I love wind chimes.
Maybe it’s because they’re one of the few things left in life that are non technology-related. Maybe it’s because it’s the first thing I bought myself a couple of months prior to moving and starting a new life in 2008. Or maybe it’s because they provided such good company during the times I felt alone.
I paid only ten dollars for this set of windchimes, which is a steal for chimes (I know mine isn’t such a vintage set, but I’ve grown accustomed to their harmonial sounds). I’m sure at times my neighbors could’ve shot me for the relentless chime songs coming from my third floor condo, but I never got any complaints.
My chimes are still with me, though now weathered and worn. Much like an old flag proudly waving, both require that common denominator of wind in order to perform their duties. I’ve always thought weathered and worn adds character to pretty much anything. Weathered and worn tells stories.
This morning I ran across the Mother of all Windchimes -they’re called Corinthian Bells. I can’t afford them, but if I ever can you can bet I’ll have a set. Aside from the beautiful music of a harp – I’ve never heard anything quite as lovely. Thought I’d share one more video (not mine) showcasing this beautiful set – it’s so sweet. The end of this video made it an instant favorite of mine… and who couldn’t use a little more sweetness in their day?
I was raised living with both my Mother and Grandmother (Mammaw), to whom I give credit for many ‘old-school’ morals I had instilled. Looking back now, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Born in 1917, she rose in the era of the Great Depression – a gentle, vibrant and curious child number five out of an eventual ten. Of her nine sisters and brothers, Marjorie McCorkle was the only child who was not assigned a middle name. At the very least, these odds alone might deliver a hefty blow to one’s own self-worth. The others were all given distinguished middle names, such as Coolidge, Fletcher, Louise and Gleason – so it still behooves me as to why her parents would choose to let one child go without that very important integer in their life.
I overheard the story several times throughout my childhood. “It must not have been important at the time. All the other children were given a middle name – except for me.” Whenever she talked about it, she always smiled – but I knew that smile all too well. Marjorie had become a master of hiding any hurt behind that beautiful smile of hers.
The meaning of the name Marjorie is ‘Pearl’ – I found the description to coincide as closely with her persona as it did the effect she had on people. It is a strong and elegant name, one of empowering status. It may be pronounced the English way by way of MAARJHeriy (to sound like a ‘zh’ instead of a ‘j’). I wish I’d known the meaning of Marjorie before now, as she would have had some damn nice pearls. What is it they say about hindsight again?
It interested me to learn of some famous personalities who were born in 1917: Zsa Zsa Gabor, Desi Arnaz, Nat King Cole, Dean Martin, Lena Horne, Richard Boone, Phyllis Diller, Joan Fontaine, Robert Mitchum, Susan Hayward and Jane Wyman. At this very moment I can almost sense her reply, “I’ll bet they all had middle names.” And you know, she was probably right.
In pondering the subject, perhaps for too long – I have decided to give my dear grandmother an honorary middle name. I ended up with two full legal pad pages of names. My final choice was not taken lightly, nor was it made quickly.
From beginning to end the name Elizabeth refused to leave my head. At some point during my childhood, I remember her telling me she did love that name – perhaps would have even picked it for herself. In biblical times, Elizabeth was John the Baptist’s Mother. The name Elizabeth is from a Greek translation of the Hebrew name Elisheva, meaning “God’s promise”, “oath of God”, or “God’s daughter”. Elizabeth has always been a widely used English name, of which my grandmother was of Irish-English ancestry. It makes perfect sense for her to have been given an English first and middle name, whilst carrying the Irish surname – eventually changing back to English once she was married. How I do love things that make sense; there are so very few in the world that do.
It may be 95 years late, dear Marjorie – but do know that you were extremely worthy in all aspects. This albeit ‘honorary’ bestowal comes with much love and adoration from your ‘bunny rabbit’ who misses you still, every day.
Until that fabulous day when we meet again, Marjorie ‘Elizabeth’ McCorkle Jones. And guess what, Mammaw? It’s got a real nice ring to it…
Today is Betty White’s 90th birthday – so here’s a big ole’ shoutout to one of the funniest ladies ever. I heart Betty White. I mean I really-really BIG ole’ heart Betty White. Why? For a whole truckload of reasons, really… the main one being that she’s always reminded me so much of my own Mammaw.
