The Charleston Journey - Part One

Here I am heading back to New York on Virgin Atlantic flight 45 from Heathrow. I just watched Lincoln (loved it but was fairly confusing at times and apparently filmed by the light of one single candle) and opened my computer to see if there is internet. Magic, there is not! What a blessing. Five more hours of ME time. 

Part of my ME time was to read my monthly Power Path reading. A friend of mine from Brazil suggested the Shamanic site to me and it has been a blessing for many months now. Below are excerpts from the July reading which I found so terribly profound. 

The entire week I was in London I had friends asking me what my life was like now that I am in Charleston and so much of it is in the Power Path pasted below. Charleston is my expansion, a huge discipline and full of magic.

If I were to sum up my Charleston existence so far these would be some highlights:

• My morning ritual- Wake with Fergus, cuddle with Fergus, stretch with Fergus on the bedroom rug and then lighting incense, turning on Kundalini yoga chants, pouring an iced coffee and enjoying a little morning meditation in the living room as sizzling Southern sunlight beams through the blinds

• Driving out to the beach with Fergus for a morning walk and noticing the vastly changing landscape of the sand/sea and vegetation

• Driving to Lowes (which I have done innumerable times) and being transfixed by the great old oaks surrounding its entrance

• My wonderful walks with Fergus exploring new streets, new plants, new blooms, peeping into unknown historic homes and laughing as the frogs begin their concert every night

• Watching the sunset over so many dazzling low country landscapes

• Brushing my teeth on my piazza every night and watching the moons place and size

• Drunkenly riding bikes up Meeting Street after leaving a Spoleto party in a grand mansion and heading to Dudley’s for a drag show

Charleston has brought me back to a place I haven’t been to in ages. My nature loving side. The part of me who would run barefoot outside until mother called me into dinner. Now that I have a garden I am obsessed with what blooms when, what will work in the sun and shade and what will come back or fade away. 

The Holy City has also let me explore parts of me I didn’t know existed. How wonderful my morning paddle boards have been with Misty. How I adore the yoga, the laughs, the ripple of the water under my paddle and working out in Mother Nature’s finest gymnasium. What fun it has been to get to know a surfer, a water conservationist and a former soldier who calls me ‘bro’. What lessons I’ve learned from working with contractors and learning all about the innards of my home. I will fully admit the move, learning the ropes of trash nights, parking permits, getting a new license and dealing with a contractor who didn’t communicate nearly had me in the mad house. No amount of meditation, yoga or mantras could help. It was absolutely rotten, confusing and stressful. But I pray most of that is in my past now. 

I have met some wonderful people and am so thankful to be back in the same town with some old friends. And I have been saddened to meet a few people with, as Mame would say, “Braces on their brains,” but the time I most cherish is my time alone, at home, with   Fergus. I have been on that glorious, gilded hamster wheel of New York for 14 years now and I admit, much of my non-stop twirling is my own fault. That great and powerful FOMO (Fear of Missing Out!). Hell, even in Charleston for my first three months I was out nearly every night at an event. But I am a curious creature by nature and eager to explore. But I feel like I have an idea of what Charleston holds, and while some of it does fascinate, a night at home with candles lit, a good movie on and Fergus dashing around with his ball is held dear most of all. 

I’ve been meaning to write this for quite some time but besides my brimming dance card with Spoleto and other events, I also had 12 guests in three months. Quite a feat. Each of them was a total treat. What’s a better way to explore a new town than with old friends and family? But it wasn’t until Memorial Day that I had three full weeks alone. It was then that I finally felt at home. That I developed a routine, that I wasn’t stressed with deadlines so I could entertain someone for the weekend. I was just living, loving, admiring and enjoying. 

I’ve started to read more about Southern history, the Civil War, President Lincoln, Mary Boykin Chestnut and Francis Marion. Movies like Django and Lincoln ring more powerful than they may have if I wasn’t living back in the South. I have also began using social media as a way to truly check in on great friends in New York and see what everyone is up to. One thing I have learned is how much I love and miss my New York family. I only recently realized how much we know about each other, how far we have come and how much we understand one another. When Justin had a dinner party in April and invited some of our friends, I went to the bathroom and just hearing all of them explode into laughter (about something idiotic and mundane I’m sure), tears began to stream. These are my always and forevers. They are part of who I am. 

I look forward to the journey in store on Spring Street, in The 118, and around the little town of Charleston. I know I have only scratched the fine porcelain surface of this rich city and I have no doubt it is only going to get better, more inspiring and produce fruits more exotic than one could ever imagine. 

The Power Path Reading for July:

EXPANSION
DISCIPLINE
MAGIC

This month we have a triad of themes all working together to provide an incredible opportunity for accelerated growth, change and evolution.

The themes may seem paradoxical and even contrary to each other but their cooperative alignment will support creativity and manifestation in ways you could never have imagined. This is finally the opportunity we have been waiting for, to break through the limitation of how our belief systems identify what is possible and what is not.

All three themes are equally as important this month and your challenge will be to dance with them in harmony and balance, while staying focused on the limitless potential of what is possible. It is extremely important that you not get lost in other peoples drama, suffering and chaos. And remember you can only help yourself and be the best example you can be.

Expansion always brings the potential for higher centered experiences of truth, love and energy. This includes great beauty, inspiration, and the heightening of all your senses and intuition. In order to tap into and experience the higher centers you will need to be available, which may mean eliminating your distractions and energy leaks. It may be time to break away from people and behaviors that have kept you living small. This is the opportunity for making a bid for power to live BIG if you are ready for it.

You must make time to just BE. Expansion is not action, pushing or effort to build something bigger. It is the process of allowing and receiving. It is opening the pores of your belief systems and energetic patterning. You become more porous in order to receive that which will expand you into the next level of vibration from which place you can create something new and magical. Expansion is the feminine counterpart to the masculine Discipline.

Expect the unexpected and always focus on the positive. Pray for amazing things and experiences and opportunities to show up in your day. Acknowledge the magic that already exists while you watch the colors of a sunset or listen to the song of a bird.

Create practices that allow for magical experiences such as taking time to listen to the message of a tree or a plant or a cloud.

In order for permanent and positive change and evolution to occur, the new expanded container and paradigm needs to be anchored. Magic helps with this. Experiences that seem magical and out of the ordinary will eventually be seen as "normal" as we evolve.

Become aware of your environment. Where is the magic? One way to bring magic in is to sing or talk to everything you come into contact with in your environment. When was the last time you sang a hello to your computer or your car, or your kitchen stove, or your office environment or your garden or your favorite place to walk? Try it and see what happens. This could become one of your disciplines.

Living with Julia at The 118

Yesterday I met a pile of people I have been wanting to discover since December when I bought The 118 in Charleston.

I went to the Tax Assessment office at the grand and handsome 101 Meeting Street to file for legal residence tax. While there I asked where I could find out more about my property. They sent me to the second floor to the R.M.C office (Register Mesne Conveyance) where a Della Reese look alike bellowed a big ole ‘Howdy Do’ and pointed me to the back of the office to find someone to help me. 

                                                                101 Meeting Street

I followed the halls back until I came upon a ‘lovely older woman’ named Nancy. She had the voice of a Mourning Dove: light, lifted but matter of fact. I told her I was interested to learn who has lived in my house and she kindly guided me through the Charleston County website and after several seconds she sweetly chirped, ‘Well here you go!” She had printed out a page with three names, Peter Walsh, Dexter Wilson and Marie Pelzer Fludd, the deed dates ranging from 2004-2005. I nervously looked at her and said, “Oh thank you for this but I mean the whole shebang since 1890.”

I think I must have said the magic word. Miss Nancy’s eyes began to sparkle and she removed her glasses and said, “Well then, we have some work to do.” And with that she took me on a journey through microfiche, piles of papers and finally to the treasure trove, the original Charleston County real estate books from the 19th century. 

It was all a bit of a blur since clearly she has done this for so many other historic home fanatics. As soon as we would adjust the zoom on a microfiche she would read an RMC number from the page, hit print, and move on the the next book. She kept saying, “My, you are lucky all of this is typed out! It makes it so much easier.” But once we got to 1926 it was fill-in-the-blanks and of course by 1892 it was all hand written. At this point she said, “Well this just wont do anymore on microfiche, we need to see the real thing.” And with that she glided through rooms, hallways, security systems until we finally arrived in a freezing room full of those books that just make my eye’s go all spirally. 

There they were, those grand old ancient books filled with quill ink and the answers to my questions, we hoped.  As soon as she opened the book in question (it was so huge I had to carry it with both hands for her) we are accosted by the glare of Vreeland Red psychedelic marbleizing on the front page. Those wild Edwardians! We then carefully peeled back the pages to 169 and there we found them, Julia M. M. Graves.

                                                                   That RED! 

From what we can gather she sold the house in 1892 (it was built in 1890) to a mister John N. Graman who I later discovered was a prominent doctor in Charleston. I find it amusing that they mentioned ‘The Sixth Day of October in the year of Our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and Ninety Two on the One Hundred and Seventeenth Day of the Sovereignty and the Independence of the United States of America.”

If that wasn’t riveting enough, we glanced at the deed above mine and it was to the Countess de Choiseul for property on East Bay Street! The Duke de Choiseul (possibly her grandfather?) helped arrange the marriage of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI. The Count and Countess mentioned were French consul to Charleston. 

Countess de Choiseul's Document!

