylish neighbor Audrey:
And here’s party guest/good buddy Ellie and her brother encouraging the crowd:
I wish I was brave enough to dance in the street!
Hip green-haired son/father duo Ethan and Kevin:
Former Everyday Creative Writing Student Jaymes stopped by for a while. (He knows what’s rocking in Savannah.)
Buddies Rich and Edward (who brought party-hit basil lemonade):
Cool St. Patty Baby:
Made great new friends with some folks visiting from Maryland and staying in the vacation rentals in my building (so of course they were party guests too)–Kathy and Karen with their husbands. And don’t they look SO Saint Patricky?
Preparing to kiss the parade marching men:
(Public Service Announcement: I think I will rent out my place next year for St. Paddy Day. Is $2000 for the holiday too much? I plan to include a HUGE bowl of frozen-but-on-the-table-in-a-jiffy Authentic Irish Cabbage and Ham.)
New kayaking friend Tom with Edward, Rich and me:
Church buddy Diane with Rich, Edward, Robert, Jaymes and me:
Good friend Zach and brother Josh marching in the parade (marching, that is, before I ran out into the street and made them stop). Their Irish family has been in the parade for something like 1000 years.
What a wonderfully fun Savannah Saint Patrick’s Day Celebration!
But sitting here after the parade, I started to worry: “What if my Crock Pot Cabbage Smell keeps those hundreds of thousands of visitors from coming back to Savannah next year? Can they trace it all back to me?”
For my recent suxteee-seckth birthday, I celebrated with my big ole’ modern family …
… at Savannah’s Tequila’s Town restaurant in Sandfly.
(Seriously? Can you believe they come hooting “Happy Bday” laden with tequila for the celebrant! Even though I had my large head prepared for an oversized sombrero and some flan.)
Post-tequila I received some neat gifts, but perhaps my Favorites came from five-year-old grandtwins Madison (inappropriately pictured above next to the tequila) and Matthew. Their mom let them pick out their gifts for me. Madison gave me a pink unicorn in a love mug …
…while Matthew opted for a brown bear that actually smells like chocolate when you rub it vigorously!
(Matthew is in an over-smiling-for-the-camera stage.)
Oh, they also each got me a large skein of yarn–yellow from Madison and green from Matthew. Not that I knit (who has the patience for that?!), but because they like to unravel the yarn, make giant spiderwebs and throw it all over the furniture and each other.
Thus, inspired by the tequila, when I got home I opted for a quick photoshoot to document my suxteee-seckth.
Moral of Story: the strangest little gifts ofttimes make for the biggest shots of … Joy.
So this morning I decided to “do church” by driving twenty minutes south from my place in Savannah’s historic district to Tybee Island. Even though the dark clouds kept threatening to open up, I communed with nature and thanked God for the beauties of creation.
(I wanted to take up an offering, but the obviously heathen beachcombers just would not cooperate.)
So I walked.
And looked.
And listened.
And then, lo and behold, at one point I glanced up from checking my stock portfolio …
… and all of a sudden JUST KNEW what my Tybee trip this morning was Really All About:
“Look! I am meant to Be a Lifeguard!”
And, clearly, the island is in dire need–the lifeguard stand stands sadly empty.
“Hey you! Yes you!”
“I’m talking to you!”
“That swimming suit looks ridiculous on you!! What were you thinking?!”
And a little later:
“Oh gosh, someone’s in trouble! I gotta take action!”
After the life save, I hurried back up to my post 14.
And then this “official” rescue personage came driving up …
… and asked me what the heck I was doing on a condemned life guard stand. Like it wasn’t crystal clear that I was saving lives while he was golf-carting around and looking at girls.
“Sir, for future reference, please do not climb on these old structures. And be careful climbing down.”
(As if a fit lifeguard like me would have any issues.)
If you need me at the beach, rest assured, I will be on the lookout.
NealEnJoy 