Creepy and Cute....

Just two creative types..Dani and I, right before the mischief!

*Note: I am in a mad-dash scramble to post as many stories WHILE they keep happening
on this adventure. In order to do so, I've posted TWICE today!
If you'd like to see today's previous story, click HERE

People often ask what possessed me to start on these strange excursions and, while there is no one definitive answer, I would rank the idea of PEOPLE high on the list.

I have always been curious about people. My fellow creative, ambitious, funny, witty, bold folk. It is a strange, large tribe that we are. Those who run the same, or foreign course alongside mine. Those who agree or dissent. I am interested in you. I am interested in those stories, and it is always a fine time discovering the world of people.

I started this journey with the idea of meeting friends. Whether through the interwebs, or via long relationships of old--the kindness of friends has always been a balmy beacon, and has helped make these journeys possible, in many ways. A good kinship of offering board and even a meal, was the staple of old traveling bards, and in some ways, I type these stories as I travel along, and take kindness by staying along the wayside with friends.

My friend Dani would be no exception to this. A long time friend from my artistic life, she would be the first stop on this new journey out.

Dani is the artist's artist--and patron. She has loved art so long and hard, that she once headed a grand bevvy of Halloween artists, single-handedly promoting them while creating her own specific art works, which is no small feat. Maintaining online presence, advertising, and hosting shows, while making art and raising a family is a touch of magic and skill that not everyone possesses. For years I admired such acumen, but may have loved her more because she was a lover of ALL things Halloween. And as a fellow devout parishioner in that strange temple of High October, I would support this Queen of Halloween for all it was worth. In fact, she had set her sights further, and opened her own gallery of spooky

Dani is a Jersey girl, in that she lives in the state but, make no mistake---the place that she calls home was not a smog filled, crime ridden city. Like so much of upstate New York, which was an altogether different beast than it's ill-riddled NYC cousin, Dani's home straddled the Delaware river, where Washington made his famous crossing. And it was stunning--lost in nature and time. Gnarled ancient trees lay resplendent in their fall costumes; leaves rained like mad, casting surreal colors the golden air.  Her home was a quaint and curious mixture of so much color and art. Her life was not in the city, but her love of art was eclectic and chic and cool. At the same time, she was a warm, friendly, charming type.

I arrived at her home, and immediately we were off on adventures. We already had our plan for mayhem, and it involved our shared love of antiques. Yes, we loved old and curious things, and she had just the solution for The Antique Itch: within a half-hour's ride, there was a huge indoor/outdoor antique bazaar, boasting hundreds of stalls. All sorts of kitsch, vintage, antique and flea market finds were bursting from table to table.

I think I might have drooled, just a little.

However, once there, I surprised even myself...and didn't buy anything. There was lots of lovely stuff, and perhaps a few true antiques, but I was secretly holding off for my next journey through Pennsylvania, where I had promised myself a few antiques from the Victorian period. Which is not to say there weren't substantial findings to be had at this large market. In fact Dani--ever the one geared towards creepy and cute-- may have usurped me by buying a stash of old animal bones. Talk about antiques. For her, the old are oddies and curios for her strange Victorian themed haunted house of a store....

And, in fact, that's where we were headed next. We were going to New Hope, a town I had heard was a whimsical place--where old buildings gave way to older history and mingled with new and eclectic art and shops. Amongst them, The Creeper Gallery made it's abode.

Indeed, this place did not disappoint....

Antique houses showed off their charm. This Victorian is an inn AND a fancy restaurant. Make no mistake, the charm of this place is tempered, at least for the budget conscious, by price. Paradise takes a few dollars around here, but it was nevertheless impressive to be here...

Another fancy restaurant from an old stone building, aptly named hearth...couldn't you imagine a giant fireplace crackling in there?

There were funny touches, too. This gaggle of rubber duckies and (perhaps Halloween-themed?) crows are part of the window display at a fancy soap and sundry store.

Of course, the treasure of the day was The Creeper Gallery. You know about this place before you even walked in the door....

