Tag Archives: Alabama

All Work and No Play …

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When the going gets tough, the tough clear their calendars, buy plenty of wine and head out to for a weekend near the water. And, boy, you know that things sure get tough a lot. Okay, not really — but us girl friends have to have an excuse to get away every now and then. We’re counting on one of us to retire soon and buy a fabulously big lakehouse with room for all of us, but until then we have to rent our getaways. Luckily, a couple of us are skilled at wading through all the lists of possible rentals and honing on in exactly what we need. Such as this one-level open-plan charmer we hung out at recently. It was a wet weekend so we couldn’t enjoy the inviting back deck and the peaceful view as much as we would have liked, but the interior was so industrial-modern and minimalist-funky that we were fine inside. We loved the brick walls and exposed ductwork and construction details that ran throughout the house. There even were two commercial-style garage doors that opened up to the deck to bring the outside almost completely in. The sleek upscale kitchen had plenty of storage along with stainless appliances and granite countertops. The cabinets sported gorgeous door pulls that carried out what we felt was an urban-loft theme — on a lakeshore surrounded by trees and water. And good friends. And plenty of wine.

Summer Comes to Springville Hill, or How the Decemberists’ Lovely Song Makes Me Think of Alabama in April

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Here’s a hymn to welcome in the day.
Heralding a summer’s early sway.
And all the bulbs all coming in
To begin.
The thrushes bleating battle with the wrens
Disrupts my reverie again.

Pegging clothing on the line,
Training jasmine how to vine
Up the arbor to your door,
And more.
You’re standing on the landing with the war
You shouldered all the night before.
 

And once upon it
The yellow bonnets
Garland all the lawn.
And you were waking,
And day was breaking.
A panoply of song,
And summer comes to Springville Hill.

A barony of ivy in the trees,
Expanding out its empire by degrees.
And all the branches burst to bloom
In the boom.
Heaven sent this cardinal maroon
To decorate our living room.

And once upon it
The yellow bonnets
Garland all the lawn.
And you were waking,
And day was breaking.
A panoply of song.
And summer comes to Springville Hill.

— “June Hymn,” from The Decemberists’ album The King is Dead.

Listening to this oh-so-pretty song puts me in such a good mellow mood. And I know that the Decemberists are Yankees and are from Up North Somewhere where it’s not until June that the bulbs bloom and the trees flower and winter sort of slinks away. Here in The South, however, March and April — like, right now — is when all that happens. June is when we start complaining about 100-degree heat and it’s only the thought that football is a mere four months away that pulls us through.

 

In Which I Bring Two Entirely Unrelated Topics Into One Blog Post

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You know how you open up the newspaper every morning (you do open up a newspaper every morning, don’t you???) and read it and then shake your head and complain, “There’s never any good news. Why don’t they print any good news?”  You know news people say that this happens because “good” news isn’t news since good things happen all the time and we’re only startled by “bad” news that’s outside of the norm. But we all know that “good” news can be as rare as … well, say, a coffee shop owner remembering that he overcharged a customer on her previous business and so without asking gives her her favorite drink for free on her next visit. That just happened! To me. And I wrote about it in my weekly newspaper column. Just, you know, to sneak a little good news in.

Spring’s arrival means several things: 1) Horror as we peel off our wool socks and take a look at our feet for the first time in months — emergency pedicure! 2) All basketball all the time as March Madness takes over — although my bracket is sinking so low that it’s fallen off the listing at the online bracket-game I play. And 3) we start inexplicably hungering for such treats as fresh tender asparagus and juicy sweet strawberries. In my weekly newspaper food story, I found out when spring arrives at local farmers’ markets and previewed what to look for — and when — although we’re lucky here in northwest Alabama since we’ve got Jack O’Lantern Farms, a hydroponic farm which grows lovely fresh veggies year-round. I’ll bet there’s someplace close to you where you can get a taste of spring soon.

Yard Art

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I pass by this house every day going to work, and I always noticed it and always sort of thought to myself, “Huh. There’s a red caboose in their backyard. That’s mildly interesting.” Until one day the full import of what I was seeing finally hit me, and I practically slammed on the brakes as I passed and I thought, “Dang. These people actually have a real live red caboose in their backyard!” I mean, this is the real thing — exactly what you might see on real live railroad tracks. But it’s just sort of sitting there in these folks’ backyard. And I immediately want to know: Why? And, how? And, of course, where can I get one, too? Because I know I would be the Best Grandma Ever in the Whole Wide World if I could score one of these.

The Perfect Business Day

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One of my husband's favorite signs -- "'Maybe to maybe'?" he says. "Now, that's the way I'd run my business!" This is from a comic-book store in Florence, Alabama.

War Eagle! Also, It Snowed!

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Snow! We have snow in the South!! Also: We have a national championship!!! I’m not sure which delights folks more. Oh, wait, of course it’s Auburn winning the national Bowl Championship Series title. I tried to pick out friends who’d made the trip to Arizona as the TV cameras panned over the thousands and thousands of Tigers fans, but all that orange and blue sort of blended together into one. Like the team itself. (And my sports-editor husband doesn’t think I could be a sportswriter!). Back home, far away from the televised football frenzy, the soft fluffy comforter of snow (I refuse to use the “blanket” cliché) still is keeping things quiet. In my town of Corinth, Miss., the square is deserted except for folks like me out walking and snapping shots such as this one of the Fillmore Street Presbyterian Church — and families mounting riotous snowball fights in the streets. In my family, the competition as always centers on art. Older Daughter reported that she started out making a snow-kid for our 2 3/4-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable. It turned into a snow tower, which she felt looked a bit … well … anatomical, so she changed it to something she called a snow bunny by adding ears and arms. Her artist husband, however, created an entire snow train, topped off with actual ashes from their fireplace for the tinder box. Artistry on the football field combined with artistry in a snowy front yard — I love the South!