Now for the historical run down of my little abode:

Julia M. Graves (possibly widowed and with much more property than what is now included, we gather)- occupied from 1890-1892

Sold for $5,000.00 to

John H. Graman and Alice M. Graman - occupied from 1892- 1926

Sold for $4,000 to

Mary Polhemus - occupied from March 3, 1926- July 29th 1926 

Sold for $2,600.00 to

Gustave J. Knobeloch- occupied from 1926- 1936

Sold for $2,505.00 to

J.N. Peeksen- occupied from  1936-1941

Sold for $1,541.67 to

William F. Peeksen- occupied from 1941-1961

Sold for $7,000.00 to

Edna W. Peeksen- occupied from 1961- 1975

Sold for $13,000.00 to

Marie Pelzer Fludd - occupied from 1975-2004

Sold for $100,000 to

Decatur Wilson II - renovated the home and flipped it 2004-2005

Sold for $420,000 to

Peter Walsh -occupied from 2005 -2012 (bought for his daughter while in college, later rented out to stinky college dudes and girls)

Sold to ME December 1st, 2012

I feel a huge comfort in knowing who has lived here, loved here, planted, cooked, mourned and laughed in these very rooms over the past 123 years. I hope to discover more about each of them (especially Julia!). I have done some quick googling and managed to find some of their graves located not too far from here on upper Meeting Street. 

And one final note on Miss Nancy. When we started this process she said rather sternly, ‘Now you do know each copy is .50 cents?” I did not but was happy to pay. In the end we had printed countless copies and when I was leaving I asked where I went to pay. She slid those glasses back on and whispered, “You don’t owe a thing honey, you just enjoy what we found, ya hear?” I hear, so does Julia and Mary and John and....

Tantric Tulum

I cannot recall the last time my head hit the pillow at 9:30pm. Nothing is more luxurious to me than that. Well, waking up in the middle of the night with a cool breeze sweeping through my room and the crash of waves heard in the distance is equally lucullan, I must admit.

I just spent five gloriously relaxing days in Tulum, Mexico to celebrate Abigail and her bachelorette weekend. I have known Abigail since the halcyon days at the College of Charleston back in 1995 and both she and Claire have championed me into coming back into the fold of the deep South by buying a home in Charleston. I have been looking forward to spending quality time with two of my oldest friends for many months and to get to know the other ladies in the bridal group. I guess I need to address why in the Sam Hell I am a bridesmaid. Well, that’s just what Abby wanted so Chris Millspaugh (another one of her oldest guy friends) and I were asked to be a part and I am honored, and happy to throw a kink in staid wedding traditions.

                                             Nick and Abby welcome us with beer, naturally. 

Now that she is getting married we had to celebrate in a big way and I am very appreciative that she chose Tulum over some wild weekend in some other popular hen party destination. 

Thursday: 

Claire, Abigail and I met at the chaotic Cancun airport where we rented our cars post haste and then bobbled down the 307 on the coast of the Playa de Carmen towards Tulum, about a two hour drive. I have never traveled with these two dames before (amazingly) but I had no doubt all would be fine as we are equally head strong. When the Budget rental chap brought around two cars that were on empty, telling us that is all he had it was if the Indian Goddess Kali erupted from both of them. The agent quickly saw the fire he had conjured up  in both of them and quickly appeared with at least one car with a full tank. I just sat back and watched him fumble against two hot headed and incredible lawyers.

I have been hearing about Tulum for several years now as it is the fashionable new spot for New York’s hippest and earthiest. Sure enough as soon as we arrived in the small, dusty town I started seeing Ray-Ban’s, Ooops – I erased the name of the shoe (?) - check its' spelling. and Tom’s shoes in every direction. But it was a good thing. It is nice to see New Yorkers actually relax. Nobody was an iPhone zombie. 

We arrived at Tita Tulum around 4pm and check-in consisted of some random man giving us a key to cabana 2 (El Jaguar!). We didn’t even look at the room before we had thrown shoes into the sand, yanked off socks and ran to the beach to behold the splendor. And splendor it was - palm trees as far as the eye could see, thatched roof cabanas peeking out here and there and in front of us the pantone perfection of azure blue.

We met up with Abigail’s brother Nick and his hysterical girlfriend Lisa, both living in New York,  grabbed beer, and left unpacking for another time. They had arrived the day before and had kindly booked a table at Zammas  for dinner.

We watched the sunset and then headed by car to the restaurant near the top of the trendy Tulum beach. I have never been anywhere quite like Tulum. Once you turn onto a main road there must be 50-60 hotels next to each other, each with only 8-10 rooms, some tent lodges, some luxury and most just quaint eco lodges. We sat outside and ordered drinks pronto. Abigail was excited to order a whole fish but the waiter said it was too late. “Mañana,” he deadpanned. ‘Mañana’ would be our favorite word during our stay.

After dinner we were all a bit weary after a day of travel so we drove back to Tita and passed out. Vacation mode was in effect.

Friday:

I woke up at 6am, threw on a caftan and stumbled to the beach where I sat on the sand and saluted the sun as it crept up over the ocean. Kids were already out playing and dogs were waking and going on morning expeditions.  My favorite part of the morning was watching a svelte Latino hippy jog past in his shorts and in a trance. All of a sudden he looked to his right and saw the sun rising and stopped and began jumping up in down, hands raised in the air, welcoming Apollo to Tulum. He was truly happy, excited and honored to be a part of such a ceremony and I was equally touched to watch. 

After an hour I decided to get some work done before starting my day so I packed computer and phone and headed to the Tita restaurant (also the lobby, also check in, also hang out) and plugged in and got to work for another hour until Claire joined me for breakfast. The rest of the crew had booked a Scuba adventure that morning so we were on our own. (I tried to book with them but the diver kept asking me for a .24 cent deposit and I was leery, so I decided to see how their’s was before booking).

We then took a long stroll up the beach and checked out some of the other lodges dotting the beach. We fell in love with Shambala with its' all white buildings and giant painting of Ganesh on one wall. Their yoga studio was all glass and looked out over the beach. We would be coming back that evening. When the heat became too much we stopped at Posada Margherita for amazing watermelon, mint and basil fresh juices before heading back on the street side to see the front of the properties and to check out some of the shops.

For lunch we went next door to Coqui Coqui. This is the epicenter of coolness in Tulum, constantly featured in Vogue, Departures and others, we were excited to be located next door to see the action. Claire and I sat outside on a huge divan and watched all the skinny girls and guys smoke cigarettes and sporting their Tom Ford shades while drinking gallons of wine. Yep, chic happens! We had yet another seriously fresh and fantastic meal of ceviche and tacos. It was one of those lunches I will remember forever for it’s beauty, simplicity and our hipster, mulletted, harem pant wearing waiter. 

Once back we chilled on the beach and later went back to Shambala Petit Hotel for a serene yoga class. With all the windows open and palm trees growing through the studio and through the roof we zenned out over the ocean watching little kiddies run around naked in the waves, dogs trail their owners and clouds passing by. That is the way yoga should be done!

After class we met up with the rest of our group and they were a little peeved over their unorganized dive, even though they ended up having a great time. Claire and I spotted a dive sign next to Tita so I went over there and knocked on a hut. A tall and handsome guy came out and said he would be happy to take me cave diving the following day. I left him a deposit and we decided to rendezvous at 11:30am the next morning. His name was Joaquin and I was a happy diver. 

That night Abby and Nick’s cousins Courtney and Brodie arrived and our gang was complete. We headed to a spot called La Zebra for dinner where we had a riotous evening. Once again Abigail tried to order a whole fish and once again she was denied. I finally popped a gasket and calmly told Manuel that, ‘Mañana’ was not an option and a fish was to be delivered to Abby tonight. He sighed explaining it would take 50 whole minutes, we said that is the perfect amount of time for cocktails and ceviche. He relented and cracked a smile. He knew we had him. The rest of the night he was known as, ‘Mañana Manuel’ and he cracked up too many times to count. After getting rather sauced we headed back to Tita and Claire and I passed out at 10pm and the rest of the crew went to Hartwood to book our table for the following night. 

Saturday:

This morning I woke up at 6:30. Slept in! Again I saluted the morning sun, worked a tiny bit (it is the weekend after all) and we all rallied and went to breakfast at another yoga lodge to check out their scene. I love how you can stay at one little lodge and just bounce around all the rest for breakfast, lunch, dinner and yoga. 

At 11:45 Joaquin came to find me on the beach and we headed out on our adventure. He is from Argentina and has been in Tulum for a year and a half with his girlfriend. She runs the front desk at a private yoga retreat and he takes people diving daily. They live in a hut on the beach half the size of my bedroom and are happy as can be. How refreshing. 

                                                                         Joaquin

The entire dive trip seemed straight out of a Wes Anderson movie to me. Joaquin is tall, skinny, monotone and very funny. He looked at me after we got in the van and said, “So we have another guest, he is German.” Then he shrugged, turned on the ignition and barreled out of the parking lot. Sure enough at the dive center there was a very eager looking German waiting for us. I could only imagine how this would pan out. 

