Seize The Day

Posted on September 27, 2016 by mindfulmagpie

This is the third or fourth post I’ve written, but not published, trying to illustrate some aspect of my life that is NOT about being a grandmother. For one thing, I can only describe that giant comfy chenille pastel cloud of a world so many times, and for another, there IS some aspect of my life that not about grandmothering, right? Right, I ask you? In other words, if a woman becomes a grandmother out in the woods and drops all her other creative pursuits, can anyone hear it?

And while I ponder this oh so first world dilemma of mine, life is moving on. Mornings which used to be for quiet reflection are now for face timing with an exuberant two year old. Days off, when I used to fool around with my camera and cook a couple of new recipes at once are now for going to The Children’s Museum with another little darling. The Memphis darling’s parents are both in school so naturally when I return from the Children’s Museum I do a couple of loads of laundry, not mine, and do a few dishes, also not mine. And pick up 4,000 toys. Also not mine.

Bliss. Except that on the inside there’s been this slow inner burn to paint, to get my hands in something and become gloriously lost and found in the process. With the wisdom that comes with being almost sixty years old I realized I would have to do something different or nothing different would happen. It felt similar of course to my years of raising children, during which I clumsily, erratically and guiltily tried to steal moments for myself while at the same time wondering why and how all these other mothers seemed so serene and content. Or why their children would agree to quietly color for hours while their Mommy painted or sewed. Sigh.

Without further ado I made plans to paint. First I needed some inspiration. For that I chose to visit The Dixon Gallery two weeks ago with some friends. We wanted to see the exhibit Fold by local artist Mary Jo Karimnia. This artists’s work is largely in fabrics and beads, juxtaposing domestic arts with that of costumes, largely influenced by her work in Bolivia. Surely Ms.Karimnia’s work

Summer 2016-3.jpg would have something to say to a grandmother, who while scraping dried oatmeal off her travertine floor, longs to experiment with extravagant color.

I was not disappointed, except when telling myself I could probably never afford any of her work. To make it easier on myself I relied just on my phone for a few snaps.

Ah, the shiny beads. Ah, the lovely stitches, the printed fabric. I think we all kept our hands behind our backs like second graders, lest we run our hands all over the work in a state of sensory bliss. I nearly swooned with a combination of adulation and regret that I did not own any of her work. Because we all need to be able to admire these in the privacy of our own homes.

Upon leaving that exhibit we went to the other current exhibit, Henri Guérard and the Phenomenon of the Artist’s Fan in France, 1875 –1900. During these years, Japanese art and decor were very popular in France. Artists painted on actual fans but also on fan shaped paper.

Having seen beaded finery in the first exhibit and artful fans in the second, we felt obliged to model some ourselves.

I know what you’re thinking: they were born too late. It’s true. I can really rock a white wig.

No visit to the Dixon is complete without a stroll through the lovely grounds.

On this day, in addition the blooming seasonal flowers, there was an exhibit of cotton plants. Our male companion grew up on a farm, so we two city girls were able to learn a bit about the cultivation of cotton from him. The pink bud in the pictures above is actually cotton. Who knew?

My mind swirled with colorful images as I left the museum on Sunday. On Monday morning I ran up the stairs in my pajamas, clutching my first cup of coffee, ready to seize the day. Before long I was making marks on an old canvas, thinking of orange flowers, blue beads, and golden shiny things. Then came a familiar trilling ring. It was time for my daily face time with Cameron and Micah.

Angling my laptop so that they could see, I went right on painting. I pretended I had my own painting show, which allowed me to entertain Micah the whole time his Mommy was preparing his breakfast. You just never know what you will see when you call your Mimi first thing in the morning.

sieze-the-day-82

Micah watched intently, but I’m not sure he knew what to make of my show. But no matter. After our phone call I mucked around a little more in the paint, and decided that was enough for the day. I was so pleased to get to scratch the ” HAVE TO PAINT” itch, and even more pleased that I didn’t have to paint all day long in order to have a pleasurable experience. As I washed my paint brushes and put them away, I marveled that it was still only 10:00 A.M. There would be lots of time to accomplish other things. “See?” I said to myself. “I’m a grandmother, but not ONLY a grandmother.”

And just then my phone rang. It was Lily’s Dad. “Mom, Lily’s school called me to come get her. She has pink eye. Can you keep her after I take her to the Doctor? I really need to do some school work.”

“Certainly. I’ll be right there!”

Mimi and Lily holding hands on the porch swing.

Memphis Is More

Posted on September 21, 2014 by mindfulmagpie

To hear some Memphians talk, our city has already arrived via hand basket at a very hot place. Whenever a violent or undesirable event takes place, the hand basket crowd sees nothing good about our community. It’s THOSE people, they say. Those all- bad people who make Memphis a hopelessly inferior all- crime- all -the -time- place where no citizen can ever be safe. Make sweeping generalizations much?

Recently there was another deplorable incident in Memphis. A large group of teens attacked some people at random in a grocery store parking lot. Of course this is bad news. The behavior of the teens was unacceptable. Eleven persons were arrested, and will hopefully make appropriate amends for their crimes.

In the wake of such an occurrence, what is a person to do? A first impulse may be to harden one’s heart, and to add to the suffering with pejorative remarks about our citizens and city administration. But negative talk does not solve problems. The social ills which contribute to violent crimes are way too complex for simple solutions. I do not claim to have the answers, but I know Memphis is more than crime, hatred, and judgement. I know that Memphis is also friendly, kind, and quirky, just like that relative you all have that everyone agrees is a “character”.

As an individual I try not to harden my heart against the perpetrators, their families, and the trash talkers, and ponder what more I can do to make Memphis a better place. I am not the only one to take this stance, as evidenced by the “Love Mob” that gathered a few days after the incident in the grocery parking lot. The “Mob’s” purpose was to express their support for the victims but also to display their love for Memphis, most of whose citizens are hard working law abiding people.

I had all this in my mind last weekend when I set out for the annual Cooper Young Festival. After all the negative press and hateful talk around the city, how would Memphis rebound? Would this last round of senseless violence render us unable to come together, unable to mourn our losses and heal our wounds?

I set out early Saturday morning for the one day neighborhood festival. The weather had become cool, causing me to walk briskly from my condo to the festival to warm up, as I had worn a thin shirt with no jacket.

And there was the festival, my old friend, with its music, food, and family activities, just getting underway. I was glad to know Memphis had such a welcoming event planned.

Here was my favorite junk shopping booth. I bought two items here which I cannot show because they are gifts. May I leave my items here and pick them up on my way out, I asked the saleslady. In typical Memphis fashion, the answer was of course you may. We’ll remember you.

Next was the vintage clothing booth. I needed to stop in there to buy something to wear because I was cold! After I picked out this highly appropriate sweater, I stayed to help two young African American ladies pick out a jacket.

I think they appreciated my taste.

And speaking of cold, these two young men were freezing over their water bottle concession stand. For the price of a bottle of water, they agreed to pose. And since there has been a lot of talk about poorly behaved youth, let me say that giving them the price of a bottle of water was my idea. I am sure they would have posed without it, but they were here to make money.

In just a few minutes I fell into a comfortable stride at the festival. With my companion I wandered in and out of booths, shopping, listening, and feeling the vibe of my fellow festival goers. I didn’t always buy, but maybe I should have.

Why did I pass you up?

Do you need your own original poem?

And here was The House of Mews, Cat rescue organization, where a volunteer induced Spice to pose for me.

Then the Choose 901 booth, full of Memphis-proud items.

I paused at one booth and renewed my membership to the Memphis Heritage Society, where the director took the time to speak with me about some ongoing projects. After all this meandering, I found I needed to stop for refreshment at Growler’s, a beer tasting garden that was not open this time last year.

From our spot at the window we could watch the crowds which were now streaming in – folks in costumes, families, couples, all mingling and having fun. Yes, this is Memphis.