Heck, the BANISTER was decorated with a skull head. In here, it was Halloween and the Cabinet of Curios rolled up all into one. Think Jekyll and Hyde and Frankenstein....this place has a clever and creepy side....

Much of the art is done by Dani herself, alongside her partner. For an extra dash of morbid madness, old bones and shells, antiques, and art from other artists rounds this place out....


And while this may make my creative friend seem too dark, know that this gal is also as compassionate as they come. She is, I found during my stay, a rescue mother to a small army of sweet furry dogs, and a counselor to victims of violence. In all the time that I'd known her, she'd never made mention of that. She also was generous to me, almost to a fault. She loved my soaps, she was a gracious host....she is clever, but also humble in surprising ways. And, of course, she is brilliantly creative.

When people ask why I travel--this is one of many examples!

To see more of Dani's creepy and cool creativity, visit The Creeper Gallery Website!

The Lost Files: NYC Smiles

                                                                 Magic is everywhere, even in the Big City.....

This is and this isn't a traveler's story. Sometimes, it's fine to see a tale through the eyes of another traveler--and that is how this journey goes.
Just when I had thrown my hands up in the air and given up on the Big Apple, a friend had come along--a visitor to this place that I once dared to call home--and given me a fresh perspective on this place.

The timing could not be more perfect. A day away from Halloween, I had felt the holiday blues; who could blame this Halloween fanatic, when I was in the middle of packing up to leave during the Halloween season instead of voraciously costuming like mad?

But instead, I would now be meeting a friend through the magic of the electronic interwebs--such is modern social calling. Jamie and I had known each other electronically, and had shared an interested in art, doll making, creativity, folk and fable. Though she was as kindly Southern as they come, she has a witty feist that is quite admirable. She also runs a business building and refurbishing furniture--for a city girl like myself that can barely use a hammer, I consider that a sassy career move, one to be respected.

Jamie had come as part of a separate company interview, and I had only stumbled upon her visit to the Big City coincidentally. She had always wanted to see New York, so it seemed a fine time to volunteer to be a tour guide.  Initially, I thought I would be helping a friend, but what I didn't realize was that such a gift would boomerang; I would find whimsy and admiration, once again, in a city that had broken my spirit.

I met this wild haired Southern gal (indeed, she has shared in the sisterhood of the dread) at Grand Central, and we spent our day on the West Side of the City, covering what seemed to be the standard wish list of things that most visitors of this concrete leviathan would want to see. But with cheerful chatter and sheer delight at everything she saw, I couldn't help but be buoyed by my friend's exuberance.

We first made our way to the New York Public Library near Bryant Park. This was where the pair of iconic lions "stood guard" outside. From my understanding, the library system was initially created through the funding of John Jacob Astor in the 1800's, and the particular branch (the main branch) where we visited was completed in 1911. The celebrity lions were created by sculptor E.C. Potter.

We then walked a bit further until I recognized the familiar alleyway to Rockefeller Center. And yes, even though it was a day before Halloween, people were already on the ice!

Technically, Rockefeller Center is a whole slew of buildings around the area, not just the famous rink which showcases the Christmas tree in December. The whole area was built up by John D. Rockefeller, and lasted from 1930-1939. The rink highlights a large gold hued statue of Prometheus (I always thought it was Apollo). Amongst other buildings included in the Rockefeller Center construction was Radio City Music Hall, which we also say.

We also eventually ended up fulfilling our childhood fantasies by visiting FAO Schwarz. In reality, Jamie had two tykes at home who had begged her to see the place. I don't think it took any sort of arm-bending to process that request...soo...we were off!

To note, FAO Schwarz, which was founded in 1862 is the OLDEST Toy Store in America. Known initially as "Schwarz Toy Bazaar" by founder Frederick August Otto Schwarz and his brothers, this place got hopping once its giant floor piano was featured in the movie "Big." The place really IS enchanted. We passed a dizzying array of toys and moving dooh-dads up the stairs...where we ventured into the Lego section.

Jamie eventually nabbed a floor piano, herself, along with a few fine things. We even ventured into the "Willy Wonka" section, where giant versions of candy made my teeth hurt. 3 foot gummy bears sat alongside sheet-long Rice Krispies bars, and lollipops the size one's palms glistened temptingly.