Betty and my Mammaw share the same birthday. Betty was born on January 17, 1922; Mammaw on January 17, 1917 – both children of the great depression under very different circumstances. Betty had originally aspired to become a writer, until she wrote and played the lead in a graduation play at school where she discovered her interest in acting. She has always had the unique ability to sustain grace, class and elegance while showcasing her superior wit, charm, and sense of humor.
Marjorie McCorkle Jones not only possessed that graceful and elegant forte, raised to appreciate the finer things though her life had many struggles – she had an extraordinary sense of humor. She could light a dark room up with her smile and laughter. One day, she’d hop like a bunny across the floor for me – the next, chase my bully off across the school parking lot (if you’ve never seen a bulging pre-teen boy running from a white-haired lady hauling ass out of a yellow Ford Pinto, I highly recommend you do). My Mammaw was a good Christian lady who always knew her place and loved the Lord dearly – but like Betty, she hadn’t a single inhibition of the occasional curse word passing her lips when so warranted. She loved to laugh more than any person I’ve ever known, lest I include myself.
Through the years I’ve followed Betty’s career, I’ve found the two personalities to so closely mimic each other that I could actually imagine a scenario of Betty and Mammaw being best friends back in the day. Her and a group of her girls skipping a day of high school together as they swung from vines underneath an old one-lane bridge on Old Dowd Road – where one eventually fell, broke her arm and brought the fun to a screeching halt. True story. Minus the Betty White scenario.
For the above and many more reasons, I’ve officially added Betty to my I’d love to Spend 24 Hours With… list. To hang out with this chick for a whole day would be a much-needed blast. In my book, she’d be right up there with Ellen.
So… Happy 90th, Miss Betty White Ludden. And Happy 95th to you up there in Heaven, dear Mammaw – if the earth numbers even matter now. Big hugs and kisses, from your bunny rabbit. 🙂
How do I start this, I sit here and wonder to myself. Do I even want to write about it at all? Not really. Do I need to? Probably. Problem is, my fingers don’t want to do the talking either. What the hell am I afraid of writing? Hello out there… brain to fingers – get to moving, babies. I need to get this out.
More ‘stuff’ over at the old house to go sort through. When my ex contacted me about it last week, I thought there was maybe just a bag or two to pick up. It was this time about four years ago when we were busy ‘splitting’ stuff. We stayed busy ‘splitting’ for months on end – after all, you do tend to accumulate a shitload throughout twenty-one years. So we split, split and split some more. When the emotions would get too high, we’d quit and start up again the next day, splitting again. I remember the pictures were the hardest – boxes and boxes of them.
I thought everything had been done. Nope… there’s more. Let’s go take care of it – it’s Goodwill or bust, ya know.
I’ve only had to go back over to the house a handful of times during the last several years. I don’t like driving through the neighborhood. I don’t like going down the street. I do NOT WANT to go in the house, as my daughter insisted on today “Mom, Dad knows you’re gonna be here to go through this stuff – I told him and he’s okay with it.” And so I commenced inside, where neatly stacked in her old room was a good-sized pile that came from the attic. Old baby clothes, stuffed animals, my old knitting materials, some outdated clothes, a few things that belonged to my grandmother, some of my old toys as a kid, all the missing Halloween decorations, and cards. If I failed to mention it before, I do not like going through cards.
Just when I think I’m a step ahead of the game, a day like today comes and knocks me back down a notch. Reminds me that I might not be as strong as I think I am. Was. Whatever. I must swallow the fact that I will forever have these demons, I’ve just realized they aren’t going to go away. What is it? No matter, for what’s done is done. My biggest demon? Failure. Still haven’t moved past that effing failure thing.
Through the years, I’ve learned a neat little trick. I can usually disguise the funk with a smile – on a good day, maybe even season it up with my boisterous laughter. It’s a trick my Mammaw taught me, albeit unconsciously. Ordinarily, it works. Until I’m alone. But that’s what matters, right? It’s just enough to get ya through a tight spot, when someone might be looking. Alone… well, you’re just that. On your own.