We got our dive gear organized and headed to the first cenote (underwater river systems found in this area) near the ocean that is half salt water and half fresh water and located amidst the mangroves. It was surreal. We strapped on our gear and headed in. As soon as we plunged in the German’s mask fogged up. He spit and spit and spit in it and kept complaining how he didn’t have enough spit to defog the mask. At one point Joaquin looked at him and deadpanned, “Man you are going to dry out.” I thought I was going to pop my wet suit I laughed so hard. But the German continued until the mask was a mini spittoon. The dive was beautiful and very therapeutic. Gazing up at the mangrove roots with the sun dancing between them, illuminating small schools of fish  and several big tarpon. I always forget what a joy being underwater can be, just observing, not talking, just hearing your breath and soaking in the surreal surroundings.

Our next dive was at Grand Cenote and it was a serious cave dive. Joaquin mapped out or dive and showed us a map as to where we would be going, Cenote dos Ojos or ‘The Two Eyes’ was the name of the area we would be exploring. It was a hard trek with a tank on your back and very steep steps down to the cave but we made it, plunged in and luckily for us the German had coughed up enough crud to keep his mask fog free. We descended into a truly magical place. I felt as if I had entered Neptune’s palace. Stalactites, stalagmites, ‘soda straws’ as Joaquin called the smaller points hanging from the ceiling were everywhere. We turned on our flashlights to enter the cave and as would only happen to the poor German, his flashlight failed. So I had to follow him to light his way as Joaquin was in front with a super sized light. I bubbled out a sigh and carried on. 

About ten minutes in, Joaquin pointed up and we ascended into what I would soon discover was a bat cave. Once I was oriented I heard hundreds of squeaky balls and had fatherly thoughts of Fergus and his favorite loud toy. Then I saw one bat swan dive down and then I realized there were hundreds. How exciting! I shone my light on one and watched him preen, fidget, squeak and then fly away, righting himself from dangling upside down. 

There was a small hole in the top of the cave where they would dart in and out and we all just floated on our backs and watched in delight as the little darlings would twirl about doing whatever bats do. The German fidgeted with his camera most of the time.

The next opening was the other ‘eye’ of our adventure and it was where all of the snorkelers come to take a gander from above. I thought I had entered Neptune’s disco as all of them were above us twirling their flashlights into the dark trying to catch a glimpse of something extraordinary. I did have to have a moment as I spaced out on one big bootyed girl who I don’t think had ever touched water before. Her entire body was rattling around like a Maraca and witnessing her jiggle was worth paying for. Hooter’s should invest in a water tank!

We made our way back through the mysterious passages back to the first cave where we all floated up in silence and just took everything in. I think even Joaquin finds religion in those cave dives even though he goes there almost daily. I can see why the Mayans were so attracted to them eons ago.

After the second dive we were famished so Joaquin drove us back to the dive shop and we wandered into dusty little Tulum’s city center and ordered quesadilla’s off the street. I had a pollo and a zucchini flower one. Those little Mamacita’s with neon eye shadow took my taste palate to another level. Get it girls!  When I got back to Tita I gave Joaquin a hand shake and a hug and we parted ways. He mentioned he is trying to get to Zanzibar to teach diving there; I wish him the very best of luck.

I regrouped with the crew and didn’t have much time to change before it was time for our big night out. We booked at Hartwood across the street and it is the hippest place to dine. We arrived at 6pm and the place was already poppin. We were seated and the drinks began flowing. Lisa had brought a bag of ‘Pecker Whistles’, something to embarrass the bride to be, and doled them out to all of us. She tried to give one to the hostess but she declined, “Oh I have plenty!” she said with a laugh. 

Tonight’s meal ranks up there as one of the best in memory. Everything is cooked on a wood burning fire that roars nearly 24/7. Abby saw a whole fish on the menu and was hell bent on having another so she ordered that with her cousin Courtney. I ordered slow cooked rabbit empanadas and a lentil salad with mango that was sensational. Every order was special and we took turns fawning over each plate. Claire and I were the only smart ones to order dessert and the coconut ice cream and coconut cake drizzled in Mayan honey will be conjured up in our Charleston kitchens this summer for sure.

After dinner we went back to Tita for drinks in the room before heading to a full moon party at a hippy camp called Esperanza. Claire passed on the ordeal but the rest of us soldiered down the beach, the moon’s silver glow our guide (I have never in my life been anywhere with such a bright moon! Moon shadows? My new favorite thing). We heard drums so approached a small hut. Now to back up, we had been told by several people that the Pirate Party for the full moon was going to be THE party. We saw fliers for it and even Joaquin said he may stop by. Well, we entered the hut to find six half dressed dudes banging on drums and shouting at each other. No welcome, no passing of the bottle, nobody got up. Awkward! We danced around a bit and Nick banged a beer bottle on the table to add to the percussion but nobody moved, so one by one we just trailed off back to the beach in complete hysterics. What just happened we will never know but that wasn’t what we had in mind. 

We laughed all the way to the next bar where we ordered Margaritas (and a Margarita pizza by accident) and recapped our bizarre encounter before heading back to Tita, some of us giving that full moon a run for it’s money, others taking pictures in abandoned boats. After such a big day I retired but the rest of the crew stayed on the beach for a late night cocktail and moon lovers dip. I did rejoin briefly as I found a huge black crab in the shower and promptly escorted him into a water pitcher and took him back to his home on the beach. 

                                                                  Moon Shadows!

Sunday:

It never fails the the day before one leaves a vacation one is most relaxed and in tune with the place.

Today was utter perfection. I really slept in and rolled out of bed at 7am. I glided out to the beach for my now routine sun salutation and watched the kids running up and down the beach. 

The rest of the group rallied and we headed to Casa Banana for breakfast. My fruit plate and bread and jam were delicious but it took quite some time for it to arrive. I never understand wait staff who don’t write things down. There were seven of us and you could tell our waitress couldn’t keep track, especially when we added and subtracted items from our meal (Pineapple Juice!). After about 20 minutes she brought out four plates of food and with a very pleased expression she said, “So are we missing anything?”. Poor thing - “Only a few marbles”, I wanted to say. We all busted out laughing as she missed quite a lot. But it all finally arrived. 

After breakfast we said goodbye to Brodie who was flying back to the States and Claire, Abby and I drove out to the Mayan Ruins. What a treat! Not only were they fascinating to see but the iguanas lounging (and loving!) all over the park were an added bonus. But the real magic was the glittering beach below the ruins. I can’t imagine how it must have been when this was a busy port and mini metropolis. I can think of no better place to spend the day. We came prepared with bathing suits and towels so we trotted down the steep stairs to the beach and ran in the waves with abandon. 

On the drive home we stopped at Anna y Jose for lunch where I ordered my first silly cocktail of the week, a massive bowl of Daiquiri. The girls ordered ceviche and I had gorgeous grouper. 

The rest of the day was a blur on the beach. Another first of the week- I totally passed out, drooling and all - total bliss. I am sure the bowl of booze had something to do with it.

For the last supper we headed to Casa Jaguar where we had some seriously sensual food and drink. Too bad their septic tank needed to be emptied. Peew! And the lack of breeze brought out the bugs so on my very last night after being bug free I got three juicy bites. But it was all worth it to experience that darling little spot on our last night.

Monday:

This morning I had my last sunrise on the beach and Claire and I drove out at 8am. We made a pit stop at Mateo’s for a quick breakfast. Wow! We certainly went out with a bang. They brought a bowl of fruit big enough for the town of Tulum and our egg and bacon burrito wraps were worth missing our plane for. But we didn’t! Our tummys full of happiness, we puttered back to Cancun to catch our flights back to work, back to cold, back to another world.

I was blown away by Tulum, I can see why it is such a hot spot but I am pleased to see that it doesn’t feel that way at all. I had many special moments to myself to reflect, relax and enjoy the love of being with some of my oldest and dearest friends. 

Buying The 118

I still feel like I am in a foggy dream. I think reality will soak in when I wake up in Harlem tomorrow morning. I bought a home in Charleston. A true dream come true. Last New Year’s Eve I wrote a wish and put it in the annual NYE resolution jar at Claire’s house. It read, ‘Two Years Till Charleston.’ Who knew it would happen only 11 months later?

I came down to Charleston in September to spend 12 days and to see if I truly wanted to live there part time. To feel out the neighborhoods, people, energy. To sum it up, I teared up every day with sheer happiness. 

-Riding my bike down cobble stone streets with a pink sunset guiding my way - magic. 

-Watching Fergus run wild in the dog park with friendly dogs, nice neighbors and cool breezes - so special. 

-Sitting at Nick’s dining room table and writing, working, emailing as wind chimes gonged and the sweet smell of Coastal Carolina wafted through the house - I was home.

Just to feel out the real estate I reached out to Claire and Abigail’s real estate agent, Nancy Rehm at Century 21. We set a date to meet at Starbucks and open dialogue on what I was looking for. If you ever buy in Charleston, buy from Nancy. First of all she is an absolute Southern hoot. The things that fell out of her mouth had me exploding internally from hysterical laughter. And God help you if she turns on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal- it’s an apocalyptic hissy fit and I loved every minute of it.

She is also damn smart, savvy and held my hand through every aspect of this buy. The next day she handed me a folder of houses to look at and the first one was 118 Spring Street between Rutledge and Ashley. We drove over, parked next to a church and took a look around. Built in 1890 the home is a traditional ‘Charleston Single’. Three bedrooms, two piazzas (they aren’t called porches or balconies in old world Charleston) and lots of doors. Apparently there used to be a tax on the number of doors facing the street, so everyone built their houses long ways with one door on the front and the rest on the side. 