After that fine and fancy adventure, we made our way out into the Fall evening. By now it was dark, but there was one more surprise in store--Times Square. That beauty would be all aglow in lights right now: serious wattage from a million moving billboards and advertisements made night seem like day. I had to bring Miss Jamie there, for all the spectacular shenanigans.
It didn't disappoint....

We also managed to swing down to the Broadway district, where familiar musicals mingled with the new openings. Familiar film and theater stars names lined the marquis: Matthew Broderick, Rupert Grint, Bradley Cooper, Cyndi Lauper. It was fun to read the names and admire the poster art....

Or be part of the poster art.....

After I told Jamie she had a career in "jazz hands" we capped off the day at a true New York diner. This greasy spoon was full of comfort-food-favorites, at appropriately New Yawk prices.

Throughout it all, this lovely gal oohed and ahhed and told funny stories and made this tired old New Yorker smile.  I think my most humbling moment was in her plain delight at walking down THE SIDE of Central Park, at night, just looking at the carriage horses. In my mind, I kept puzzling why someone would be in love with going past a place they couldn't clearly see, but I then remembered how much I just loved driving past a golden country pasture--BECAUSE I COULD and BECAUSE I WAS THERE. And it was beautiful, anyway.

Indeed, we are all a lucky lot of travelers.
Thank you, Miss Jamie, for a fine time and a fit of NYC Smiles.

For more on the fabulous creations--and adventures--of my fine and free spirited friend, visit www.SouthernRevivals.com

The Birthday Week

Hugging Wooden Cows: far less crazy than walking around with undiagnosed dizziness.....or not?
Photo: Nicole Goncalves

It was getting difficult, you see, balancing myself.
I'm not talking about the figurative balance of work, play, general responsibilities, or the carried-away mischief that has generally overtaken my life. No. This was actual, literal, balance.

Yep.  I'd been wresting with a strange sort of vertigo for a couple of months, along with the volatile health care industry, and getting nowhere. I easily had been spending a couple of hours barking into a phone in between the wild-goose-chase of insurance companies and a slog of endless doctors to call, since I was just a number in a vast and overwhelmed New York City system that I had recently returned to.

Mind you, the vertigo was not severe, but the uncertainty of a diagnosis simply exacerbated the tenuous situation; for once, the Wanderer's Magic wasn't working.

But! There would soon be a reprieve, because my Birthday Weekend was coming up, which was a good a time as any to make an executive decision to fully celebrate the traditional Birthday Week.

You don't know what The Birthday Week is? That, my friends, would be quite unfortunate. In fact, I think everyone should know and actively participate in The Birthday Week, by all means possible. See, I think a birthday isn't just a one day event. No, Siree. And particularly as one gets older, I think a whole WEEK (or at least a few days, by golly) should suffice in folly and fripperies and general smile-inducing merriment of all sorts. If this sounds quaint or old fashioned, then consider me the naive fool who has jumped wholeheartedly into the abyss.

To be fair, The Birthday Week is not some old family tradition I'd been inherently thrust into. This thing was actually thought up about four or five years ago, and if you've had the wherewithal to have read about these strange journeys here, you'll probably have stumbled upon my most illustrious Birthday Week in Pennsylvania,. That shindig happened last year--a high time with handmade food with folk artists, a good old-fashioned fiddler's camp, and horses galore. The shenanigans then spilled over into last year, in Vermont, where I ate ice cream in the forest and had a bevvy of mountain men make me birthday dinner.   This year, I promised, would be of the same caliber.

I wouldn't be disappointed. My partner-in-crime this go-'round stepped up in the form of talented young furniture builder, designer, and refurbisher-- the founder of The New England Girl--Nicole Goncalves. I'd met Nicole online, through our mutual love of old things and sustainability. And let me tell you, this gal was impressive. Not yet in her mid-twenties, she already had a business of building things in a male dominated industry. She was no shrinking violet when it came to completely creating something out of scrap lumber, wielding heavy equipment, or restoring furniture. She had a love for old-world living, and was vivacious and highly skilled, so much so that her talents had recently gotten her onto the T.V. show "Flea Market Flip"--how's that for accomplishment?