Next we stopped into Celtic Crossing for some lunch. The hostess showed us to a table beside a loud beer truck, but cheerfully moved us when we objected. We sat on a back patio, enjoying a sandwich while people watching. Across from me several young woman were lunching. I approached their table. “Excuse me dear, but your purse is on the ground behind you; I didn’t think you would want it there.” Grateful, she scooped her purse up. It felt good to be helpful to someone.

I must share that if I drink beer it is best for me to have food with it. Since Growler has no food, I was in just the right shape to accidentally call our male server “ma’am.” But he let it roll off his back, even as he was run right off his feet serving the patio crowd.

Back on the street, I was able to resist the enticing aromas of the food trucks, as I had already had a sandwich.

The crowds were gathering to listen to the music on several stages. I heard the Memphis Brass Band playing, but couldn’t get very close through the dense thicket of people. Taking pictures was becoming more difficult, so for some time I gave that up and simply flowed on with everyone else.

Spying Goner Records, I made a beeline to their one dollar album display. Guess what I found? YEEEES! Jeanne C. Riley’s Harper Valley P.T.A. ! I was thrilled because one of my biggest problems when I was taking care of my new grandson was that I couldn’t remember the words to this priceless tune. What kind of grandmother can’t sing “Harper Valley P.T.A.? But… oh no, there was no record inside the sleeve. I marched right inside the store and explained my whole sad predicament to a very nice clerk who came out from around the counter and found me a copy of Jeanne C. Reilly’s Greatest Hits. Crisis averted. And he threw in the empty album cover for free.

Having come early, we were ready to make our exit. We would have stayed longer but we had a commitment for later in the day. We won’t make that mistake next year. On the way out we stopped for my two gifts, still safely held by the ladies at the booth. They were a little thrown off by my new sweater, but they remembered my red hair.

Turning off Central onto Cox, I heard someone call my name. Oh, what delight for my feet! It was a neighbor from a zero lot line close to our condo, offering us a ride home. We squooshed ourselves straight into her back seat. Could she come in and see our condo? Well, not today because her husband was waiting on her, but on another day, certainly.

We got upstairs and I put up my poor little feet. I mused upon how almost every single person I had come across had been welcoming and willing to go beyond just the basics in service or compassion. Memphis has social problems, no doubt. I would never be so naive as to try to sweep poverty, crime, and an uneducated populace under the rug. But I felt encouraged by what I had seen and felt at the Cooper Young. Just as I thought, Memphis is more. More friendliness, more diversity, more hospitality, more hope.

Optimistic much?

San Francisco Sleuth

Posted on June 13, 2014 by mindfulmagpie

As though I were invisible I slid through the revolving door of my airport hotel and kept going on foot. No need for the doormen to know my plans. Besides, the Millbrae Bart Station wasn’t too far to walk, even for a dame of my age. I was dressed to fit in with the population: scarf, stylish shoes, sunglasses, and dark jeans. I had an old Bart card with eleven dollars on it, so I went through the turnstile with the practiced boredom of a native. So far so good.

I was wearing the ones on the right.

I could have sworn I used to take the Bay Point train out of Millbrae, so there was a bit of awkwardness when a Bart employee had to tell me I just needed to get on this Dublin train, but I don’t think anyone saw that. In just a few snaps of my gum I was at the 16th and Mission station, ready for some San Francisco sleuthing.

Why San Francisco? Because I was THERE, wise guy, because I was THERE. And a sleuth gets to sleuthing wherever she she may be. Haven’t you read Harriet The Spy?

Rising from the bowels of the 16th and Mission terminal I mixed in with the human flotsam milling outside the station. After a few purposeful turns around the square I found the Fillmore 22 Bus stop just where I expected it to be, at the edge of the road. I had just cased my fellow riders in the bus shelter when I realized I needed to be on the other side of the street.

I was just in time to board that bus, but my intuition, borne of long experience, told me to check with the bus driver who sent me back to the original spot across the street. With moves like these I was confident no one could have followed me. At last I boarded the correct bus, blending in easily with the populace. My destination: Portrero Hill, where I was to meet a couple of operatives.

We saw each other the minute I stepped into Chez Papa Bistrot, the agreed upon rendezvous. I’m sorry to say they were there first, but they had chosen wisely. Their table had a clear view of the entrance and exit. Mark was dressed in his customary black, while David, with his dark rimmed glasses looked the part of a hapless professor. Well played, gentleman, I nodded to myself. These men could be at home in any large metropolis, watching, noticing, making things happen, with no one any the wiser.

There was no mystery here; the food was delicious.

When David left for the men’s room, I pulled a package out of my enormous black handbag and slid it across the table to Mark. The package was an “Otter Pup” coloring book from the Monterey Aquarium, but inside were original childhood photos of Mark’s Dad, who also happened to be my Uncle Eddie, my mother’s little brother, deceased now for many years.

The three of us put in some effort perusing the photos. Wondering about the people and circumstances in old photos, looking for clues to past lives – I am always on the scent of these hunts. Here was Uncle Eddie in the backyard of our grandmother’s house, cleaning a fish, while a curious cat looked on. In a second photo young Eddie was angelic, dressed in a white first Communion suit with short pants, accompanied by an older boy. They are standing in a church narthex. We could identify neither the older boy nor the church. Yet a third photo showed young Eddie aboard a white sleigh, right beside Santa Claus, in some unknown department store. The last picture showed Uncle Eddie as a handsome young man in a letter sweater, posing with a pipe. A caption underneath, we think written by one of our spinster great aunts, read “The Pipe.”

Here is one I found after I got home. I believe that to be my mother on the left.

Knowing we would not be able to answer all the questions raised by the photos, as there is no one left alive who knows the answers, we left the Chez Papa for some more contemporary surveillance. We settled ourselves down the street on the patio of Farley’s to drink some coffee. Noir, of course. Though ostensibly we were deep in conversation about Southern mores, we all had our eye on the joint across the street.

Don’t tell me there’s no story here.

Thankfully by now we had some reinforcement, in the form of Mark and David’s elderly black and white terrier Windsor. Windsor is blind, but he looked as best he could, while scouting the area for edible clues.

Windsor evades having his picture taken from the front; he’s security conscious.

Maybe we saw suspicious activity across the street. Maybe we didn’t. Maybe the five year old girl and her mother sitting on the patio were plants, sent to charm us into giving up our secrets. That kind of gray area is all in a day’s sleuthing. But one thing was certain: we three had to split up, in case we were made.

To throw watchers off the track we posed for some touristy type pictures. Meaning we were noisy and conspicuous. Then as if by magic, three adults and a blind dog disappeared inside a black Smart car and disappeared up the hill. David, displaying the spy craft for which he is well known, dropped me off by the Mission Street bridge, right beside the Portrero Hill Community Garden.

Source: sanfranciscodays.com

We’re professionals, so I didn’t ask their destination, but as an out of towner I did have to consult with them on one thing. Where could I get my nails done? Mark suggested a place in the Castro called the Hand Job, but also some other options. I took in his suggestions noncommittally, not recording them on paper. The less Mark and David knew of my comings and goings, the better.

After crossing the Mission Street Bridge I found the streets to be curiously quiet for some blocks. But I kept my eyes open, crossing streets frequently, but not stopping except when I needed to examine native plants, which are another focus of my ongoing detective work. Eventually I came upon what I considered to be the likely nerve center of the neighborhood- a yarn store, Imaginknit.

This photo proves I am just an old lady minding her own business…or does it?

http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/italiangreyhound.htm

Maybe because I was hot and tired, I decided to just play it straight in there and not try any funny business. Was I ever glad of that decision when out of nowhere bounced what to my unpracticed eye seemed to be a brown and white miniature greyhound. Knowing the place was well policed, I simply chose a pattern, yarn and needle, and after purchasing same I killed a little time winding my yarn. Everything seemed on the up and up there. The shop was chock full of helpful salesladies, delicious yarns and knitted samples. That dog runs a tight ship.