I guess the passage of time really isn’t all that when it comes to healing, or growing, or progressing, or whatever it is they say you do. I realize there are good days and bad, for all of us. As for me, I’m just thankful for that huge smile I was born with.
When I was a kid, my Mom used to point out the sand on the side of the road to indicate we were getting close to the beach. I must’ve worn the question “Mommy, how much longer ’til we’re there?” into the ground. She finally found a way to divert my attention from that irritating question every
ten minute s – to pay attention for my own self to my own surroundings. Another great lesson in life by a great Mom.
Now when I’m on the way to the beach, I still pay attention to how the red dirt slowly evolves into beautiful white sand. Except now, I also appreciate the beauty of it. It serves two purposes.
Sometimes it takes patience while you’re waiting on the dirt to evolve into white sand. As my dear uncle used to say, ‘such is life’.
Ever felt like you’ve bonded with an animal of the wild? I tend to bond with many of the seagulls, at least I like to think so. This little girl seemed ever-accommodating – a trait I see as both admirable and disturbing. I named her Bon.
Once again, a New Year is upon us. Time for me to choose a new header/banner, for the year 2012. Just as I choose a single word that best describes the prior year that passed, I also pick a new banner to use for the coming year. I enjoy reflecting back on the prior years’ words and banners, specifically for their powerful meaning to me.
In 2008 I wasn’t blogging yet, so no banner – but my word for that year was Monumental.
It’s not by accident that my first banner below included so many mountains.
My word of 2009 was Colorful.
The next piece below is made up of five of my most favorite things.
My word of 2010 was Serene.
The below shot is a panoram I took while staying at the beach last New Years.
My new word for 2011… drum roll please…
My word of 2011 is Transitional.
It was hard to find a word for 2011. When I finally ran across transitional, I knew I didn’t need to look any further.
I’m finding the end of 2011 to be this huge reflection pool, of this year as well as years prior. In late Spring I moved from my humble abode of three years, the place where I started my new life in 2008. It took some adapting to learn to live with someone again, since Keith and I had both been living alone for so long.
It didn’t take long at all. Where I live now is home in every sense of the word. Hard to explain, except that I feel like I’ve always lived there. Whenever Keith and I are together, everything just seems so easy. Of course life will always have it’s trials and tribulations – but it just seems easy. If that makes any sense.
So on to a brand new year. Nearly four years later, I can finally breathe that long-awaited sigh and say… this butterfly has completed her journey. And what a journey it’s been.
It’s cold, dark, and rainy. On certain rare days like today, I wish I could grab ahold of this state of mind I’m in and smash it right out of a 12-story window. Hard.
Sometimes, a person’s ‘thinking time’ can be more destructive than constructive. Combine those thoughts with just the right song, and it can unintentionally serve to outline that whole thought process. The past always seems to play a huge role in that.
Events transpire. Most things change – a few things never will. Nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain.
My favorite song (and music video) of all time. Always has been… and always will be. This is my sure thing.
Smith’s Cloud, A Change of Days
Some of my deepest thinking time comes either when I’m in the shower, driving, or when I should be sleeping and the thoughts win out. More often than not, they are thoughts that belong in the dark. Tucked away tight, only to be pulled back out and perused on a rainy melancholy day like today. These are a few that I’m unable to ditch at the moment – just another day in the mind and Life of Bon.
I have found that some people spend far too much time judging others, instead of channeling that effort into something positive within their own lives.
I have found that the scales usually tip in favor of hard work getting you somewhere.
I have found that you’d better look out for yourself and not depend on someone else to do it. They don’t call it Number One for nothing.
I have found that no person is 100% honest. It’s just a given. People are always going to lie to you in some way, shape or form.
I have found that continually wishing things were or had been different is an excellent way of torturing yourself.
I have found that I’m a much better driver than the vast majority of other people on the road.