The bay window has two panels of color blocked stained glass and the door was painted purple. I was in love although we walked into Armageddon. The home was bought by a family for their daughter to live in while going to College of Charleston but once she graduated it turned into a college kid fantasy land with four people bunking in, one in the living room turned bedroom, complete with Jameson bottles on the mantle and a rebel flag on the wall.

Student life never ceases to amaze me. In the dining room turned living room there was a mini bar fridge next to the sofa so stoners wouldn’t have to get up and go in the kitchen (the next room) to get a beer.  Above the mantle in that room was a list of ‘Top Ten Quotes to Get Laid’. I kind of wish I kept it.  The bathroom toilets were black with scum (that was the girls room mind you) and the garden was piled sky high with beer and wine bottles. But we saw through all that to the bones, the light, the great Magnolia seen from the back bedroom and the amazing location. 

Next door is Black Bean, one of my favorite health food restaurants, across the street is Octo Batchi, an udon noodle bar, one block away is Xiao Bao Biscuit, a brand new hip Chinese restaurant opened by a couple from Brooklyn, one street away is my favorite restaurant in the world, Hominy Grill and next door to that is a Mexican bar and restaurant called Fuel, located in an old gas station. 

On the west side of the house is a church. Bingo. No rowdy frat boys living next door keeping me up. And I love a tambourine shaking on a Sunday morning. This also leaves me with great views from the top floor piazza. I was hooked.

We looked at five or six more places. One old Victorian on Charlotte Street had 20 foot ceilings and ornate fireplaces in every room, but it needed so much work and was so far away from everything that it didn’t seem worth it. We looked at a couple of duplexes in old houses but for my first home I don’t want to hear heels clicking above me and to have to share a yard with who knows what. 

We visited 118 again, this time Claire came too. She did a thorough inspection and was surprised at its space, condition and location. I had found my home.

I will spare you the next two months of closing procedures. They were relatively painless (Thank You SunTrust!) minus a really horrid situation with my now fired tax accountant who wouldn’t send us some paper work because ‘I am on vacation, I don’t need your money, don’t call my office again.’ Gladly! 

I flew back down Thursday November 29th to close on Friday. I went to dinner with a friend at Hominy and walked by the house. Although the kids got keys to their new home four days ago they were moving out the night before I closed. It was a spin out but one of them saw us looking at the house and asked if I bought it. He was kind enough to let us come in and much to my chagrin nothing was packed or moved! 

I went to bed with a bit of a yank in my stomach and woke up the day of the closing at 8am and took Fergus for a walk back over there, hiding behind a flower shop so I didn’t look like I was stalking them. Sure enough the kids were still pouring beds and sofas out of the house. The cleaning crew arrived and there was no way they could clean with so much still in there so they would come in on Saturday. But the house was glowing in the morning sun and I saw it from a new angle and with new love. Teary eyed again. 

The closing went smoothly and once it was over Nancy dropped me off at the house to putter around. It was finally empty and finally mine. I walked back to Nick’s house, picked up Fergus and brought him back to explore. He is enamored with the second floor piazza where he can bask in the sun yet still hold watch over the street. I went across the street to the deli and met the owner, Charlie. He is a sweet older man and he welcomed me to the area. I bought the essentials: soap, Solo cups and beer. I was having some friends over that night to celebrate and had zero. Rodrigo came over and we cleared the trash from the front yard and sides, raked the back (with a borrowed rake from Abigail) and had a couple of beers until Abigail and Claire arrived. Abigail brought me my own rake, a tool box and a poinsettia as house warming gifts. Claire followed with champagne and wine glasses. 

It was so special to spend the first evening in my first home with some of my oldest friends who I met in Charleston back in 1994. Full circle. We then went to Xiao Bao Biscuit for dinner, had a little too much to drink and then weaved back to our respective homes. My mattress would be delivered in the morning so I had to wait one night to spend the night in the new home.

Saturday was a little fuzzy but Claire and I did serious TCB. We headed out to Marshall’s home goods store and went through our list we made on a soy sauce stained napkin the previous night of everything from trash cans, comforters, pillows, bottle openers to scrub brushes, cleaning supplies and a coffee maker. We then zizzed home for the mattress delivery and darted back out to Lowe’s for ladders, light bulbs and yard bags. Once we were done I washed those sheets as fast as I could before plopping down on my new bed and taking a nap with Fergus. 

That night I had dinner with Li, Punchy and Wade at Fleet’s Landing and caught a glimpse of the holiday boat parade.  I can’t wait to be a part of that next year on Abigail’s boat. We then came back to 118 and broke open some bottles of wine and enjoyed a warm winter night on the piazza, my new drinking spot. 

Sunday was another whirlwind. My contractor, Anthony, and his cousin Damond met me at the house at 10:30am and we dropped Fergus off at Abigail’s for a puppy play date then headed to Home Depot to figure everything out for the renovation. It is so difficult to pick out everything you need and want in such a short period of time for a place that you hope to be in for a very long time, but we did it. New sinks, faucets, tiles, lighting, gas range, paint colors (this place is going to be poppin’ with color!) and cabinets. Both Anthony and Damond are very good at what they do and had great ideas that helped narrow down choices and make the best decisions. 

Once we were done with that gargantuan task we were starving. I offered to take them to lunch and they asked what I wanted. “Soul Food please”. “Anthony turned around from the drivers seat and peered over his glasses, “Oh you want soul food? I got you covered Mister Cator.” And with that he drove us to his uncle’s house where he left us waiting in the car only to return with a plastic bag for each of us filled with home cooked fried chicken, collards, dirty rice with sausage, sweet potato pie and the best damn crab cakes I have ever tasted. You show me a contractor in New York that will take you down the river of family cooked soul food.

I inhaled the crab cakes in the car and saved the rest for later where I could get nasty with it all alone. We then stopped by his dad’s restaurant where he offered us jumbo cups of sweet iced tea and sat down and discussed the renovations with us. He is a contractor too and had some very good ideas. He was such a lovely man, truly caring and his Gullah patois was delicious to listen to. 

On that note Anthony drove me home where I sat in my kitchen and dug my fingers deep in that juicy, greasy chicken, fried to perfection. Tears of joy welled up again. How blessed have I been on this journey? 

That night was the first I had all to myself in the house. I picked up Fergus from Abigail's and helped her decorate her tree then walked home, sat in bed and worked for several hours before passing out with one big deep breath of gratitude before falling fast asleep after such a busy day and a belly full of home cooking.

Monday was busy just picking up last minute things for the house, locks, batteries, etc. and biking around Charleston learning where I am in the city and trying to remember street names and directions. It was my first morning to wake up and lay out my yoga mat and meditate on my piazza. The sun was intense at 8am and Fergus joined me in stretches. Having that time with him really sealed in the joy of owning this home.

This morning we moved the yoga mat to the soon-to-be master bedroom and laid on the floor together and gazed at the great Magnolia. I can’t wait until that is my morning view next spring when it is in full bloom. 

I am now back in New York, settled into 202. Fergus is passed out since he gets nervous flying, and the sun is setting over Harlem. It’s such a wonderful feeling knowing that 118 is down there, locked up, ready to be spruced up and to be the setting for the next great chapter of my life.

New Orleans in Review

Mama has been to New Orleans several times but I had only been once for a long weekend when I was 17 and in a French emersion program at Georgia Tech. Clearly, I don’t remember much. I was eagerly awaiting this part of the trip since so many friends in New York rave about modern New Orleans and how it will be my spirit home.

                                                                       (Soniat House)

Sadly, I missed what they find magical and I don’t see myself returning there. I think some people who don’t know the South find this the perverted, dark South they read about. I guess there is that, but spending so much time in the incredibly elegant cities of Charleston and Savannah, New Orleans simply fell flat.

                                               (His face and her arms had me in stitches)

                           (Check out the needlepoint belt we found mama's going to make for me!)

                           (Fantastic Perfumeur- Thank you Douglas Little for introducing me!)

It had it’s highlights. Our hotel, Soniat House, was sublime. I will never forget those biscuits.

Commanders Palace lunch was amusing, Galatoire’s was chaotic but epic Red Fish menieuiere, potato soufflé and Oysters Rockefeller. The carousel bar was a hoot and I nearly got sick spinning around that thing. I loved, loved Magazine Street and its charming boutiques and great antiques and Myscha Lake belting out standards at The Spotted Cat was gorgeous. And who can complain about the architecture?

                                                            (The Garden District)

But the amount of drunk, delirious, drug riddled people that greet you at every corner in every area was sad to me and mother, not to mention scary. We were admiring the beauty of a white husky regally perched on the sidewalk while his filthy owner was drinking and attempting to play a guitar. When another dog came up to say hello the owner grabbed the husky by the collar and threw him against a wall. Mother and I were so angry and certainly said something but he just threw an F-bomb our way and went on looking for discarded cigarettes. Another man yelled at his son so loudly we just ducked into a corner to wait for him to pass. A drunk man was waving his paper bag of booze around so violently in front of the Carousel Bar even the door man got nervous. And you can forget Bourbon Street.

I didn’t find any of it charming, amusing or exciting. It was just dirty, depressing and dangerous. Those poor 18 year old girls slouched up against poles in thongs and too big heels waiting for customers just turned my stomach.

              (The New Orleans Athletic Club- jogged over for a quick workout and a rubber neck)

Maybe I’m getting old! Maybe I am in a different head space, regardless, it soured the city for me. One place I did go gaga for was the New Orleans Athletic Club. Our hotel has  free passes for guests so I got up Tuesday morning and jogged over to the Edwardian explosion for a little work out. The marble slab showers, indoor pool and deep red drinking room were enough to make me want to move in. 

