We are back for a couple of weeks in Ponte Vedra Beach. Each afternoon follows a pre-determined set of events. Around three or four, dark clouds make their way above the surf directly in front our balcony. Then a pretty rainbow (sometimes two!) appear in front of us.
Thank you, Universe, for your spectacular show! And for my Mr. Rainbow.
2. One of the bathrooms in the condo where we are staying/freeloading …
Robert and I are house- and dog-sitting for daughter Amy this week on Skidaway Island here in Savannah.
They have a newly installed elevator, and since HR is having a knee issue (also newly installed), he decided to take the elevator up to the third floor.
On a couple of recent trips to our buddy Gordon‘s old farmhouse over in Effingham County GA, Robert and I discovered one of the greatest treasure treats on earth.
Ally’s Bakery in the town of Rincon.
Ally’s pastries are simply beyond delicious.
Probably the best cinnamon rolls we’ve ever had.
And Robert is embarrassingly obsessed with Ally’s artistic cookies.
He and his obsession really get on my nerves. Robert won’t eat (or more important, let me eat) the cookies until these ridiculous “photo sessions” are complete …
Meandering through the cozy shop on one visit, trying to burn off a few calories, I came across these oh-so-very-truthful T-shirts.
And this last one gave me such encouragement:
So if you’re ever around Savannah, drive over to Rincon and Ally’s Bakery.
Tell the delightful Ally (the one with the flour on her fingers or frosting on her nose), Hannah, Marci or any other friendly crew member that Neal and Robert sent you.
You’ll leave so much sweeter than when you arrived.
I love this quirky corner coffee shop that Robert and I stumbled upon on our trip to Philadelphia last December. (WHO visits frigid Philly in DECEMBER?!)
Walking through the skinny black door, we discovered that the baristas were as quirky as the architecture.
Baristas Toboggan Hat, Milts Hat and Green Hat behind us.
After thawing out a bit with a steaming joe …
… I warmed up conversationally and asked the baristas about the story behind the coffee shop’s name.
The three looked at each other, then at me. Toboggan Hat became the storyteller.
“A long time ago, in the early days of old Philly, this neighborhood was overrun with English tea houses. They were at every corner! You couldn’t swing a stick without knocking over a cup of Earl Grey.”
“Hmm,” I thought.
“One day an ancient bearded man, feared by children for his gruff demeanor, maybe his name was Old Joe, came sauntering down Spruce Street to this very spot, and to nobody but the cold wind, yelled, ’I’mma sick o’ tea. Ha-bat-it some damn coffee!’”
“And right here, RIGHT HERE!, the cold but kind wind morphed the decrepit corner into a coffee shop and named it Habatit Coffee, which over the decades finally became Habitat Coffee.”
“Hmm,” I thought again.
I stared at the loquacious barista.
Toboggan Hat stared back at me.
Milts Hat and Green Hat stared at Toboggan Hat.
Robert stared at, well I couldn’t tell because of his sunglasses.
Then Green Hat said, “You’re making that up, dude.”
“Yes I am,” he replied with a laugh.
“I think you should keep it as your official origin story.” I suggested.
“Naw,” Toboggan replied, “I like to make up a different one whenever anybody asks.”
We left Habitat, doubly satisfied. And walked back into the arctic but lively wind.
This week Robert and I are getting away from downtown Savannah for a bit and staying at our buddy Gordon’s old country farmhouse in Effingham County GA.
When I texted my family to let them know we would be gone for a few days, daughter Amy almost immediately sent back this photo:
I asked her how on earth she did that.
“Put the photo y’all sent from Easter into Chat and said make them into farmers. 😂”
A blog category about finding “art” in unexpected places and situations
So recently Robert and I were enjoying our breakfast at the Huddle House over in Springfield GA. I chose the more-than-I-could-ever-eat Two Eggs and Country Ham Plate (Platter!) …
After about thirty minutes of diligently working on my feast, I got a tad bored and began playing with my food (I started that habit as a wee one decades and decades ago).
He emerged from the Huge Ham so I named him Hugh.
But WHAT is he? Some kind of little OtherCreature looking down at his stolen jewel?
And looky here, a little while later I saw Mama, pensively perched on her nest.
Who knew breakfast could be so, so FULL-FILLING-ly Creative?
NealEnJoy 