I have found that no matter how much time goes by, there’s a certain part of you that never completely heals once you’ve been cheated on.
I have found it to be true that your life from beginning to end is one big solo trip. Out of your visitors, some will stay awhile – most won’t.
I have found that dropping the f-bomb is one of life’s most calming effects, so I quit chastising myself from using it a long time ago.
I have found that sometimes a monumental being will be forgotten, and a mean-spirited person will be placed upon on a pedestal and memorialized.
I have found that given the choice to be right, or kind… I do try and pick kind. Hold the pats on the back, this isn’t necessarily a good trait.
I have found that second chances come around rarely, if ever. I’m the type who will risk it all for that second chance.
I have found the old saying to be true that no one has the ability to walk on you unless you are lying down. Unfortunately, successfully performing the maneuver of standing up usually deems me a bitch.
I have found that eating a slice of humble pie is not always a bad thing in order to keep check of yourself.
I have found that being yourself is the most important thing in the constant endeavor of staying true to yourself.
I have found that change is the only really permanent thing in life…
Oh hai, November. You could’ve taken your time, you know – no need to have rushed on my account. Since you’re here now, I’ve been reminded of a few important things.
The last bit of summer I’ve held onto all this time really is gone. Maybe it’s time to finally pick up the pair of flip-flops still sitting by the door and replace them with a pair of warm snuggly bedroom slippers. For just a little while.
You’ve brought along with you a stopwatch. Know that I really really dislike stopwatches. As of today, it’s a mere 53 days until Christmas and 61 days until the New Year of 2012. Our annual New Years beach vacation will, however, be something well worth counting down to.
You usher in the early sunset nights and dinners, where blazing fires abide the fireplace and more movies are watched on television. So be it.
Through it all, you remind me of the most important factor to me – the fact that from the start of coldness and still life will eventually come rebirth. In a short 4 1/2-5 months, a lush spring will once again be reborn.
So it’s finally become real to me that you’ve laid Spring and Summer down to rest for a few months, November. Give them a kiss for me and tell them I miss them. Oh, and how ’bout being a little easy on that stopwatch for the next couple of months?
You are a blessing each day – here for only a short time before the sun fades away your fairness.
So very quiet you are, dawn. You are the smallest hint of periwinkle blue on the horizon – you know, my bedroom is painted a resemblance of your hue.
Yours is a time that needs no words, where somber reflection and deep thoughts always ensue. As I gaze at the mere suggestion of your arrival above the lake, I cannot help it – I remain entranced by your beauty. You demand and receive my full attention.
Wishing I could hold still this moment in time. Bottle you for my own. To be captured and released at whim, as I desire to see you even more.
Lest I forget, you are my own. The sweetest most mesmerizing moment of every day…
my breaking dawn.
Until the change of time.
Upon hearing of his resignation a couple of months ago, I knew it had to be very close. Steve would never ‘resign’ from the thing he loved most in life. The thing that had become his life.
He’s the sole reason I’m in the business I’m in today. Why I do what I do. The design and creation of graphics would never have gone the way it has without the typography and graphic integration of the Macintosh computer.
I’d like to share a few of his quotes that I ran upon last night.
“The most compelling reason for most people to buy a computer for the home will be to link it into a nationwide communications network. We’re just in the beginning stages of what will be a truly remarkable breakthrough for most people – as remarkable as the telephone.” ~1985
“Picasso had a saying: ‘Good artists copy, great artists steal.’ We have always been shameless about stealing great ideas… I think part of what made the Macintosh great was that the people working on it were musicians, poets, artists, zoologists and historians who also happened to be the best computer scientists in the world.” ~1994
“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart…. Stay hungry. Stay foolish. ~2005 Stanford University commencement address
“The computer is the most remarkable tool that we’ve ever come up with. It’s the equivalent of a bicycle for our minds.” ~1990
“My model for business is the Beatles. They were four guys who kept each other’s kind of negative tendencies in check. They balanced each other and the total was greater than the sum of the parts. That’s how I see business: great things in business are never done by one person, they’re done by a team of people.” ~2003
Launching the apple site will really grab you this morning. I’ll give you a preview…
Rest peacefully, Steve. And… thank you.