                                        (Myscha Lake belting out standards at The Spotted Cat)

This morning mama and I woke up for one last biscuit before heading to the airport on the busiest travel day of the year. We were blessed with great weather, no traffic and two hours to spare before our on time flights. 

I can only imagine what boat we will float on next be it on the Nile, the Ashely or Bosphorus. Stay tuned. 

American Queen Adventure Last Day!

On a lark the night before we realized we had nothing to do in St. Francisville and asked about the ‘Mystery, Mayhem’ tour. Ended up sounding too bizarre to pass up. So we booked our tickets to see a haunted plantation and visit Angola prison. Seriously.

The tour started at 8am so we hustled and grumbled in the morning and made it on the bus in time. Seeing the landscape of Louisiana was wonderful. Very lush, lots of spanish moss and ramshackle old mansions, cabins, barns and stables. 

We arrived at Myrtle Plantation at 9am, just in time for the poor souls paying to stay there to get bombarded by peppy people ready for a tour. You can google the plantation to get the full story on the haunting but here is what I recall:

A slave girl was spending a great deal of time with the master of the plantation. They were getting so friendly that she wanted him all to herself. She began eavesdropping on his wife to hear if she said anything bad about her. After getting caught too many times they had her ear sliced off as a reminder to stop eaves dropping. From then on she wore a turban to hide the mutilation. 

She still wanted to prove her love to her master so she devised a plan. She would bake a cake for the children and add just a bit of Oleander to it. The kids would get sick and she would heal them with her special medicine and the family would find her invaluable. Well she added too much Oleander and the children and the wife all died from poisoning. The slave was then hung and her body weighted down by bricks in her apron, sunk to the bottom of the Mississippi. 

Boo!

Now she haunts the house, her silhouette can be seen in the living room mirror and a picture of her floating near the house was passed around in excitement. The woman of the house was very superstitious and that is why there are crosses on all the windows around the doors and key holes are turned upside down to confuse naughty spirits.

Ghosts and ghoul aside the home is incredibly gorgeous. The owners brought a plaster worker back with them from France and he lived with them for years creating all the moldings and cornices. 

Next stop was Angola prison, one of America’s maximum security prisons. But what makes this one so unique is that it is a working farm as well. The prison owns 18,000 acres and raises horses, blood hounds, wolf hybrids as well as acres of crops and cattle.

They also are famous for their rodeos which look highly amusing yet terrifying. The thought that every man you see in there has murdered someone kind of takes the joy out of any of it for me. Don’t get me started on the museum! It was like a haunted house with hand built coffins, images of bludgeoned inmates and weapons they have created over the years to escape or kill. No thank you.

Tonight was our last night on board. I was still pretty weary from the night before and rising at the crack for the tour. But we had a lovely dinner, watched the final show (Christmas themed!) and went to the Engine Room Bar for one last drink and goodbye to all the people we met.

I was pleasantly surprised at how lovely this boat was. I would go again for sure. But they must get their marketing team organized and advertise in places other than AARP. Also, a coat requirement for dinner would be nice since way too many leisure suits, puff paint tees and just plain tee-shirts were worn every night. I kept day dreaming of renting the entire boat for all my friends and family and having burlesque nightly in the main saloon and theme nights for the evenings- 20s night! Caftan Queen! Dress as your favorite Southern Idol!

Tomorrow we disembark, say goodbye to Rod and Dotty and settle into New Orleans for two days of discovery and liquor. 

American Queen Adventure Day Six

I am renaming Vicksburg, ‘Sicksburg’. Holy hot dog I haven’t been that queasy since college. Thank you to the crew for Patron and fried everything! But it was fun to see people who I have encountered daily and now I know them quite well after our wild night. Oh that waitress was twirling! That server was vogueing! I think I motor boated that cleaning lady! 

We had quite a lovely day in ‘The Red Carpet To The South’ as Vicksburg calls itself. We opted out of all the Civil War battleground tours and decided to stroll the main street with it’s lovely shops and head to a handsome antebellum home for lunch. Anchuca was the home of Jefferson Davis’ brother and Jefferson gave an important speech from it’s balcony in 1865. I googled for great places to eat in town and this stoic B&B popped up for having some of the finest dining in the area. 

Dotty, Rod, Mom and I walked the quiet gentile neighborhoods until we found the house. There we had awesome chicken salad, pecan pie and iced tea then took a tour of the home and poked around the bedrooms and gardens. We then strolled back to the court house where we waited for about 20 minutes for the tour bus to pick us up to take us back to the boat.

Oddly enough that was a highlight for me. We don’t ‘just sit’ nearly enough these days and it harkened back to an era pre cell phones where one would simply sit and wait patiently for a ride to come. I organized acorns from a massive oak and made them into a little work of art. Then I took the tops off and made them into Lady Gaga nail extensions. Mom and Dotty just sat in the sun and baked while Rod toured around the block spotting the random curiosities he is known to find (Cator, did you see that purple glitter car?!). Serenity.

We finally got picked up and headed back to the boat where I rested up for dinner and our nightly activities. I did pop up to the Front Porch for a snack and discovered the hot dog machine. Hot Dog! While I was making mine, Carli, one of the waitresses asked me to pull two off the grill for her. She then refused my offer of two hot buns but instead, quietly plopped them both in a cup and sashayed off. I about hemorrhaged in shock and awe and requested a picture. God Bless that girl.

That evening the entertainers presented a show called ‘Walking in Memphis’. Lots of glitter, gospel and blues. Very entertaining. And on that note I crashed. My liver sent a little blessing to heaven.

American Queen Adventure Day Five

Today was a day on the river. We paddled down with the goal to reach Vicksburg  around 6pm. Success! Days on the water are my favorite - sleeping late, painting, lots of gym time, loads of reading and relaxing and meditating on the water. 

                                          (Sunrise painting of birds, buoys and sand bars)

I was pretty tired from the night before so I was sure I would be in bed by 10pm. Wrong. Some of the crew invited me to head into town for ‘a drink’ when we arrived at port. I turned them down, Mother called me a wimp so I rallied and headed out. 

                                  (Our sizzlin' waitress Dorothy posing with me and Mr. Keenan)

We found a surprisingly good lookin’ bar called The Biscuit Factory. It is an old brick building with a nice bar, fried everything and....wait....karaoke. And therein is my downfall.

Children, Uncle Cator got drunker than Cooter Brown. It really wasn’t my fault. 

The crew ordered about six rounds of Patron shots in a row. We ordered so much that the bartender had to drive to the liquor store - twice! It started out with 5-6 of us but the drunker we got, the more texts went out and by the end of the night there were around 45 crew members at the bar dancing, singing, smoking and eventually playing strip foozball. That’s right folks! I ended up wearing some dude’s cowboy boots around the bar while singing ‘Jolene

You know I had to sing a song or twelve. The one’s I remember singing are:

‘Proud Mary’- Twice - Did anyone realize this song is about Steam Boats? (Big wheels keep on turning/Rolling down the river)

‘Cabaret’ - You know, my standard party popper

‘Rehab’ - Don’t ever sing this drunk. It doesn’t work

‘Islands in the Stream’ - With another crew member. The highlight of the evening

There may have been more but I don’t remember. I do remember twirling a girl around the dance floor and when I picked her up and spun her around everyone screamed with excitement. We are famous! Actually, I had lifted her skirt above her butt and revealed everything to everyone. Dang it. 

Thank God for the fried Jalapeno’s, fried cheese dongs, french fries and fried pickles. There was a Civil War in my stomach for sure. 

We bobbled back to the boat around 3am. The next day was truly a black day on The American Queen for half the staff. Zombie boat!

American Queen Adventure Day Four

Favorite day so far! 

We met Rod and Dotty in the dining room for breakfast and then puttered up the ramp and to a tour bus to The Peabody Hotel to see the famous ducks march into the fountain at 11am. Now, I am usually game for just about anything and I was a little excited to see this fabled event but I have to admit- Not Worth It!

We fumbled around for 30 minutes and then some goof came out looking like a ring leader and gave us the history of the ducks in the fountain. That was amusing- it all started with two drunks sneaking their live duck decoys into the fountain and leaving them in there overnight to the delight of guests.

But then the music filled the room, the elevators opened and five ducks waddled about 10 feet into the fountain and that was it. I thought they may march around the fountain, room, bar, Christmas tree. NOPE. Is that all there is?

After that little life disappointment we moseyed to Walgreens to buy iPhone chargers (American Queen please stock theses ASAP) and also picked up Elvis Christmas ornaments. Yes, we have already caught the King Fever.

We then tooled back to the boat, grabbed some coffee and caught another bus for the ‘In Elvis’ Footsteps’ tour. Sounds like a Jesus tour in Israel, right? 

First stop was Sun Studios where Presley recorded his first song. He wanted to sing something for his Mama’s birthday so went in and paid $4 to cut a single to give to her. How sweet is that? The secretary noticed his talent and played a copy for the owner. The rest is glittery history. Of course Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and Ike Turner all recorded there too, so it’s pretty iconic. 

What I loved is how broke down it is. They haven’t glazed it over with stucco and tile. The front is still a diner and sells crappy milkshakes, Rockabillie’s run the whole place and bands from around the world have left their stickers all over the place. The recording studio amazingly hasn’t been touched since the old days and people still record in there.