At that age, I don't think I even knew what the heck I wanted to do, but here was this young lady with complete ethics and (having seen her in action), the professional confidence to tell people twice her age why they should be dealing with her when it came to building or refurbishing ANYTHING. She was also possibly the most self-scrutinizing person I'd known, adhering to an austere and high work ethic. To boot, she was kind, generous, and funny, but she could also be spontaneous and petulant--loving more than one project or interest, and jumping in wildly. Oddly, much of her outlook on life reminded her of my younger self--both mischievous and enterprising, but also highly detailed, with an old-wisdom sense of being. We also seemed to love the same things to the point it was strange. On more than one occasion, I found myself turning to her and saying "I swear I'm looking at myself in a parallel universe about 15 or 20 years ago!"

When she mentioned sh wanted to meet me for some time, I hopped at the chance because: 1. there was traveling involved, of course and  2. it allowed me to get the heck out of Dodge, and away from a stifling city and this strange sense of illness and ill-at-ease dealings with insurance companies and  3. did I mention there was TRAVEL involved?

I hopped the train, literally, the next day--this Birthday Week would be in Connecticut....and after two hours of luscious green-scapes, old white washed Victorian-aged barns and stone farmhouses, quaint and lustrous ponds surrounded by fruit trees, and the calling of denizens of crows, bellowing of cows, and even a passing of the Appalachian Trail, my heart was full and I felt like the same old happy traveler I normally was.

I hopped off in Wassaic, NY, and was greeted by my lovely young friend, and we gushed like gabbing school girls. Without hesitation, she chaperoned me through Massachusetts, and then Connecticut, boasting along the way that I could say I'd been through THREE states in a matter of hours. That was, indeed, some feat. With no complaint, she generously served as an impromptu tour guide, and we hit all sorts of hillside towns, antique stores, art havens, and little farmer's wayside stores. It was the same rural paradise I'd been to in dozens of states, and yet I couldn't lap it up fast enough.

Small town charm....yes, please!

Mountain town living....

 You can't help but find curiosities everywhere...apparently, bacon IS the universal ingredient!

After several hours of this, home beckoned, and hers boasted shaker style wood floors and beams, and farmhouse charm, to boot. The dining room had a 12 foot long raw wood table, which Nicole created herself, and the place was decked out in vintage and antique pieces that spoke to ghosts of an old Adirondack time alongside a Victorian era. It was genteel mountain-man and 60's plucky cowboy, with a dash or Amish woodwork ingenuity, all rolled in one, and it was brilliant an beautiful.

The back held possibly the most amazing deck or, rather, the view from the deck was amazing; the back of the house was built over a jutting, gradual slope and all around, there were 30 foot evergreens and lush forest. Somewhere in a lower valley, there was a fire pit. Off to the side, and ancient wood chicken coop grew moss on it's roof. I was in love.

How to get to a place like this? It was a topic of conversation for many days. The unfortunate part was that Connecticut, though beautiful and historical, was the sort of place that courted the high-denizened folk, not the working-class stiffs, of which I was solidly a part of. I simply wasn't sure if my humble soapy-farm-bee-teaching roots could sustain in such a glossy place.

Still, there was so much to see and do, a fine birthday week of friends, and quiet little artist havens, tiny towns, large fields and even a trip down memory lane by having quality ice cream, just like when I was in Europe!

Yumm.....

photo: Nicole Goncalves

I also chanced on seeing Nicole's shoppe, a fine beauty of a thing that housed her clever creations--she was certainly a mistress of her craft.There were wooden things of ever ilk, accompanied by vintage and antique dishes, cookware and nostalgia, tucked in between. One got a sense of the old mixed with chic and ingenious touches; I'd certainly recommend her hip and lovely creations for old-world lovers and heirloom enthusiasts.

Nicole's hand constructed sign shows off her talent and versatility...