Revitalized by my yarn purchase I ventured back onto Mission Street. Street traffic picked up around Dolores Park. I put away my camera after the passing the park so as not to arouse suspicion.

Dolores Park, under construction.

In a few short minutes I was in the Castro, looking for a nail salon. For safety’s sake, and also because I couldn’t find it, I did not go to the Hand Job Nail Salon, instead choosing the one right beside the Castro theater. The manager was kind enough to take me as a walk in, or else he was afraid to say no to me. For a time my detecting efforts were slowed, as I could only guess at what the nail ladies were saying amongst themselves. They seemed concerned about the blisters I had worn on my toes from the up and down terrain of my reconaissance that day. Me, I was used to it. It’s the cost of business in this crazy trade.

Finally I was released from the salon, with newly bronzed nails and toes. No one who had seen me before could now recognize me as the same woman who had crawled in with overgrown cuticles just one hour before. I sat at one of the round tables at the top of Castro to ponder my next move.

Having made my thorough way from Portrero Hill to the Castro, my mind turned to plans for the evening. Truth was, there was a man interested in my company for the evening, and I was considering his offer. No, it wouldn’t be as peaceful as grabbing a couple of cold brewskis with a meat and three at Mae’s Diner, but the plus side was I wouldn’t have to pay for my grub. I was torn, but then I looked down and found the best clue of the day. If it’d been a snake it would have bit me.

Well then. I decided if that man wanted my company, he would come to me. So I texted him,” Found a place at Albion and Mission. Meet me there.” I ducked in the place and sat myself at the bar. I had time for a Pilsner and a little eavesdropping before my companion arrived, if he arrived. Sure enough, before I could say “You must have thirteen tattoos and body piercings,” to the hostess, the man in question arrived.

Fine. He could pay for the beer I’d already had. We decided the place was as good as any to eat dinner, as there was already a long line to get in where we were. We had each had a long day, his, lecturing in a cold conference room and mine out pounding the pavement in the golden sun, and we were each glad to sit down and relax. My companion knew better than to even ask about my classified work.

As the evening wore on I felt myself lose a little of my hard boiled edge. In the end I let the man guide me back through the crowded street with the pupusa places and bars, back to the Bart Station. Turned out we were each going back out to the airport area, so I let him accompany me. As the Bart train pulled away from the station, I saw our reflection in the window. We looked just like an old married couple on the way back to their hotel. A perfect cover.

These Boots Are Made For Walkin’

Posted on May 12, 2014 by mindfulmagpie

The day I left for Europe my hairdresser told me I was wearing the wrong shoes. “What?” I asked, looking down at the serviceable Merrill hiking boots which had accompanied me on many a sojourn. “Nope,” she repeated in a definite tone. “You can’t wear those shoes in Paris.” You don’t know my hair dresser, so I’ll tell you that when she says a thing she means it. As I was going straight to the airport from the salon, I could not rectify the situation until I got to Amsterdam.

On Monday while my husband worked I tried to turn myself into someone who could blend in with the Parisians. For the fashion mavens among you, I went from wearing these items:

To these:

Check out the boots: they have memory foam in them!

And the nifty black rain coat!

After our usual good time (mostly mine, while my husband worked) we departed Amsterdam for Paris by train on Wednesday afternoon. Neither of us had ever been to Paris, but we were certain that one way or another we would enjoy ourselves. After a confusing time at Gare du Nord we boarded the metro to the apartment we had rented.

We got into our charming apartment without a hitch, but we were tired, so we spent the evening in, and dined on items from a market down the street.

The apartment building.

The stairs leading to our apartment.

The next day I was ready to walk while looking smart and sophisticated. We soon learned that we were lucky enough to have blundered in on yet ANOTHER national holiday : May 1st in France! The streets were thronged with tourists walking in the rain, looking to see what would be open that day. We set out from the eighth arrondissement to see for ourselves.

Jardin de Tuileries? Yes.

Cafe in the Jardin de Tuileries ? Thankfully, yes.

The Louvre ? No.

Notre Dame? Yes, but who would even try to wait in that line? We satisfied ourselves by taking photos of the outside.

Bathroom outside of Notre Dame? Thankfully, yes, although it smelled like a zoo.

Deportation Memorial? No.

When we left the Ile de la Cite we turned toward the Eiffel Tower, the only definite destination of the day. Having been unable to purchase advance tickets on the internet we had opted for a behind the scenes group tour of the Tower. As we walked we talked about what other things we might see on the way and what photos we would like to take if we arrived early. And we did expect to arrive early, for we still had one and a half hours until our tour.

Somewhere around that time I started to suspect I had worn the wrong socks, for the soles of my new boots seemed to have become so thin that I could feel every slap of my feet on the pavement. On and on we walked. At one point I realized I had my airplane socks in my purse. I sat down on a ledge and put those babies right on. Ahhh, for a few minutes the cobblestones didn’t feel so close to my skin.

And we walked and we walked. With my sore feet and bulging purse I was going as fast as I could. Even the fact that I looked smart and sophisticated was of little comfort. The Eiffel Tower was just so far away! We kept thinking it would be just around the corner, but when we turned, no. Not yet. Eventually my husband started to worry that we couldn’t even make it in time. I did not mention that I was past caring whether I ever saw the Eiffel Tower or any other monument ever again.

You trickster, you!

We rushed onto the Eiffel Tower grounds with two minutes to go until the tour. What you need to know abut the tour is that we missed two hours of lines, and that when we rode the elevator up, sheets of rain were buffeting the Tower so that it was useless to try to go on the observation deck. We exited as soon as we could.

So much for all those artsy Eiffel Tower pictures we were going to take!

We trudged the streets again in the rain to a sidewalk cafe which served overpriced beer. I didn’t care; I was going to get to sit down!!!! And oh, when I did……has anyone out there ever found the act of sitting down to resemble a sexual experience? I don’t want to embarrass my children any more than I already have, but that 14 euro beer was worth every last penny!

Ahem. Afterwards.

Once we were seated with our beers I had an announcement to make to my husband: under no circumstances would I walk back to our apartment. I didn’t know where we were or how we got there, but he was going to find me the metro to get back. Or else. Since he had had the big idea to walk all day, and his google map seemed to have underestimated the distances, he deemed it politic to agree immediately. I did concede to walk one more half mile in the rain to where we had found a brew pub open.

The oldest peeps at the brew pub. Bonjour!

We were the oldest people there, but again, aside from being as wet as a drowned rat at least I looked smart and sophisticated for my age! In time we left, on the lookout for the metro station. We walked and walked and somehow missed the first station. But lo, in the darkness was another one! There was yet hope for the two foreign waifs!

Back at the apartment, I allowed myself to look at my fitbit to see how many steps I’d walked that day. Are you ready for it???? Drum roll, please???????

29,000. That is correct, my friends.

29,000 steps and 12.45 miles for the smart, sophisticated girl in the new boots! I was tired, aching, wet and cranky. But oof, what if I’d had the same experiences that day while wearing those old hiking shoes?? Qui serait terrible, no?

The Magpie’s Jewel Box

Posted on February 25, 2014 by mindfulmagpie

Welcome again to Magpie TV, the unique low tech television show which challenges YOU to use your imagination! In Episodes One and Two, and also Three we detailed the Magpie’s journey to find and renovate a little treehouse of her own. Today’s show is the Magpie TV version of the typical last day of HGTV renovation shows, in which we see a fast forward ( in our case, imaginary) video of a renovated space being furnished.