                                                          (Elvis stood RIGHT here!)

As great as it was, the tour left us there for two hours. Way too long! Then we had to speed over to Graceland and twirl around there to get to the boat in time for departure. Nerds. Get it together people!

Yet Graceland was total magic. I never thought I would enjoy it like I did. We were so pleased that we caught it in it’s full Christmas glory! Apparently Elvis decorated the place himself and he was a big window shopper. The Jungle Room was inspired from the circular wooden chair in the corner that Elvis found and fell in love with.

The white sofa that stretches an entire room as a highlight as was his tufted pool room and poodle wallpaper in his parents bathroom. The clothing collection in the former racket ball court building was dazzling and awe inspiring! Plus all the memorabilia from around the world was totally tickety boo.

Sadly, we were a bit rushed so I missed seeing his car collection but we did get some shopping time in and it was well worth it! Total crap tat but hey, it’s a must. 

I was really impressed how beautiful Graceland is. The home’s exterior and the rolling hills and huge old trees look like Kentucky. Sadly, the horses were not at pasture but the fall colors were pitch perfect.

Since tomorrow is a ‘day at sea’ Rod and I decided to push the booze button and turn it out! We had Manhattans before dinner, wine with dinner, mango martini’s in the Engine Room and champagne in the room where we hosted two crew members for lots of laughs and falling yoga poses. Weeeee! 

                                                  (My first panorama pic on the trip!)

The American Queen Adventure Day 3

 Today was a rather relaxing one. New Madrid is a rickety little ole town so there isn’t much to see. It has quite a history though. 200 years ago it was the epicenter of an earthquake so tremendous that church bells vibrated as far north as Toronto. A steam boat called ‘The New Orleans’ was nearby and passengers witnessed geysers of mud shooting out of fields, collapsing banks and part of the river actually changed direction and flowed north because of the seismic shift.

Needless to say, there isn’t much to see in a fault line! But we did tour a lovely antebellum house. Built in 1860 the Hunter-Dawson house was home to a family of local store owners.

The wife trekked to Saint Louis and bought piles of rococo and Italianate furniture that never left the house. The family sold it to the city in 1966 and here it sits. I love the petticoat closet! And the husbands room is mighty handsome. Rod went gaga over the hyper-patterned wallpaper and carpet.

           
                                                                   (Petticoats!)

After touring the home we went back to the boat, had lunch, and then I worked a bit in the Gentleman’s Card Room overlooking the bow of the boat.

                                                                        (The Calliope!)

                                            (Stacks down so we can squeeze under a bridge)

Then came the now comical routine of the evening- dinner at 5:15 followed by lounge show, floor show and engine room night cap (at 9:15!).

Quote of the night from the lounge singer:
“Why don’t y’all take a Fats Waller of your cocktail!” Get it? 

The highlight was ‘Mr. Banjo’ - Mike Gentry. Everyone knows I am fiending  for my own banjo so I was twitterpatted to catch his act. He is everything. Gentry has the white, waxed mustache, his banjo is 24 carat gold with ebony on the neck and pearl on the peg head. He played ‘dueling banjos’ with the pianist, which was awesome. Sadly, there was no ‘Rainbow Connection’ but he didn’t disappoint in the talent arena. 

                                                    Tomorrow is Memphis and ELVIS! 

The American Queen Adventure Day 2

Tuesday was surprisingly fun. Cape Girardeau is a pretty little town and it is chock full of antique and vintage stores. It was almost eery how every single store on Main Street was military antiques, flea markets, china shops, doll shops, where did all of this oldness come from?

We did discover a truly Southern stop- The Paula Deen ‘Living’ store. Apparently she has an entire furniture collection, much of it was pretty nice too. One piece we all fell in love with that was not part of the Deen Dream Home Collection was a wicker and metal pagoda chandelier with little China men sitting around it and gazing down to the floor. Kind of fab for the Charleston house! We are working with them on shipping to see if it happens. 

We then came back to the boat for lunch in the dining room and then a little down time to catch up on work and rest. At 5:15 it dinner time! Our waitress requires much investigation.  Dorothy is from Charleston and very pretty and quiet but when she speaks she always has a snappy comment that sends me into fits.

When Rod walked in wearing a loden green hat with peacock feather adornment she just whispered, “Ooooh I love that hat. It’s real nasty!” Later when she was taking our order I asked what the catch of the day was. “It’s catfish. But I bet you don’t eat catfish. You are too classy for catfish aren’t ya?” I got a wink and a smile out of that one. I bet she has a one woman show in some church basement that would bring me the greatest joy.

                                          (Cocktails with the Captain, Bobby and Ms. Jackie)

We dined then headed to the lounge to hear the resident singer, Leah belt some tunes out. One of our new friends from the ship, Larry Cox Jr. who is part of the show cast onboard, sang a tune or two, one dedicated to Dotty, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.  It was very sweet.

(Larry Cox Jr. crooning)

Then we waddled down the hall to the main stage to hear Peter Mintun. He is a pianist from New York and a friend with the Governors Island flapper crew. Heidi from the Frick connected us and we had a lovely chat before he went on. He didn’t play anything past 1928 and every song had to do with New York. Very entertaining and charming.

(Mr. Peter Mintun!)

For the last act we headed to the infamous Engine Room to hear Ms. Jackie and Bobby bust it out for their 50s and 60s night. They tore it up and my little lady from the night before dragged my hung over ass back to the dance floor to twist through two songs. 

By the wee hour of 10:15pm I had to call it a night. Mama and I dragged back to the room where we both passed out by 11. Vacation brain is settling in!

PS- I am still not quite sure what happened on the first night but I keep getting people coming up to me asking when I am on again...

The American Queen Adventure Day 1

What happened last night? I remember being in the ‘Engine Room’ bar and I think I was singing ‘Rainbow Connection’ with a gorgeous woman who looked like Paula Deen but skinnier and lots more amusing. It is 7:16am and my head is a mud pie. God help me when I see my bar tab. Oh and I think someone is taking me to a music store to buy a banjo today too. Lord, and who was that little old German lady that I spun around the dance floor so fast we almost fell over?

All in a nights work on my first night on the American Queen paddle boat cruise down the Mississippi River. 

How did I end up on this thing? I think it had to do with a bottle or two of wine as well. I remember about six months ago, Rod got a phone call from his mama, Dotty. “Well I just booked a trip on a river boat all by myself! Sure would be nice to have some company...” Rod dead panned, I’ll go if you go. I called my mother and before I finished my sentence she was booked. So here we are!

We arrived in St. Louis on Sunday and had a lovely dinner at Herbies downtown. Mama and Dotty have never met so it was a night of introductions and family stories. Monday we took a twirl up the famous St. Louis arch, took a cab to ‘antiques row’ and then boarding the ship at 3.

I have to admit I was expecting the boat to be a bit on the Disney side of camp with cardboard decor and dusty fake flowers. I am pleasantly surprised. Built in 1995 the American Queen is apparently the largest steam boat ever built. The paddle is impressive and churns at a mighty fast rate. Our room has enviable ‘Arts & Crafts’ wallpaper and the gentleman’s lounge is stocked with handsome boar and bear taxidermy.

I think the dining room is my favorite. It is so very Harmonia Gardens! I’m waiting for Dolly Levy to order a turkey dinner any evening. There is also a calliope on the top floor. If you are not familiar, it is a horrid invention of the Victorian’s birthed from whistles and steam. If you have ever heard the nightmarish music of a merry-go-round, you have heard a calliope.

After settling in we trotted off to dinner at 5:15. Yes, you read correctly. We booked in for the early bird dinner and since everyone on this thing is 90+, dinner is either at 5:15 or 7:15. We figured we should take the earlier seating so we can start drinking at a decent hour. You know.

Our Maitre d’ is memorable. His name is Chris and he has a french twist and brows for days. When I found out he is from Atlanta we became dear friends. My other favorite person so far is the singer from the ‘Engine Room’ bar who I mentioned earlier.

After dinner we went to the floor show where two couples sang every riverboat song in the book. They started the show in 1880’s clothes and made their way through the 20s, 40s and ended with  60s sequins and some seriously jacked wigs. Oh and their band was called ‘The Steamboat Syncopators’. I am so stealing that one.

Here is the playlist:

Proud Mary- Ike and Tina

Roll on Mississippi- Charley Pride

The River- Garth Brooks

Riverboat Days- The Back Porch Majority

Ol’ Man River-Showboat

After the show we headed to the engine room to hear Ms. Jackie (previously known as Paula Deen) belt them out. This is where I lost the plot. Mother and Dotty went to bed and Rod and I ordered about 1000 glasses of wine. We sang, I danced, I twirled that sweet little lady around the dance floor multiple times and we gazed out onto the silent Mississippi and up at the dazzling sky above. I nearly cried with pleas for the banjo player to help me find one on this trip. He told me there is a store in port today with decent ones so I gave him my card. Get ready for my Christmas show!

I woke this morning around 7:30 still pleasantly buzzed and did morning stretches on the balcony as we pulled into a foggy Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Sadly the town has decided to jack hammer the dock at 8am so my head is about to explode. The boat apparently has tried to wipe out the noise with more noise- a rag time band! So I think I will end this epistle and try to get some shut eye in the bathroom, or just get up with the grannies and get going.

More tomorrow.