Business 101, or I Know Billy Reid!

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Oh my goodness, y’all. Did you read today that fashion designer Billy Reid won the prestigious Council of Fashion Designers/Vogue Fashion Fund award as an exceptional and exciting emerging talent? And did you notice that he was described as Southern and country and small-town? Well, he lives in MY Southern and country small-town of Florence, Alabama, and I know him! I’ve been to his house! His sister-in-law and her husband are my periodontists!! He sometimes remembers my name!!! It tickles me no end to see somebody I know — somebody I know as just a regular normal person — all dressed up and under the lights in photographs with Anna Wintour and Karl Lagerfeld. Good for him. He really is a nice family guy with an elegantly classic yet at the same time sentimentally laidback sort of style. It’s like J. Crew meets Holly Golightly and they go have tea at Grey Gardens. See for yourself. I’ve even picked up a couple of Billy Reid pieces at his super-super-way-out-of-season discount sales, which is the only way I can afford designer duds. But the two sweaters and the skirt I did buy are some of my favorite clothes — Reid has high standards for quality and workmanship, which, of course, accounts for the high (for me, at least) prices. And he’s a great neighbor, too. His shop — with company headquarters on the second floor — is smack dab in the middle of downtown Florence, and he’s become a huge community asset. He hosts parties, supports causes and encourages local musicians and artists. He and his family came to Florence — his wife’s hometown — after post 9/11 frugality sunk his fledgling fashion business. He regrouped and started again, and now he’s hanging out in New York with the fashion elite. See where determination and hard work will get you? And talent. And creativity. And financing. But the one thing I really admire Billy Reid for is his incredibly marketing savvy. He knows how to style his brand and get that brand out there. Everything that represents him and his business is consistent and authentic — you know it’s Billy Reid as soon as you open the envelope or read the Facebook post or see the print ad. Seems to me that no matter what business you’re in, that’s a tremendous advantage.

Why I’m A Proud Mom

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Y’all have got to read my younger daughter’s newspaper column that was in the TimesDaily, Florence, Ala., this past Friday. She wrote about moving from our house of the past 15 years, and how the house had taught her to embrace a spirit of adventure. She is awesome like that. My older daughter is awesome like that, too. How did I get so lucky? Still not lucky enough to have the Interwebs at our new house, but lucky enough to have awesome children. And we did get TV yesterday, so things are looking up.

Boats and Books

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I don’t want to make light of the situation in case this actually really ever has happened to you, but a boat almost fell on me the other day and I just sort of thought that maybe you should add “falling boats” to your list of Road Hazards to Watch Out For While Driving. Along with — in my part of the world, at least — roving panthers (it’s true that the presence of panthers in our area is only a rumor — but there are those who swear it’s true), streams of tobacco juice and lazily drifting plastic Wal-Mart bags. And the thing is that the falling boat was only the beginning to a very strange 24 hours. So strange, in fact, that I had to break it up into two newspaper columns to get the whole story out. Read Part No. 1 and then go on to this past week’s column, Part No. 2. There are just some days when everybody stays away from you because it’s obvious you have somehow invoked the god of bad karma and all your friends are smart enough to take cover. Thankfully, all boats stayed firmly anchored the next day and all was well.

And here is one reason I’m so glad I’m married to my husband. I was browsing through his extensive book collection when I found his decades-old paperback copy of “The Andromeda Strain,” which I’d never read. I zipped through it that night and when he asked me later how I liked it, I shrugged. “It just sort of ended with the scientists saying the organism had evolved into something harmless and it was no big deal,” I said. “Seemed like a letdown for such an intense buildup. My husband just stared at me. “Uh,” he said, “I don’t think you read the whole book. There are a couple of pages at the end that you need to go back and look at it.” So I did, and he was right. Husbands rock!

Oh My Gosh! I’m A Squash!***

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All signs point to one thing: It definitely is fall. You can tell by the football games, the cooler temps, the changing leaves … and of course, my favorite: the food. Fall food is simply the best. Who doesn’t love warm, fresh and satisfying? At Jack-O-Lantern Farms market in Muscle Shoals this past week, we got a taste — literally — of fall’s abundance when Marriott chef Josh Quick prepared some winter-squash recipes. One word: Yum. Also, more words: Quick, easy and good-for-you. Quick demystified winter squash and made it seem like something I could tackle myself.  As enticing as these big and colorful vegetables are, they often seem overwhelming. I mean, what, really, can you do with a butternut squash? Plenty, Quick says. Roast it, saute it, blend it — it’s versatile enough to play with whatever flavors you want. It’s even easy to peel, Quick said, and he proved it by whipping out a simple plastic Y-shaped peeler. So you no longer have an excuse for passing up these squash treasures. And the rumor that you can make spaghetti squash look just like spaghetti noodles is true. See the pile of “pasta” in the right-hand corner of the top left photo? That, my friends, is spaghetti squash. Read Quick’s winter-squash secrets and try out his recipes at my food story in this past Wednesday’s TimesDaily.

*** This post title is in honor of a favorite book 2 1/2-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable and I like to read: “The Ugly Pumpkin.” In this wonderfully illustrated tale, an “ugly pumpkin” can’t figure out where he belongs until he realized he isn’t a pumpkin at all.