Beautiful antique vases sit amongst old painted pine cabinets...

Vintage refurbished Hoosier cabinet shows off vintage whimsies....

By the end of my stay, there were tentative plans made, and a whole new business idea hatched....

But those would be put on hold once I got back to New York City, because everything I was grappling with, there, was about to come hurtling headlong into me......

The Birthday Wish

Photo By Geo Gellar

It has been a long time--too long--since I have written here. Today might be as auspicious a time as any to do so; it is my birthday today. Since my last journey story there has been much--too much--happening. Shades of light and darkness have become overwhelming almost.

I am old enough now that birthdays are a time of reflection. I'm not sure how well or true I should feel about this, mostly because I feel that something is.....missing.

Sure, every year is a story of highfalutin', ramshackle adventures. Four years ago, when I started this crazy journey, there was a whole arsenal of surprising events that would leave one breathless. In some ways, that has never changed.  However, behind the scenes, there was another truth the story. I was leaving a life, and a man, that had broken my heart.

My life wasn't working. I was too sensitive and too tired to be working in an expensive an punitive city as loud and as brash as New York City. While I carried a torch for performing arts, I was having a devil of a time figuring out how to make it all work for me, while having to answer to someone who had changed from a helpful life partner to someone utterly a stranger.

So I was leaving.

Along the road, I had met a million beautiful faces: the sort of folks that I could imagine calling on the phone, getting together over Saturday potluck, and doing the random fun things that a kinship of friends do.
But I was leaving them, too.

I had seen a hundred different beautiful sights, epic sunsets across hundreds of pastures in a dozen states. Forests so old and elegantly haunted as to inspire a million children's wayward fairy tales, denizens of houses so old and beautiful they could make you cry--or make you curious as to each history that whispered within their walls. I have waterfalls, and heard owls in the mountains, and seen swans and herons in peaceful lakes. I have held baby sheep, goats, small donkeys. I have ridden and hugged a million equines. My soul has been full......
But I was leaving.

And pretty soon, there was that slight twinge of acknowledgement: every single person I know or care about is, almost universally, a long distance phone call. Every experience both a reward and an immediate puff of memory.  I have no particular place to park my shoes and, while that sort of life would seem to spark envy in some--for the vagabond, "the grass is always greener" would likely be simply someone to meet them at the end of a long day, in a humble little house. It will be a place where someone will listen to their stories, or hold their hands, and where good food and kinship is struck.

And indeed, if you thought me a fine and fair independent maiden, think again. Sure, I'll wrestle a horse and get myself dirty and bruised in the name of adventure, but I would park myself (and almost did) for a fine writing or farming or performing arts dream job, and a kind and funny person to love. A passel full of warm and creative friends wouldn't hurt either.

I suppose it came full circle--back to writing--that the notion of it all hit me.See, when you are writing a book about your family's third generation beekeeping, do you see all those old stories written out in front of you. And when I did, all I could keep thinking was "who do these stories get passed down to?" I sometimes stare at people with small children and indeed, there is a strange twinge there, and a place where the heart cracks when I think that there would have to be a bit of repairing to do if I am to mend a heart torn by relationships.

Until then, there are other interesting stories to pursue, and other goals to start. Perhaps it is time to find a foundation for this old tree woman, whose roots are far too stubborn to rig themselves too deeply into the earth--which is a strange notion, indeed, for a child born under the Earth sign of Virgo. Then again, I've always been the contrary, unpredictable sort.

But know this much is true: when you ask a vagabond what they want for their birthday, The Birthday Wish is likely this: a place to call home.

A Houseful of Wishes

I am being stared at, by hares, as the sun breaks over the horizon, jetting the entire dawn sky pink. I smile, staring at the hasenpfeffers, as I whiz by their early curbside breakfast, realizing how perfectly insane that view from my driver’s window would be, a couple of weeks ago, in New York City.

But these two weeks have been a whirlwind and a revelation. I think about this, as I turn the corner, the one with the old white-washed 1800’s house with the saffron robes hanging on the washing line. I smile, knowing that a week ago, I discovered a Buddhist Monk living their, the stark contrast of house and owner making me grin even more. Even here, it is New Yawka strange.