My Non-Saga with Sandy

Here I sit in a gorgeous house in Saugerties with two of my favorite old friends drinking Pumpkin Ale, Fergus passed out on the couch after nipping some steak fat from our stew and a fire crackling in the corner.

Yet the television is grinding and showing us sights from New York, New Jersey and Staten Island that are just unfathomable. Anderson Cooper and Governor Cuomo are talking to people at the Freedom Tower site that said there are 200 million gallons of water left to pump out. What? Whitehall subway, which was just renovated at a cost of millions of dollars, still has two stories under water. Fuel had mixed with salt water,    deteriorating everything quickly and efficiently.

 This entire situation has been a nightmare that I have only seen on TV and through Facebook and word of mouth. When the hurricane hit Manhattan Rod, Philip and I were cooking a roast chicken, listening to Bizet and shrugging our shoulders when we would look out the windows sighing, “Is this it?” There was hardly any rain (Irene flooded Rod’s home severely) and the trees were whipping around, but nothing too horrifying.  I took Fergus out for a walk that night and saw cracked trees on the bigger boulevards and standing water in some tree beds but that was all the terror felt in Harlem. Our power was on and we breezed through it. 

It wasn’t until I turned on the television to hear the panic in voices and saw images online of water pouring into subway stations and turning the East Village into a lake that I realized what was happening down town. To be honest and totally selfish, the event for me was two days off with all events canceled! WAHOO! I was in pajamas for three days, getting loads of work done on the website I am launching December 1st and getting books and magazines read that were piling up. I even went to bed at 10:30 one night. That hasn’t happened in years.

Way before Sandy was a sparkle in the weatherman’s eye, I had planned to forgo Halloween at the Boom Boom Room with a performance by Grace Jones. Instead I wanted to come upstate and spend time with Angela and Colin who are here from England with their 20 month old girl, Ren. I kept my plan and drove up on Wednesday morning with little to no traffic. What was eerie was the continuous stream of tree service and electricity company trucks steadily humming south to help out. 

The day I arrived we took a magical hike to Kaaterskill Waterfall, a double waterfall that was a favorite subject for the Hudson River School artists. I took Fergus off leash and he bounded up rocks, through mossy streams and around massive tree trunks. I don’t think I have ever seen him happier. As we hiked through the thick, dense, wet forest I caught up with Angela who I haven’t seen in over two years and got to hear little Ren sing ‘Old McDonald’ while snuggled in her baby carrier on her father's back.

We approached the mighty waterfall and saw a mother and her son just gazing at the fall. The mother turned around and asked, “Are you refugees too?” That was the first time I heard that, and I would hear it many times over three days. So many people had escaped up to this rustic paradise where little has been touched by this Big Magilla. The sylvan forests here carry on as they always have.

Today we drove down to visit Danielle at West Point. It was wonderful to see little Ren run through the Civil War cannons, plugged into the ground, muzzle down, to symbolize the end to a nation divided. Yet that is what I am most worried about. Gas is running out around Manhattan, lines are growing throughout the state to stock up. Electricity may not come back on for 10 more days in some places. Staten Island is already barking that nobody is paying attention to them as two young boys were discovered dead in a field, ripped from their mothers arms in a storm surge. There is much anger in the air.

But let’s only think about the positive. I have remained unscathed and Patrick has been staying in my room since he has been flooded out of his home in the East Village. People are sharing cabs, helping each other out and coming together just as they did after 9/11. One comment that has stayed with me was from my favorite burlesque dancer and friend, World Famous *BOB*:

I just had the pleasure of hanging out, serving food to, and walking to the powder room- some REALLY cool seniors at the Park Slope Armory tonight. You can volunteer for a few hours- they really need 5am-9am people. Hanging out with old people is like getting a post card from your future. ♥

Thank you BOB, you are beautiful inside and out. 

Last Day! Monaco and Eze

Last day! But what a way to wake up- In the port of Monaco we tower over the largest ships, apparently the one next to us is one of six owned by a Saudi Prince and his daily slip fee is $26,000. And who isn’t helping Syria? Honestly...

Since several of us from the group have already spent numerous times in this principality we decided to hire a taxi and visit Eze. I haven’t been there since I was 14 and remembered the tiny winding streets and mile high views. It did not disappoint. 

We hired the loveliest of drivers to take us to Eze. It always amazes me how gracious the French can be when you are not in Paris. He suggested a stop by Fragonard, an old perfume factory and another place I visited when I was a teen. We arrived at 8:30am and were the first ones in the door. The smells were delectable and the shopping was just what mother needed after 12 days of buying zero. 

Brett and Gayle and I walked and walked and climbed and hiked till we reached the top of this towering village. We could see Cap d’Antibes, St. Tropez, Cap Ferrat and all of the other glittering little spots I have grown up reading about in Tender is the Night and all those other 20’s lullabies. 

 I love these mini tractors they use to haul things around Eze.

 My favorite symbol- the Salamander of Francois I's.

We found an olive oil store carved out of the side of a hill called Deli. It was smaller than my closet at home but stocked full of amazing infused oils. The handsome owner let us sample the lavender, basil and spicy infused treat. What a tonic! 

Please click and enlarge these to enjoy the full view. They are surreal...

Yes, that's a heap of Jasmine!

After we wound down the town of Eze we took a cab back to Monaco and had lunch in front of the casino. It was a little decadent but where else does one eat in Monaco? After finishing a bottle of wine and taking a tour around we headed back to the ship. Realizing it was way too far we found another delightful cab driver who belted out Frank Sinatra all the way to the ship. 

Once back from our last port I high tailed it to the hot tub and spent an hour squeezing the last  drops of sun out of the Mediterranean while watching the ship pull out and head to Barcelona where we will fly out of Friday morning. We love that city but we have spent plenty of time there in the past and after 17 days away we were both looking forward to home. 

Mother has a trip to Florida for Danielle’s graduation party and then a wedding to plan for July 15th for my oldest niece. I have friends in town next week, need to spend a great deal of time in the office and cannot wait to give Fergus countless hours of playtime and attention. I miss him so!

Don’t think we don’t already have another cruise lined up. This one on a paddle boat down the Mississippi River in November with Rod and his mother, Dotty. This trip may have had it’s exotic moments but tootin' down to Nawlin’s on a paddle boat sippin' mint juleps and peaking at plantations from their backyards is going to be more Lucullan than anything ole Monaco could possibly offer. 

Thanks for reading and more soon!

Love

Day 14: Cinque Terre

After an unexpected day at sea (the port of Livorno refused our entry because they had a cargo ship they deemed more important, ended up on the front page of the paper for it’s idiotic circumstances) we ended up in Livorno on Wednesday having to cancel our day in Marseilles. 

While we wanted to give the royal finger to Italy for their dysfunction, mother and I were so excited to get the chance to experience Cinque Terre. We took an hour long drive through the most sensual countryside, passing medieval villages dangling from hills like plump batch of grapes, Pisa from a distance and the mountains of Carrara white with freshly sliced marble.

 That's not snow its the marble quarries!

If you squint you can see the leaning tower!

Cinque Terre are five little towns dotting the hills of the coast of Italy. They were deemed a UNESCO heritage site a while back and are now thriving with tourists poking through like a herd of cattle (me) and those who rent rooms perched on cliffs to write and watch waves crash (me the next time). 

We started in Riomaggiore, walked to Manarola and then took a train to Vernazza and another to Monterrossa-al-Mare. Two of the towns were heavily damaged by massive floods last October but unlike the Italian economy, the townspeople were thriving like bees rebuilding their hives. 

 Crafty knit wit for Jesus!

Mother and I had lunch overlooking the crashing waves as an afternoon rain sprinkled the young soccer team shouting on a nearby field. The proschutto and melon was sublime and the beer was soothing. We sat and recapped the trip so far, our highlights and what we would change. 

We walked back to the Stazione to meet the group and catch the train but with some extra time on my hands I decided to walk down to gaze at the once great Neptune who from 1910 till WWII held up a dancing terrace where a generation of Italian’s danced under the moonlight to long lost bouncy bands. The poor God was destroyed during The War but has been partially rebuilt.

 Creepy skull people.

 Our view at lunch

My favorite!

 Neptune in his glory days

 And today.

That evening the entire crew convened at the steak house on the ship and gorged on too much meat before turning in for an early night where we watched the sunset from the terrace of our suite. How seldom do we spend the time to see such beauty?

Tomorrow is Monaco, however brief a visit. 

Day 12: Rome

Hoorah! A big city. Even I get a little needy of some snap in the air after a week of port towns. I haven't seen Rome for 15 year and was so excited to fill my lungs with the air of history.

Mother and I made our own tour and it was delightful.

First stop was Le Domus Romane under the Palazzo Valentini pictured below. When they were excavating for a parking lot they discovered a wealthy Roman mansion and have done an incredible job presenting it. All the floors are glass so you walk over the entire home and with great video work they recreate the rooms as they might have been. It was rated the number one attraction on Trip Advisor and I can see why.

When we visited we were there for the French tour so we just took it and I translated what I could for mama. Still got it in me! 

Here is the column they describe in depth in the museum which you then see at the end of the tour.
No pics allowed in the museum but check out the site!

Next up was a walk to the Pantheon. My favorite building in Rome. I forgot how OLD it is. How divine is that dome? The light is magical. We wandered about gazing up and down and reading as much as we could on the history.

Look! Italian style....