For those who are new to the show: You’ve followed the HGTV shows which depict a hapless individual or couple completely renovating their home or yard over the weekend. It’s easy, right? Two skinny celebrity do- it- your- selfers come over and show you how to operate heavy machinery on a Friday afternoon. You get four or five friends, and together you rip out those passé walls and smelly hi-lo carpet, laughing and laughing at the sheer hilarity of tearing up your house. That’s Friday night. On Saturday you rebuild the walls, install the new kitchen cabinets, and paint. Some of you work inside while others outside make new furniture and decor by gluing sequins to pieces of board found by the roadside. Or maybe they reupholster or even spray paint the fabric from a thrift store chair which will eventually be placed in front of the fire place. And finally, on Sunday, all the magically chosen new furnishings are moved in, curtains and pictures are hung, candles are lit, and everyone lives happily ever after.

But of course it’s not that easy. Magpie found out it takes a LOT LONGER than a weekend! In today’s episode we hear it straight from the Magpie herself. ( The show has a fairly low budget.)

Part One: As far as furnishing the condo went, for many months I had only vague ideas of a midcentury modern space, which included an attractive credenza housing a hi fi, a snazzy bar holding all the cocktail accoutrements I did not yet own, and a teak hutch from which I could serve my guests. As far as upholstered goods went, I came to the conclusion that although I would have loved to furnish the place with all vintage furnishings, I didn’t really want to sit on fifty year old upholstered items. I would therefore look for vintage case goods but buy a new couch and chairs.

I love it but my allergies don’t! Source:http://www.furniturefashion.com/trendspotting-10-pieces-of-mid-century-modern-furniture/

It was too soon to buy furniture, but I felt as though I MUST start finding things for the condo. The solution? Art from silent auctions. I readily confess that silent auctions bring out the most desperate acquisitive parts of me. I never leave an auction without something. That is because I bid on 500 things. I will leave my silent auction behaviors for another post but suffice it to say I have left auctions with items ranging from the doors of railroad cars to hand knit scarves. Since I could not yet hang my selections, for many sad months they languished in a closet. One silent auction find was a painting so shiny I had to have it. Look at the upper left of there photo below:

I bought a painting that reminded me of this Sputnik from outside Joe’s Liquors in midtown Memphis. As HGTV would say, it was my “Inspiration”
Source:joeswines.blogspot.com

Also we had this former swag lamp turned into a dining room chandelier.And suddenly it was time to find things. My ideal method of furnishing the condo would have been to stop in at consignment places and estate sales, waiting until I found just the right thing. But that method wouldn’t work for two reasons. Number One: I didn’t feel I had the luxury to shop slowly over time. I had a mighty powerful hankering to see the place finished. Second: Folks, I don’t like to shop, in part because I don’t like to drive the car around. I did make a stab at shopping locally for furniture when my sister was here, when we hit a consignment place and found these two tables.

Table Number One. And on the right a partial view of the “Sputnik” painting.

But after that I went straight to…Ebay! I have to laugh because prior to this I had never bought one single thing from Ebay. Instead of starting small, with a dish towel or kitchen implements perhaps, I started with a dining room table! So you can Imagine my surprise when, as a complete newbie, my bid was accepted. And now imagine my further surprise when I realized my bid was only for the TABLE, not the chairs! Oops!

But the table… I loved it! Look what it does!

Its smaller diameter.

But it expands! This baby is from the50s, but it was in its original box. Never used!

So after purchasing a table I got busy looking for chairs. I could have spent more money, but after the table incident…. I thought these would work, and they did.

These do have signs of wear. Well, so do I.

And while I was at it, I found some nesting tables that could be used in lieu of a coffee table.

These hail from Denmark.

I now had a bed, a table, chairs and two side tables and nesting tables. The next step was to find the living room furniture. What did I actually have room for in this Magpie’s nest? Not very much, as it turned out. After lots of measuring I got together with Jane the Designer and chose a couch, a chair and an ottoman. At the same time I chose fabric for a curtains and sheers at the sliding glass patio doors. I particularly wanted that big glass door to be covered by the time winter winds came through.

COMMERCIAL BREAK: Hum a peppy “Susie Homemaker” type tune to yourself. Read out loud to yourself: Looking for ways to go greener during the next holiday season? Mindful Magpie has a free tip for you.

I'll et they've never seen a present like this!

I’ll bet they’ve never seen a present like this!

Out of bows and ribbons? Or too lazy to walk all the way up the stairs and find them? Do what the Magpie does and decorate your packages with STUFF YOU ALREADY HAVE!!! Look how nice that coaster looks with the wrapping paper. It almost keeps you from noticing the bunchy wrapping job. You’d be surprised what items can be used: Mardi Gras beads, small statues, even a nice ripe bell pepper would be festive. Next year get out of the wrapping rut and see what you can come up with.

Part Two: We placed our furniture and drapery orders and waited eagerly for delivery. Weeks and weeks went by. Since I could not speed up the delivery of these items I returned to Ebay for more ~~instant gratification~~ mid-century modern pieces. We had only two possible spots in the living room for a bar. The space limitation meant we could only use a very shallow piece. Eventually I found this:

And there’s another glimpse of the Sputnik painting as well.

The wire to the little lamp inside had been cut, but it was configured to use in England anyway. Replacing the light is on our to- do list. Now we were getting closer to being able to have those Manhattans! After purchasing the bar my budget was a bit maxed out. Until the furniture came in I really couldn’t make any more decor choices anyway.

Finally, some time in the fall, the drapes and sheers came in. My husband thought we did not need to pay someone to hang these, that he and my taller son could handle it themselves. He and the son did eventually get them hung, but it was a lot of trouble, so much so that when the curtains proved to be a little longer than I expected I chose to leave them as they were rather than take them down for hemming. Ready to see the drapes?

Drapes, a definite improvement over the vertical slat blinds.

Drapes and sheers.

Light coming in through the sheers. Have you ever seen such cuteness?

I was so pleased with the drapes. But when would the furniture come in so I could sit and read in that room? Find out when we come back!

COMMERCIAL BREAK: Cue some music with building tension. Newscaster’s voice: We interrupt this commercial for a Handknit Sock Alert. The mate to this sock has been reported missing at the home of local citizen Mindful Magpie.

Will this sock become a permanent singleton?

Some say it is unfair for her to use her own show to broadcast information which may only pertain to her. But Ms. Magpie is convinced of the existence of a global sock abduction conspiracy. No doubt some of you are as well. We at Magpie TV want to give this issue all the attention it needs. If you have seen this sock, please return it. No questions asked. More updates as the story…unravels?

Part Three: Fall 2013. Thanksgiving approached and the furniture had still not arrived. Since we had ordered it in the summer, we were beginning to doubt we were ever going to get it. The manufacturer kept assuring Jane the Designer it would be delivered but then… it wouldn’t be. How did I manage my impatience, you ask? It wasn’t easy! Sometimes, audience, it seemed the only thing that kept me going was to remind myself that ONE DAY I was going to be able to write a blog post showing this whole process. ONE DAY!!!! became my mantra!!!

We decided that if we did not have a true delivery date by Thanksgiving we would simply scrap our plans, go to Macy’s with our tails between our legs, and make the best selection from what they had on the sales floor. Luckily at just the last minute, the company did load our things on the truck and deliver. I had forgotten what I had ordered, it had been so long, but when I saw it I was so grateful I had not had to scrap the all my carefully made plans. ( Furniture will be shown momentarily.)

Now at long last we could do the part that looked so easy and fast on television: hang the pictures, ( as though that could ever be fast with a male involved) roll out the rug, turn on the lamps and set out the accessories!!!!!!! Drum roll, please!!!!! Close your eyes, and OPEN!!!

Come in the front door!

The living room

The comfy chair and ottoman.The picture on the wall is a by young local artist, Joey Evangelisti , who also happens to be autistic.

A few accessories…

The photo on the wall is from a collection of vintage downtown Memphis scenes.

So here we are. We’re not completely finished with the condo, but what is undeniable is that what started as a treehouse has turned into a Magpie’s Jewel Box. Shininess Abounds! True, I haven’t solved the hi fi problem, but I’m working on it. Some walls still need pictures. We haven’t done much to spruce up the balcony. But each time I unlock that front door and walk in, I feel as though the condo is welcoming me to sit down, prop up my feet and relax. After eighteen months of condo work, I’m more than ready to do that! Manhattan, anyone?