Attempting to interpret dreams can be as hopeless and painstaking as searching for a lost shipwreck. There may be multiple meanings that exist in dreams, or no meaning at all. Many of them are simply the result of our collective subconscious working overtime. Nevertheless, I find it fascinating to see what could be a hint or preview of what could end up being reality. If nothing else, I always pay attention.
I was in a large kitchen that resembled an industrial one – supposedly part of a place where my daughter was getting ready to move (her real-life upcoming move was to be the following weekend). I was on a stepladder trying to balance several boxes stacked high, all of which were threatening to crash to the floor. Try as I might, I could not hold them. One by one, the boxes crashed down, each containing glass – soon I was surrounded by glass on the floor. I remember thinking there was no way I’d ever get it all completely cleaned up, that there would always be a danger of someone cutting their foot.
To see broken glass in your dream signifies disappointments and negative changes in your life. Alternatively, it could be symbolic of an aspect of your life that is in pieces. A relationaship or situation has come to an abrupt and untimely end. If you are walking on broken glass, then it suggests that you will be experiencing some heartache or pain. You are unsure with how to proceed with your life.
To see a spider in your dream indicates that you are feeling like an outsider in some situation. Or perhaps you want to keep your distance and stay away from an alluring and tempting situation. The spider is also symbolic of feminine power or an overbearing mother figure in your life. Alternatively, a spider refers to a powerful force protecting you against your self-destructive behavior. If your kill a spider in your dream, then it symbolizes misfortune and bad luck. To see a spider climbing up a wall in your dream denotes that your desires will soon be realized.
Just two nights ago, I was holding a box turtle. About the size of a cantaloupe, he had his head and limbs stretched out. Looking back it reminds me of one Keith and I had rescued from the road a few months back, except that real-life one was larger. The turtle had his head stretched back around in ‘ET’ fashion, looking directly into my eyes. His little feet were swimming back and forth like they so often do when nothing is under them – I could feel his little claws hitting my fingers.
To see a turtle in your dream symbolizes wisdom, faithfulness, longevity and loyalty. It also suggests that you need to take it slow in some situation or relationship in your life. That with time and patience, you will make steady progress. Alternatively, a turtle indicates that you are sheltering yourself from the realities of life. You are putting forth a hard exterior and not letting others in. As a result, you are feeling withdrawn.
**I realize my posts are often vague or oblique to say the least – as I’ve said before, I do that to maintain anonymity. There’s an old southern saying that my mother used to tell me, ‘you’re getting too big for your britches’. As I look back, she had good reason to use it. The idiom refers to a person who is over-extending their authority or is being bossy, a person who may have a conceited and exaggerated sense of their own importance, perhaps to the point of even injecting their self or their opinion where they aren’t needed. It’s pretty cut and dried to me. In the end, it’s really about your respect for others – you either have it or you don’t.
This ten-year mark of the September eleventh attacks will be a little different than the prior nine.
What’s sure to be an emotional unveiling of the 9/11 Memorial and Museum will happen this Sunday morning of September 11 2011. It has been a long-awaited and intricately planned project to say the least. Granted, these are my words. I realize there are no ‘appropriate’ words to use to describe the attack itself, it’s Memorial nor the intense emotions that run so deep when one thinks back to that fateful day ten years ago.
This past weekend I watched a 2-hour special on the years of work leading up to the completion of the 9/11 Memorial Site and Museum. All the time, effort and respect shown by everyone involved was nothing short of an amazing story. It had it all – love, grief, courage, oneness. Such an important word in the continued endeavor to heal – ONENESS. I believe the generations that went through these attacks will be working to heal for the rest of their lives.
To me, there could be no more appropriate memorial than this beautiful one that took so long to conceptualize and create. Two seemingly ‘endless’ pools sit on the area where the Twin Towers once stood. They are each nearly an acre in size and feature the largest man-made waterfalls in North America. The large pool of the initial waterfall spawns a second small one in the center which appears to cascade infinitely into the earth. The surrounding bronze panels edging the pools are carefully inscribed with the names of every person who perished in both the 2001 and 1993 attacks. I can’t imagine there being many dry eyes for those citizens witnessing the unveiling of this Memorial, whether in person or on television.