I turn a corner, the one with the small modern house which boasts a colonial barn that has been converted into a two-car garage. This sort of jumbled modern and prim living, the long rolling hills, the strange winding roads, are the charm that have plastered themselves into my heart. It is a ragtag world quilted into a bodacious world here, full of surprises and beauty amongst it’s everyday living. I am swooning with the atmosphere of it.

But mostly, I am happy about today’s journey which--unlike the past two weeks--highlights an unusual celebration; I am about to set down roots, if even for a short time. Indeed, this little car of mine carries a few humble boxes, half of my life. And for a year and a day, I will be ensconced in a teeny cottage, a temporary home.

Here, there will be work, but there will be other opportunities. There are wishes to be had here, dreams to continue and work on. There are bittersweet ponderings, too, as I wonder if my father would ever approve of this latest crazy scheme. I think of him, this past Father’s Day, fresh as a widow bride, and there is grief but small smiles as I realize he would have understood, for I was the daughter --as he would say--“as crazy as I am.”

And so my world is about unveiling small trinkets, pocketfuls of hope, old things I have acquired in journeys, and other sentimentalities....

           There is more wistfulness unpacking this little world than expected, as I realize I am
      doing it alone, and somewhere I hope that there is a man missing me as much as I miss him.

It is a far away and crazy risk I am taking here, there are parts of me that don’t know what I am doing here, and parts of me that isn’t surprised one bit by this capriciousness.

In the meantime, I am hoping so many little hold-your-breath hopes, during this year of so much stretching. They are big and small hopes, but all real and meaningful in my humble, furniture-less house. As with everything, there are so many possibilities,  these little ideas written in scrawl from so long ago...such as….

1. Planting a real garden
2. Preserving some food
3. Continuing folk art
4. Returning to some sort of performing arts
5. Finally playing the fiddle (Big Red did end up in PA, after all!)
6. Horses, horses, horses---of course(s)!
7. Starting a barter community
8. Writing, and writing some more…

And that’s just for starters. I know it sounds ambitious, but the clock never stops ticking. There is a life to be lived, in this House of Wishes. I only hope to muster enough courage and energy to do it all.

And so it is, the year of wishes…

So I ask you, my Friends: what are YOUR wishes?

The Enchanted Town

If this picture reminds you of an enchanted forest, you are only half right.  Instead, this ancient greenery lives in a storied town..and that, my Friends, has always been Pennsylvania’s charm.  This bygone place celebrates roots as old as some of the trees here, it’s colonial history written in every settled place.
If you are an old-fashionista like me, this will make your antique-loving heart beat a wee bit faster. And mine does, for one such magical little town called Mechanicsburg, just a stone’s throw from where I reside.

From what I understand, this place was aptly named in its heyday, when it was considered the dead-last stop to go to have your wagon checked, before people headed out en masse out West, during the mass exodus post Civil War--to get land out there-- and to find gold during the gold rush era.

Mechanicsburg was the place to go to get wagon parts, check wagons, and other such notions, and the little town hints that some folks did, indeed, make small fortunes in the wagon business. I suspect other stores popped up around this hub, and my minds eye wanders to proper women in Victorian garb, business men and sweaty brow laborers, charm and ingenuity and commerce and etiquette. The tales of this town, the old stories, are here now, left by history to feed our imaginations….

Old houses line the streets...




                                                         One curiously named pub....

For those with a yen for the "mountain man" style...

                                              I suspect some of my Iowa friends would love this....

                                                      An old Victorian style mansion....

                              Old whitewash and lattice gingerbread work around the porch....

                                             The budding fiddler in me will be visiting this joint!  

                                                     Olde world charm in the details!

                                                  Picturesque lovely scenes everywhere....

 
                The highlight of the place seems to be this scrumptious old house--splashed to the
                                                           10's with old details...

                                                 A view from below....................

                                          This was at a backyard of an herbal store!

                                                     
                                                      And now we say goodbye....

Until next time, dear Friends!