The first Manhattans!

Closing Credits: A few before and after shots. Sing the song of your choice.

Magpie with her first condo visitors: Jane the Designer and her Ubiquitous Mother, AKA Mimi.

Memphis Sesquicentennial glasses, an early find for the bar.

In the kitchen.

A Word From the Magpie TV Staff: Thanks to all who have faithfully tuned in to a show with no staff, no budget, no audio and no video. We’ve tried to give a realistic but hopefully not too tedious picture of the making of the Magpie’s Jewel Box. If you have questions or comments we want to hear them, please! After all, this is our first television series; we depend upon your feedback!

Magpie TV – Hurry Up And Wait!

Posted on February 14, 2014 by mindfulmagpie

And the beat goes on here at Magpie TV. We know House Of Cards comes out today, OK? WE KNOW. But you DO have time to watch this teeny tiny show before you start streaming. Think of it as a warmup for a second season of shenanigans from Frank Underwood. Remodeling is not without political intrigue, you know. Now, cue some mysterious music and let’s get on with:

Magpie TV Episode Three

Part One: Magpie and her husband found themselves in a bit of a predicament. They couldn’t put in furniture until they replaced the floor, but they didn’t want to replace the floor until they painted the walls. No work could proceed until Magpie gave Bubba the paint details. But Magpie would not be able to provide paint details until she inveigled the services of Jane the Designer. For you see, Magpie and her husband had a pitiful record in the paint picking out department. Again and again they had had picked out their own paint and been horrified that the sweet pink for their daughter’s room looked like pepto bismol, the restful pale green like a shade of monkey excreta, and the red a shimmering pulsating shade suitable for scenery paint in The Telltale Heart. Nope, they had learned NEVER to pick paint, no matter how impatient they were to complete a project.

We turned the paint samples into large popsicles. This is as close as the Magpie has come to painting wild murals on the wall.

Eventually Magpie did persuade Jane the Designer, who had plenty of other things to do, that she should, on a weekend, not only pick paint samples but take them down to the condo and try them out. From Jane’s suggestions they quickly chose the colors for the whole condo. Now they had the paint picked; how much longer would they have to wait before the little hideaway could be used?

Commercial

A sad road accident. I do hope the driver was wearing his seat belt!

Part Two: Mr. and Mrs. Magpie felt the project was taking on momentum as Bubba painted, replaced the bedroom window, and the molding in every room.

New baseboards

In addition he built a cornice for the sliding glass door where they hoped eventually to hang curtains. By now it was Spring 2013, but still they could not use the condo. Suddenly, just when they thought they were ready to choose the new floor, Mr. Magpie suggested that it would make more sense to go ahead and do the kitchen next. It need not be stated that Magpie knew this was the most sensible path, but since they had already spent more money than they had anticipated,the Magpie had chosen to allow Mr. Magpie to reach this decision on his own. When Bubba the Contractor readily agreed that it made MUCH more sense to do the kitchen next the couple set aside their impatience to use the condo, and went ahead with kitchen remodeling first.

Remember this?

At least they already had their granite, so the Magpie was not starting from scratch. Magpie set about choosing tile and accessories to develop the urban look she hoped to achieve in the kitchen. Meanwhile Bubba got to tearing out that 1980s kitchen.

Bye bye old appliances!

A voice in the back of Magpie’s mind kept asking, “What will we put in this empty condo? When do we get to pick out shiny baubles? shiny baubles? SHINY BAUBLES? ( The voice enjoyed repeating itself ) But she just couldn’t make those decisions yet. They waited patiently as well as impatiently for the tile to come in and to be installed. They opted for the plain stainless sink though Magpie preferred porcelain, to save costs. Magpie had her usual difficult time choosing lighting, because she really didn’t want halogen. By the time she pored through 8000 pictures of light fixtures, however, she neither knew nor cared what she was choosing. Whatever. The new tile, cabinets and appliances went in without a hitch.

Backsplash Tile

Sophisticated Plans

The Magpie was pleased with her idea to tile one of the kitchen walls in brick.

And the cabinets are in!

Eventually it was time to lay the floor. Back when Magpie had chosen the paint she had also chosen an engineered hardwood floor from the floor contractor recommended by Bubba. But by the time they were actually ready to install the floor Magpie had changed her mind, necessitating another drive to an obscure Mississippi warehouse for samples, and an excruciating delay while said samples were compared at the condo. At length one was chosen. The flooring was the last obstacle before the Magpie could get to the wished for stage of furnishing the condo. But would this last project go as planned?

Floor Samples

Commercial:

This show is partly sponsored by a sock monkey on a fence.

Part Three. Sadly, the floor installation did NOT go well, ruining the perfect workmen track record the project had thus far enjoyed. When Magpie and her husband tripped delightedly into the condo to inspect the new floor, it was gorgeous, but flawed.

The Beautiful and The Damned.

There were definite scratches on the wood and NO ONE HAD EVEN USED IT YET. In addition, some pieces were damaged in places.

No floor comes this way!

I don’t think so!

So yet again there was another frustrating delay waiting for the floor contractor to make good his work, a task he seemed disinclined to do. First he said the couple had to file a claim with the floor manufacturer. He promised to get them the form to do so, but never did. Then he said the floor was just a very soft floor and inclined to scratch. What???! They didn’t even have any furniture on it yet. They were not happy. Nor was Bubba the Contractor who had told Mr. Floor Man specifically to make his workmen lay down butcher paper on the floor, not to walk on it directly until Bubba inspected it. Mr. Floor Man neglected to give his men that directive. So Mr. Floor Man was responsible, right? No, he still insisted the manufacturer was at fault and that he would have to contact the rep, a task which he also appeared disinclined to do. Time went by. The couple did not pay the balance on the floor, pending action from the floor man.

After several weeks of runaround Mr. and Mrs. Magpie decided to go ahead and deliver a bed to the condo, and let the chips fall where the may regarding the floor. They had decided to replace our current bedroom furniture and to take what they had been using to the condo. Finally the bed was delivered to the condo. Magpie and her husband spent some sweaty hours trying to put the thing together, but at last they completed the task.

At last! A bed!

The finished kitchen!!!!! Raise your hand if you love it!!!

On May 31, 2013, almost one year after purchasing the condo, Mr. and Mrs. Magpie were able to use the condo. Now they could spend the night there, but what about the other furnishings? You’ll have to wait, because Magpie TV is signing off now to catch House of Cards, but don’t worry. Magpie TV is also made for binge watching. We won’t make you wait too long!

Magpie TV, Episode One: Wouldn’t It Be Nice If….

Posted on January 31, 2014 by mindfulmagpie

Today, in response to popular demand, we will play an episode from the archives of Magpie TV, a show I have actually just invented. This low tech show allows us to pretend we’re on HGTV doing cool home things, but without the annoying summaries they give before and after each commercial. Why the rerun? It seems that quite a few readers have forgotten about my own little pied-à-terre nestled in the broad bosom of midtown Memphis. That’s not a criticism; I haven’t wanted to mention the condo much during renovation. I preferred to wait until I could show the whole process.

We’re in the final stages of completion now, so I don’t have to wait any longer. But first I wanted to refresh people’s memories. Inventing Magpie TV seemed the best way to remind folks of where we’ve been before I reveal where we are now. So, without further ado, Episode One of Magpie TV, The Shiny Show that Exists Only In My Mind! We’re glad to have you watching! I mean reading!

If you’re trying to experiment with whether or not an old ice bucket will float, you definitely need a new project.

Part One: Magpie used to talk to her husband quite a bit about a weekend getaway spot. She used to ponder this idea particularly when she realized that what they had spent on college tuition for their little brood could have been used to purchase a very nifty, if not palatial, second home. She saw herself in a wispy dress, on a terrace on the French Riviera, sipping drinks with long legged men in linen suits, drowsy from the sun and their seductive accents….Oh. but then she realized she was already married and the Riviera money, for good or bad, was already spent.