I’ve been told more than once that I ‘dwell’ too much on the most horrific terror attack in modern history. My answer to that is and always will be, so be it. One time when I brought it up to a close friend, I was dismissed with I never want to think about it again – it’s too horrible. It’s something that’s already happened and in the past now. As much as I still love this person, I’ll never forget the impact of hearing those words. Just mere days after the attack, when airplanes had yet to be given clearance to fly in our skies again – my ex husband told me I can’t watch any more of this, I’ve had it. From then on, just about everything else I watched had to be on my own time – adjusted around other shows which seemed to take precedence over 9/11. Again, so be it. I can report with much confidence that I did continue seeking information, and by the grace of God, I got it.
I’ve said this before but feel it bears repeating – I’d rather have nightmares about 9/11 every night for the rest of my life than to ever to forget about it. It’s true each of us are different, and we all have our own ways of dealing with tragedy. I realize this post is only one person’s views of the lasting effects from the largest loss of life from a foreign attack in the US so far. But let us not confuse the term ‘morbid dwelling’ with somber respect and remembrance. The act of remembering September 11th isn’t just black or white – equally as important are the shades of grey in between.
I love spontaneous roadtrips. With us they usually end up in the mountains, and I’ve grown to love the area a lot. Yesterday we set out early to Maggie Valley/Cherokee, NC. This is the location of mine and Keith’s very first trip together over two years ago, and I was surprised to see how much I remembered about it! Maybe my old memory isn’t as bad as I thought it was. Keith has Cherokee roots from his mother’s side of the family, and even looks the part. He could probably put on a headdress and pass very well.
We mostly walked both towns and perused the shops,, and ended up in Waynesville to eat dinner. Thought I’d share some photos of my favorite findings of the day – I hope everyone has a enjoyable and safe Labor Day Weekend!
Have you ever wished for something, and over time found yourself subliminally ‘padding the way’ for it to happen? Not necessarily ‘making it happen’ or ‘helping it out’ – but perhaps making it ‘easier to occur’?
Setting the stage, so to speak.
It has recently come to my attention that I may be unintentionally doing this. Once I realized it for what it really was, I was disappointed in myself. The sheer anticipation of certain hopes and dreams somehow warped my brain into thinking that I need to provide my assistance or guidance in order for them to happen.
Go out and grab life by the horns, Bon. Seize the world – it’s yours. Make your own destiny. It’s never too late to be what you might have been. I heard it all. And I listened.
After twenty-three years of marriage I was the proud owner of a can’t-think-for-myself brain. Once I finally met and became acquainted with ME 1.0, I convinced myself I had to become a strong individual and maintain control and direction. I’m still (slowly) learning that exercising that ‘control’ does not and should not apply to every single thing in life. Some things need to occur naturally if they are to occur – and over time. Unwittingly setting the stage isn’t always appropriate.
Certain dreams and aspirations I have will either come true or they won’t. I have to come to the realization that some things in life just do not need my assistance.
The ghosts of the past who appear in my recent dreams are starting to wear me down. Saturday and Sunday nights were both restless; when sleep did come it was packed full of crappy dreams. Weird, emotional, gross, sad, useless – all of it. In dire need of sleep, I retired early again last night. Once more, the ghosts of times past infiltrated my dreams. None of these entities have a current role in our lives, so I just couldn’t imagine a reason for them being in the dreams.
It’s not like me to have repetitive dreams of a undesirable nature, but I believe I’ve at least figured out the cause of them. As of recent, I’ve been putting more thought into the future than ever before. Sometimes when you contemplate the future you inadvertently propel yourself into the past – whether or not you want to. Your subconscious thoughts can and will manifest into your dreams. The fine line between fantasy and reality has never been a difficult thing for me to discern. That said, I now find a slice of my reality being spent fighting demons ensued by the dreams that decide to hang around and poke me with a stick the next day.