Then we went to Monti, near the top of the Spanish steps to see some menswear stores that people had recommended. Closed on Monday! Oh Italy.

Then we drove 20 minutes away to a restaurant my friend Rocky recommended. We got there and -closed on Monday! Really Italy?

Our driver took us to a restaurant he likes and it was perfect- overlooking the Coliseum we had carbonara and one big ole beer. Perfecto.

Then we cabbed up to the Villa Borghese. I haven't been there before and we found it totally delightful. Of course we went to see the sculpture museum and it was-you guessed it- closed on Monday. But the grounds are a delight.

After my beer I thought I could do Tree pose on this pilar. It wasn't pretty and mother wasn't happy. But it happened.

The villa!

The gardens!

Bird cage roof?

Some other building of wonder.

And to celebrate a perfect day in Rome- dessert at the Piazza del Popolo. Last time I was there was during the Italian revolt against Brazil when they won the World Cup. It was a scene! I had never seen a taxi driver cry. All over soccer...

Here is the place I picked out for myself if I ever need to spend more time in the Eternal City.

Last picture before back to the ship. Perfect day!

Day Eleven: Sardinia, La Maddalena

Yesterday we had another relaxing day island hopping. When we reached Sardinia we immediately boarded a bus to another port to take us to La Maddalena, an island famous for it's beaches.

We loved swerving through the Sardinian granite mountains and hearing how it became a jet set destination in the 60's thanks to the Aly Khan and his investment in the island.

Then we drove onto a ferry and cruised 30 minutes to Maddalena.

Check out those waters!

I'll take a house right about here.

After spending some time touring about we spent an hour downtown where everything was closed for Sunday but we enjoyed looking about all the same. I adore this building. This color is so rich to me. It's the result of an orgy between a peach, cantaloupe and plump little red cherry. I can't get enough of this color.

And that's it for this post! Quick and easy. Another place I could come back and spend a week.

Today was Rome. Posting soon. 

Day Ten: Sicily

 This was our view when we peeled the curtains back this morning. Sicily! The home of Sofia from The Golden Girls. Ahhh..... And no, I'm not even mentioning The God Father. Sigh, that reference was all too prevalent.

But this island was a TOTAL highlight! I always thought Sicily was the New Jersey of Italy. A little tacky, not as classy. But like New Jersey, it's got a bad rap. This island is epic. Guy de Maupassant wrote: A landscape where you find everything created to seduce the eyes, mind and fantasy.
Couldn't agree more!

 Speaking of fantasy... This welcomed us into the port of Messina.

 This is all we saw of Messina since it was bombed to bits in WWII.

Off to Taormina! About a 45 minute drive from our port this charming town in the hills is where I could spend a summer writing.

 LOOK! Mount Etna! She's fuming about something.

We stopped at this little cafe and it seems that it has been quite the hot spot since the 50s.
This pic is from Life Magazine.

I have always been obsessed with these head vases. I asked our guide the backstory and he said back in the day the locals would kill pirates and put their heads on their roof tops to show they have been busy. These rotten pirate heads inspired artists to start making vases in the same shape. Even more grotesque and incredible!

Now THIS is from a bar that was all about the penis. This is a measuring board you can take out to the clubs with you. I love Sicily!

Some penis art in the window. Sadly the bar was closed at 9:30 am or I would have moved in.

Me and Mount Etna. Notice the moon over the puff of smoke.

Mama and her namesake hotel.

JEWELS! Justin Giunta you need to come and conquer.

Cannoli are from Sicily so we HAD to have one. Mother was in heaven. We had two.

Here is our happy group drinking and relaxing before NOON! God love this crew.

Our view.

This is our view from the table at lunch. We ate at Cisterna del Moro. We smelled the pizza and followed our noses. The view didn't hurt.

Cheese with lemons and pistachios!

I didn't know Carmen Miranda was a pirate.

That's all from this amazing day. I cannot wait to come back and spend a week on this island.

Tomorrow - Sardinia.

Day Eight: Izmir, Turkey

 Today was another whirlwind day in a different country. But lovely and exciting with some only minor irritation.

We arrived in Izmir (formerly Smyrna founded by Alexander the Great) around 7am and met our guide at 8:30am. We told him we wanted to go to a bazaar and see local crafts and textiles, etc. So for some unknown reason he took us to downtown Izmir and dropped us in th city center for an hour and disappeared. The 'bazaar' was like 50 little streets of K-Mart's. Horrifying. So mama and I sat at a cafe and had turkish coffee for an hour.  I felt like I did a bump of speed afterwards. Yowzers.

Next we drove an hour to visit Mary's house. Yes THAT Mary as in the Virgin. Apparently a German nun had a vision in the 1860's that Mary's home was in the hills near Ephesus near a stream. Sure enough some people went a searching and found a little house in the hills next to a stream and declared it a sacred spot. The Vatican restored it and paved the road and it's a massive attraction.

 Here is a 2000 year old baptismal pool near the house.

It's Mary's house!

Apparently this screw ball Asian lady from our ship thought she would do a photo shoot in front of the house. She even brought her own peeps. She delighted the line of tourists to no end and she vamped in her Warhol looking sari. Everything about it was bananas.

I'm not sure Mary or her son would approve.

Get it gurl!

Now turn to the right!

This monk was none too pleased, especially after she didn't even tour Mary's house, just cut through the line and headed out.

Sacred healing water below the house.

I perved out and took pictures of the hot guard. I'm sure Mary wouldn't mind.

Next stop was Ephesus. I was there 15 years ago and was amazed at all the work that has been done since then. So much has been pieced back together.

Look-its water pipes from 2000 years ago! The the right was the sewage drain.

This was one of the school and it had heated floors. And we thought that was new and fancy.

 I hope mother washed her hands after petting that mangy thing.

LOVE these cow head water spouts.

LOVE this lion claw on the foot of each stadium seat.

This was the hospital. They used the same two snakes on a rod symbol we use today.

 Me and Hercules!

Serious mosaics.

The turlets! Last time I was there you could sit on them and I have a great pic of me and dad on the throne...

The library

I took this picture for Price Latimer!

Apparently we missed a gladiator theater moment. Damn, damn, damn....

Next stop was a rug factory. This is the part where I nearly popped. We ask for shopping and he brings us to a rug factory where we are sure he gets a commission and nobody wanted a rug! See, the Greeks would never be this tacky. But we went and while everyone else was being hypnotized into buying something I scoped out this weird corner with popcorn only to realize it was piles of silk worm cocoons. COOL! This nice man showed me how the make silk thread from the cocoons. Sadly, the have to kill the little worms by boiling them. :(

But look at the results! This rug took two years to make and was $6,000. No I didn't buy it.

Two huge bags of silkworm cocoons!

Silk thread being spun directly from the cocoons.

They plunge this brush over and over in the bowl of cocoons in the water and that is how they find a thread to start spinning. They then pull it into the metal hole and connect it to the wheel. Pretty amazing.

And that was the end of the day. No lunch and lots of walking but great experience. We all passed out on the drive back and did all of our shopping at the customs control building at the port. Then we all got totally wasted last night and I motor boated one of mom's friends while others belted out karaoke.

Thank God today was a day at sea to sleep in!

Day Seven: Athens, Greece

It has been 15 years since I first sailed into Greece on the Windstar (now THAT'S a ship!) and it was equally as magical this go around. Just imagining all of the amazing people who have cruised into this same port over 4,000 years. Kind of mind boggling. Equally mind boggling was that I was up at 6am to watch the sun rise and we had to meet everyone at 8am for our tour.

 Lisa from our crew booked a private guide and he was stellar. We headed to the Parthenon at 9am and it was already buzzing but still manageable. It was great to see it again with a more mature eye. But it was equally as difficult to navigate and people dropped like flies on the slippery marble and cracked concrete that they flooded the pathways with at some point. It's really poorly done.

Note the horse peeping out the right side!

The world's oldest theater. I think Cher performed there for Plato.

Zeus' temple.

The first modern Olympic stadium built for the 1896 games. All marble. Not too shabby!

Downtown Athens.

Well hello there!

Next to this amazing pile used to be a monastery where Lord Byron was 'entertained'. Only in Greece my friends.

Now THIS was the highlight! The new Acropolis Museum opened in 2009. This is the entrance and it is built over ruins. Notice the 4th century AD mosaics under my feet.

On the top of the museum they replicated the size and scale of the Parthenon and erected all the friezes that had not been A) destroyed or B) taken back to England by Elgin. The pieces that are in England have been plaster casted and are lighter in color. Really fab.

Sadly I was not allowed to take pictures in here and I recall in 1995 when mother took a picture in the old museum and we nearly got kicked out. But tears nearly came to my eyes seeing Kouros, Korai, Caryatids and remarkable pediments all in this airy, modern, beautiful building.

I wish we had spent two hours there and one hour with the tourist masses at the real deal.

 According to Yanni, our guide, this frieze below is one of the most important in classical Greece as it is a beautiful rendering of movement. Something you didn't see in Egypt or anywhere else. 'Two Further Horsemen from Block IV'

 We ended the afternoon with a breezy lunch in the Plaka. I had dolmades like my Yaiyai used to make and we all had large Mythos beers to cool down.

Exhausted we boarded the ship, had an early dinner and headed back to the cabin, me to work, mother to do crosswords. Tomorrow we land in enemy territory- Turkey! ( well, at least according to my Yaiyai)