This woman belongs on the Riviera!

Well then, she thought. What about a weekend getaway spot in the United Sates? The Magpie and her husband loved the mountains of North Carolina but decided the distance would be prohibitive, as they had recently paid two sets of wedding expenses instead of buying their own airplane in which they could have zipped anywhere at a moment’s notice.

The Magpie wasn’t daunted, however. She realized she did not need a large luxurious space in which to relax. What she needed was the equivalent of a tree house or clubhouse from her childhood, only with indoor plumbing. In fact, the thought of finding her own inexpensive getaway energized her. She imagined a tiny antique Airstream trailer in a silent wood, or miniature A frame at the top of a hill. Her husband listened but didn’t say too much. Most likely he thought it impossible to find what she pictured, but did not want to be the one to tell her so. She had a history of not liking such pronouncements.

Don’t even TRY to tell this girl what she can’t do!

One day while drinking her coffee and wasting time on the internet, Magpie saw a listing for a one bedroom condo in midtown, in walking distance to theaters, restaurants, and the soon to be revitalized Overton Square. When her husband came home from the gym she asked him, Honey, would you buy me a condo if it only cost XYZ?” “Certainly,” he replied.

The Mayfair Building.

Now picture the Magpie and her husband with a realtor, viewing the condo she had found on the internet. The realtor showed them the 1960s era building and its amenities: the pool, the party room, the laundry, the covered parking. They felt at home in the small condo situated just beyond the elevators. The owner had done some cosmetic work on the unit. Magpie and her husband could move right in and begin to enjoy city life on the weekends. Would they make an offer ?

Commercial Break. Look at this picture and hum to yourself.

Just a nice picture for the commercial break.

Part Two: Yes! They decided to go ahead with an offer on the property. They were ready to close as soon as possible. But then, the realtor called with the unhappy news: the owner had removed his condo from the market.What?!!! Magpie and her husband were disappointed, and the realtor somewhat embarrassed. She offered to show them two other condos for sale in that same building.

One unit was larger than what they had originally looked at, but it faced busy Union Avenue. It not only had its original 1960s bathroom fixtures, but sported celery green carpet and floor length peach draperies of the type Magpie’s mother in law used to think simply divine. After murmuring the usual HGTV remarks such as , “Nice space,” and “Good lighting,”, they went down a floor to the second unit. The second unit was identical to the uniit they had originally wanted.

The living room.

The bathroom.

The balcony

This vacant unit boasted the most economical type of laminate flooring which buckled as they walked across the living room and bedroom. There were somehow two layers of molding and quarter round along the floor; one of the layers was crown molding applied upside down. Magpie thought it looked rather as if she had done the carpentry herself. Though the unit needed cosmetic work, the dated bathroom was in working order, as were the 1980s kitchen appliances. Which unit would they choose? The larger, the more grandmotherly unit facing the busy street, or the smaller, but more private unit at the back?

Commercial break. Look at this picture and stew in suspense, wondering what this unknown couple, whom you now feel so warmly toward, will decide.

Oops. This is NOT the couple. I guess Magpie TV still has a few kinks to work out.

Part Three: AND They chose the second unit!!!! ( Imagine upbeat music.) “We’ll only have to replace the floor and molding and repaint,” said Magpie’s husband. “Also we’ll have to strip the garish kitchen paper and repaint. it should be pretty straightforward.” Magpie remarked,” I like this unit better than the one I first saw, because it is a floor higher, and cost less. Now I’ll be able to make my own choices in whatever cosmetic changes we decide to make.”

Magpie and her husband can drink a toast to their new adventure from these vintage Memphis glasses!

The show ends with Magpie and her husband toasting each other on the balcony. Please stay tuned for our next show to see how Magpie and her husband updated the condo! And many thanks to our sponsors, previous posts Funny Thing and Squatters Limbo, for sharing your memories!

Busy Baltimore

Posted on October 27, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Do you ever read articles in the travel section which provide an itinerary for someone who is visiting a city for only a short time? I’ve always loved reading those but at the same time I was skeptical that anyone ever tried to follow those whirlwind timetables. But now I know people DO sightsee at the speed of sound, because I just did it. Here is how it came about.

Him: You need more airline miles.

Me: OK.

Him: So you need to take another trip this year. How about Baltimore? We’ve never been there, and the flight’s only $215.00.

Me: OK.

The next thing I knew I was on my way to the Charming City. Having only recently returned from a trip to Atlanta I simply didn’t have the energy to do much of the fun research I like to do before a trip. For this adventure we would rely on our wits and our smart phones. As soon as we checked into our hotel near the Inner Harbor on Friday afternoon we looked at each other and said, “Let’s get going.”

That afternoon and evening we burned up the pavement around Inner Harbor. I don’t know what all we did but in such perfect fall weather it hardly matters what one does. Oh wait, now I do remember. We looked for a place to stop and have a beer while overlooking the harbor, but couldn’t quite find the vibe we were looking for. Eventually we settled on the least touristy place we could find, Gordon Biersch, and enjoyed appetizers and beer in the warm afternoon sun. Gordon Biersch was a lucky find for me, because unlike so many other beer places, it had a nice lager selection. ( For those who do not know this, my husband is Mr. I.P.A. I don’t mind going along for the ride, but I can’t drink all those bitter, heavy beers.) Later we ate dinner and drank yet more beer at the Pratt Street Ale House.

The next morning as soon as we woke up we headed out on foot. What about coffee, you ask? My sweet companion got us Illy coffee from the hotel restaurant each morning. What llttle research we had done informed us that Baltimore is a city of neighborhoods. So we set off to find them, starting with with Mount Vernon. After a brisk walk we arrived at a place my husband had found for breakfast but sadly, it was not open on Saturday.

We were undaunted though, because our next destination was the Walters Museum where we would simply get something at their cafe. But SURPRISE!!!!! the Walters Museum along with its cafe was closed that day for a special event. By this time I was ready to start gnawing on my shoes.

But instead we crept across the street into the Cozy Corner. It was deserted. But yes, they were open, and had a choice of an American breakfast menu or an Asian lunch menu. Aaah, a spinach omelet never tasted so good.

Reading on Read Street.

Fortified by breakfast we hiked on to our next destination: Read Street Books. Ambiance can be difficult to photograph, so in case I missed the mark in mine, let me just tell you that you will love the charm of this tiny slice- of- heaven bookstore. What makes this spot so enjoyable? It’s the used books, of course. It’s the Frank Sinatra channel on Pandora. It’s the green leather couch. It is sweet Lisette who was working that day and made sure we knew all about the Charm City Circulator. Our interlude there refreshed us enough to move on to some other Mount Vernon landmarks: The Basilica,

the Enoch Pratt Free Library, the Women’s Industrial Exchange.Then we hoofed it over to the West Side, to see the Edgar Allen Poe Gravesite. This ad for a conspiracy book about the Catholic Church added to the sense of spookiness.

Exiting the graveyard we re entered the busy urban scene. But not to relax, not yet. The day was not over. f we hurried we could still make it to the B. and O. Railroad Museum.

But we’re never too old to play on trains!

I wouldn’t call myself a train lover but I did enjoy the exhibit about the part railroads played in the Civil War. We didn’t ride the steam train. but maybe you’d like to.

The sky threatened rain as we left the museum so it seemed a good time to stop in the Camden Pub. We rested our feet while nursing a couple of beers and enjoyed front row entertainment by our waitress. You see, her mother, aged 92, expects her daughter to take her to do one of her “bucket list” activities each year on her birthday. She regaled us with tales of their past exploits: riding an elephant, zip lining, rapelling. What would they do on her next birthday? Sky dive?