A long time ago I was asked, ‘Which would you prefer? The devil you know, or the devil you don’t know?’. My answer was ‘The devil I know’. Somehow I have to figure out how to not pick both.
This field is located about a mile down from the house. Being that I took the picture about 3 weeks ago, unfortunately the poor flowers have now either passed their prime or are severely drought-stricken. The picture was inspiration for my ever-amateurish little poem, which I write very few of.
Sunflower Fields Forever
Tucked away from all the hype
and bustle of the town
there lies a field where there are only
Long necks stretch up ever-taught
Their heads gaze oh so high
In their attempt to say ‘hello there’
way up to the sky.
Simple, timeless is their beauty
of vibrancy and hue
Unknowingly an artists’ vision
Of canvas dreams come true.
They have one wish – to kiss the sun
This kiss shall set them free
It is, dear flower, after all
Where you’re supposed to be.
It’s not the first time we have met
In dreams I’ve seen you here
Soon in this field you’ll rest your heads
‘Til next you reappear.
~Life of Bon, 2011
Being as how I wrote about it in length last August, I’ll just reiterate the fact that I’m happy beyond words and leave it at that. If you have any desire to hear me gush on about it, you can read last year’s post.
I just bought his anniversary present today. Wish I could say what it is in this post – but on the off-chance of him reading this, I’d be screwed (I’ll be sure to fill ya in later). I hope he likes it.
It really is the little things in life that count. Like being together and making memories. Experiencing the overwhelming feeling of complete love and trust. Just being happy. Actually, I consider being happy a huge thing…
Ever have a place you’ve visited just stick with you – certain sights and events bringing the place fresh back into focus? As I crossed the sunrise-laden bridge this morning, I was reminded again of a visit a couple of years ago to a little portside town in Virginia – to a little town called Urbanna.
I think about this place every time I see a sunrise. I think about it every time I pass over the river on the way to work. I think about it most every time I lay my eyes on a boat. Sometimes I consider this a burden and wish it to be lifted from me; to regain the ability of forming my own thoughts and memories from such sights. It doesn’t seem meant to be, though – and this morning was no exception.
Urbanna is located on Virginia’s middle peninsula on the Rappahannock River, which eventually spills into the beautiful and majestic Chesapeake Bay. This historic town was originally established as a port for the shipment of tobacco to England. The old tobacco warehouse built in 1766 is listed on the National Register of Historic Places and serves today as the Visitors Center. This warehouse is located on Virginia Street, which ironically enough is one of my favorite streets there.
The town itself is as friendly as the day is long, and the locals seem to go out of their way to please you. They are proud of their towns history and the fact that aside from the annual Oyster Festival which attracts 70,000 each November, Urbanna is still able to maintain that hometown feel. As you walk through town, it’s almost as though nothing at all has changed since the fifties. The in-town drugstore still has a fully-operational diner inside, complete with swivel-seat barstools. Even the streets seem to want to tell you their story as you stroll down them.
I learned being rocked to sleep by the waves is one of my most favorite things, as well as waking up the next morning to the sunrise over the water. I ended up adapting to that little sailboat so quickly it about made my own head spin. Within a day I’d perfected my way around atop and below the boat – finding out exactly what I could hang onto and what I couldn’t, and what I could swing from and what I couldn’t. 🙂
I was sad to learn of the vineyard I visited closing down in 2010, White Fences Winery and Vineyards. What a nice drive over the bridge where you can see the Rappahannock River merging with the Chesapeake Bay. Unlike some local wineries, White Fences had acres and acres of vineyards to walk. The massive greenery would hold your imagination captive for as long as you would allow it.
The town slogan, as it appears on main page of their very well-put-together website:
“Turn off the main road. Or cruise up the Rappahannock River from the Chesapeake Bay. To the slightly off the beaten track tidewater town of Urbanna,Virginia. Home of Virginia’s official oyster festival, more boats than folks and laid back innkeepers, shopkeepers, chefs and townspeople who’ll help you shuck your stress and slip into an island state of mind.”
Yep… in this case, I’d say the city slogan fits quite well.