Soon we had to either face the elements or stay there for the evening. That wouldn’t have been so bad except that we wanted to get over to Little Italy. So off we went, stopping briefly for our sweaters on our way. We strolled through little Italy at dusk, just as a beautiful carillon of bells played from a Catholic Church.

Our destination was Heavy Seas, yes, a brew pub, but one that had a decent menu. This was important because we hadn’t had lunch. I had some lighter beers, along with some yummy oysters, and salmon with cumin. Lovely!

Somehow we managed to propel our tired legs back to the hotel. Total number of steps on my firbit for that day: 23,000!

A Pearl harbor era Coast Guard vessel we passed on the way back to our hotel.

We were a little stiff the next morning after all our perambulations of the day before. But despite our sore feet we hit the road again, back over to the Walters Museum. We were the first ones there! I’m sure we walked several mies through that leviathan complex. I paid close attention to the ancient Alexandria section, since I was reading The Alexandria Quartet at the time, and to the netsuke collection, as I had so enjoyed reading The Amber Hare. We spent hours in this massive museum full of treasures, marveling that it is free to the public. The museum should be a true point of pride for Baltimore.

Netsuke Collection.

Next we headed over to the George Washington Monument, where I enjoyed seeing the little parks that surround it on all sides. About that time we looked at each other and allowed as how it surely would be nice to jump on the Charm City Circulator right about now. Spying a bus stop, we trudged over and in just a few minutes we boarded the most beautiful bus we’d ever seen. Of course by this time any form of transport would have seemed exquisite beyond compare.

Our next destination was Federal Hill, which we had heard boasted of fun shopping, charming residential streets and the Hill itself which was once the site of a Civil War fort. I was sure I needed to go in some darling shops. We looked, but lots of the places were closed. But look what we found! A place to rest our very sore feet! This establishment was all we saw of the retail side of Federal Hill. Eventually we left and hiked over to the Hill. What a fun spot to overlook the Inner Harbor! Like every other outdoor spot we visited, we could have spent the afternoon there. Then I just couldn’t resist a stroll down some of the pleasant streets surrounding the Hill.

Neighborhood watch cat.

By then it was late afternoon. We were feeling a bit down because we knew we had to leave the next day, and we had barely scratched the surface of the city. But no one could say we didn’t try!

We didn’t want to walk far for dinner, so we settled an a fairly pedestrian place to eat that night. But it did the job for us. My companion had one last chance for crab cakes and I one last chance for Natty Boh ( National Bohemian) beer. We landed back in the hotel early that night to pack. Steps for the day: 20000! We fell asleep that night with visions in our head of all the things we had managed to pack into 48 hours. Had we visited landmarks and stopped in between for beer? Or had we visited brew pubs and stopped in between for landmarks? Hmmmm. Well, either way, we were busy and beersy in Baltimore!

Summer, Seattle Style

Posted on September 9, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Somewhere in the United States at this very moment, people are inside their homes , comfortable, without air conditioning. In fact their windows are open to a silky breeze that makes the curtains dance. In fact, their actual front doors are open to further appreciate the air circulation. In fact, not a one of them is wearing what I am wearing inside the house: one of those chamois neck cloths that keep one cool.

The fact is that I am no longer in Seattle Washington, blessed by a kinder, more gentle sun, but back in go-ahead-and-fry-your-egg-on-the -sidewalk Memphis Tennessee. The typical Memphis August is one I flee as soon as I clean up my fig preserving paraphernalia. If you have ever experienced it I don’t have to tell you about the punishing heat and humidity that makes it difficult to enjoy any human activity besides imbibing iced drinks and taking cold baths. Those of you who have NOT lived through heat indexes of 104 degrees for days upon end may wonder why I am always complaining about the heat.

Here is why. The heat and humidity combined drain me of any energy I may have hoped to have. It’s hot outside and hot inside. I spend days either in a Twilight Zone of ennui, or else contemplating how I can keep myself from throwing a bag of lemons, one at a time, at the next person who asks,”Hot enough for ya?” All that is bad enough without adding that all sense of decorum or fashion fly right up to the blades of the ceiling fan. But yet I am still expected by this unfair world to wear clothing when I leave the house. So yeah, I rock those tank tops. I go barefoot at work. I sweep that red hair up into a comb, off my neck. And I am CRANKY!

This year Seattle was our refuge. I don’t know what it may be like there the other months of the year, but windows open in August is a BIG DEAL to me. The cooler weather, though warmer than usual, was restorative to my spirit. I felt like myself, a person of Northern European extraction who was not meant to wither in the tropical heat. With my energy restored, I was eager to explore the city with two of my favorite people.

I had no agenda planned for the trip. Because it was too hot in Memphis to think ahead for more than one hour. I just wanted to be revived by my company and my surroundings. My husband and daughter had done the planning, and I was along for the ride. I only had to keep up with my camera, and enjoy the sights,

It was cool here at all times of the day, despite the crowds.

the sounds,

Lots of screaming going on under the water sprayer.

the smells and the tastes.

Oh yeeesss. Delencey.

And drink the beer, of course.

I found had no yearnings to throw bags of lemons at innocent citizens. My attire was much more suitable for my age. In a word, I felt civilized. The Woman of Walmart look is not for me.

I write this post to encourage those among you who do not cotton to the heat. You are really NOT the underdressed crab you appear to be. Underneath your apparent contempt for those who stay chipper at record temperatures beats the heart of a decent human being. You just need to get some clothes on girl, and get outta town, if only for a day or two. It doesn’t even matter what you do. You’ll perk right up just like a big hydrangea that just had the sprinkler turned on it.

It wasn’t too hot to go walk down to the market and buy some fresh flowers.

It will still be hot when you get back, but knowing about people somewhere having their front doors open will give you some hope. That’s what Seattle did for me, and I thank her. I owe her a more comprehensive post, which I will deliver… when the weather changes. Now pass me that chamois thing, will ya?

A Reliable Tour Guide

Posted on April 8, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Don’t expect a slick sophisticated travel review today. I’m returning to my recent trip to Istanbul to tell you about some of my adventures. Many times when I travel it is because I am tagging along with my husband while he works. We have our methods down pat. We arrive a day or so early and do things together. Then he works for two and a half days while I amuse myself, and then we have a little more time together after his work is concluded.

When people I know found out I was going to Istanbul, a majority of them advised me not to go anywhere alone. Many of them said this not based on any of their own experiences, but because an American woman had recently been murdered there. Personally I was not afraid. For one thing I already live in a very violent town, and could hardly imagine Istanbul being worse. Second, I am careful when I travel. I don’t venture into “iffy” areas. The places I want to go are distinctly undangerous – museums, for example. What are the statistics on murders inside museums and museum bookstores? Finally, I trust my own instincts. If I even think I might start to feel uncomfortable in a place, I leave.

Despite my own opinions, the pleas not to go out alone continued. Even my daughter who had recently been to Istanbul asked me not to go out alone. She had not gone out by herself while in Istanbul, but she had had no reason to; her husband was not working. To appease my daughter, I said that while her Dad was working I would get a Turkish bath at the hotel and go on a tour. That seemed to assuage her fears.

As planned. my husband and I had a day to orient ourselves to the town before he started work. The first day he worked I booked myself for a Turkish bath at our hotel. I knew this was probably not going to be the most authentic experience, but having had no Turkish bath at all, ever, I thought I could start here. In fact I wasn’t even sure what a Turkish bath was. When I checked in at the spa desk, I was led to a ladies’ dressing room and shown where to put my clothes. and what towel to wrap myself in.

I complied with these directions, and sat down on a bench in the dressing room wondering what I was supposed to do next. After a few minutes I went out to the front, draped in my towel, causing a maintenance man to jump ten feet,( They’re very modest over there) and asked the receptionist if I was supposed to come back to the front. All she said to me was “No.” “OK, no,” I muttered to myself and went back to the dressing room. It sure was getting hot and humid in there! I sat and sat. In a few minutes a woman clad in a bikini like outfit came in from a back door in the dressing room and addressed me in Turkish. When I couldn’t understand her she left. Since I have such trusty instincts I realized, in my sweaty humid state that unless I approached someone I would probably spend my entire day sweating in a towel in a dressing room! I knew not to go to the front desk so I opened the back door, where I saw the Turkish speaking woman. Gulping in the fresh air of the corridor I ventured,” Turkish bath?” She responded again in Turkish, but this time I heard the word“hamam” (Turkish bath) so I vigorously nodded yes.

We needed no language for the bath. I stretched out on a warm slab of marble, listening to some soft music as the attendant scrubbed, lathered and rinsed me. Heavenly! After her ministrations she led me, freshly toweled, to a dark room with chaise longues, and brought me a tray of tea and fruit. And left me.

I nibbled my fruit and drank my tea, resting on the lounge which also seemed heated. After a few minutes it seemed a little…hot. What was I supposed to do now? I peered into the hallway. I saw no one. Once again I decided I’d better take matters into my own hands. Since no one was apparently ever going to come back for me again, I decided I could sneak back into the dressing room for my phone and take a few stealth pictures. Then I let myself out. No one seemed to notice.

This was where I had my Turkish bath. The same little maintenance man was cleaning the room,so I didn’t take a full shot. I figured I had frightened him enough for one day.

The next day, Sunday, I was booked on an all day tour which was to include being picked up at the hotel and returned to the Asian side at the end of the day. I arrived in the lobby at the appointed time. After fifteen minutes of waiting, caffeine deprived I spoke to the desk clerk who stated my car was outside. Sure enough, a young man in a business suit was waiting for me in a four door sedan. He ushered me into the back seat and in silence drove me from the Asian to the European side. We pulled into the parking lot of the HIlton, beside a couple of vans, where several Turkish men were conferring. It seemed to me that Turkish men seemed to do quite a bit of conferring.

Someone opened the car door for me and I got out and stood there. One of the Turkish men approached me and asked if I wanted to go on Tour One or Tour Two. I stated I was booked for Tour Two, because I had already done most of the things on Tour One. His face fell.”Alright,” he informed me,”You are the only one on your tour then.”

Gulp! How does one go about being the only one on a tour? I didn’t know how to get myself back to the ferry to the Asian side so I decided I had best just go ahead with it. I was returned to the sedan, with my original driver, whom I thought resembled Balthazaar Getty, plus Aran, my very own tour guide.

I’m not really sure where all we went. I was just the Queen in the back seat.

After riding through several neighborhoods, with Aran narrating and Balthazaar silent except when the two men needed to confer in Turkish, Aran announced it was almost time for our break, during which I might like a coffee. Aah, a stop in a darling Turkish coffee shop sounded just right to me. As I daydreamed of aromatic coffee in the back seat, our driver pulled right into McDonald’s. Yes, I did say McDonald’s.

One of the McDonald’s cats.

While my driver and tourist guide bought coffee upstairs, I went downstairs to the ladies restroom. I had bought a bottle of water ( You can’t drink the tap water there) so I could take my vitamins and such. I was the only one down there, so while I was in the stall I went ahead and dug out my gallon sized ziplock bag which was filled with individual baggies of all my daily medicines.

My water bottle was in one hand and a baggie of vitamins was in the other, when the lights suddenly went out. I dropped the vitamins and they scattered all over the floor. Here I am. I said to myself. In this moment. On a toilet. In a bathroom. In the dark. In a McDonald’s. In Istanbul. With two men I don’t know. Taking a tour all by myself. Well, what is travel for if not for new experiences?

I managed to get my pants up without flushing my medicines down the toilet and exited the dark room without further mishap. My two Turkish friends were still enjoying their coffee and cigarettes.

You can have your Big Macs delivered in Istanbul. Good to know.

Next we went to a scenic overlook. I am afraid I can’t remember the name. It was too hazy for good pictures, but I enjoyed people watching while I tasted a selap, a local drink made of dried orchid roots. Aran and Balthazaar were standing by, respectfully keeping an eye on me. I was beginning to feel the way Sasha and Malia Obama might feel, precious and well cared for. And deserving it too.

Soon we departed to the Beylerbeyi, a summer palace of the sultans. Baltahzaar let us out and we entered the palace grounds. Aran told me that visitors must be accompanied by a guide, So he gave me a lovely tour of the palace. Unfortunately photography was not allowed, so I can only tell you it was sumptuous inside.

The tunnel to the Palace.

The palace grounds.

We journeyed on to the Serkeci train station, to the site of the original Orient Express route. A complimentary lunch in the train station restaurant, also named the Orient Express, was included on my tour. Aran ushered me to a table with a gentlemanly flourish. Before I knew it a mustachioed waiter appeared for my drink order. Since I was the only person in the restaurant, I was in fact attended by several mustachioed waiters. In regal solitude I sipped my tea, ate my lunch, admired the Agatha Christie posters, and read my Kindle.

After lunch I had time to take a few pictures and pretend I awaited an appointment with Hercule Poirot. Aran seemed to have vanished but I eventually saw him conferring with a few other Turkish men and drinking tea at a small corner table. I think my darting in and out of the train station alarmed him; whenever he couldn’t see me he rushed outside to find me. In fact there seemed to be an abundance of time to wait after lunch.

Train station cat.

Because guess what? We were waiting for Baltahazaar to bring Other People, would be joining us for the second half of the tour!! Was I ever glad to see them! Now I no longer had the crushing burden of being the only person to tip Aran this day! This dilemma had been buzzing around my brain like an aggressive bazaar merchant all morning!

When the others joined us we piled into a van and went for a brief turn at the Spice Market. I was surprised to find myself a little unwilling to share “my” guide with these interlopers. I winced when I heard these Americans asking questions such as ,”Are you a Muslim?’ And, “Why do I see so many covered women?” But I remained gracious, as always.

Can you guess which one of these men is NOT an American?

Our last stop was a cruise on the Bosphorus. As we made our way there Aran asked the others what hotels they came from. I was the only one on the Asian side. “What will happen to me when the tour is over?” I asked Aran. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I have to take all the others back to their hotel. But I’ll show you how to ride the ferry back; it’s easy!” he reassured me. Hmmm. Suddenly I was no longer such precious cargo.

People watching on the Bosphorus cruise.

It was such a glorious, sunny day for a boat ride that we had a huge crowd. It was difficult to take pictures, so after a while I just listened to Aran’s narration and wondered how I would return to the Asian side. In due time the cruise was over. Aran was in a big hurry to get the other tour members back in the van. I can only assume there was some deadline for returning either the van or its passengers. I barely had time to press some lira into my guide’s hand before he pointed where I should get the ferry to the Asian side, and turned in the opposite direction.

I approached the pier as Aran had directed but the sign did not say Kadiköy which was my destination. No one was on duty in the ticket booth. I needed to buy a ticket from someone. Since I did not know I would need my Istanbulkart, I had left it at the hotel. I saw someone talking to a man in a reflective vest, so I decided I too would approach him. He informed me that this was the correct ferry. The destination was the Princes’ Islands, but Kadiköy was the first stop. And he was glad to sell me a ticket.When the gangplank was lowered I crowded aboard with all the others.

When the tea man came around, I treated myself. Sipping the sweet hot liquid, I concluded that when I travel there is no such thing as “going out alone”, because I always take me with me. In all of the activities I had undertaken in part to keep my promise not to go out alone I had had to rely upon my own judgement. Heck, if I’d not taken action the day before I’d still be wrapped in a towel in the basement of my hotel! Who had helped me in the dark McDonald’s bathroom? ME!! And right now, after being treated like a hothouse flower most of the day by my tour guide, I was left to my own devices to get back to where I’d come from. From now on, I told myself, whenever someone says don’t go out alone, I’ll say, “Don’t worry; I never go out alone!” I am the most reliable tour guide of all.

mindfulmagpie

what's shiny today?

Tag Archives: urban adventure