The Easter Promise

My husband trimmed some of our trees a couple of weeks ago.  I couldn’t bear to see the cut branches simply tossed away, so I gathered them and put them in water.  When we left last Tuesday to visit my parents in Atlanta, the branches were a stark  study in brown and gray. 

When we returned on Easter night, the branches were no longer bare.  On the lilac cuttings were delicate green leaves.  Tiny bright fuchsia flowers adorned the redbud branches.  What had appeared to be dead had bloomed with new life. 

And here it is, God’s Easter promise, as clear as the blue sky on this gloriously warm and beautiful spring day.  The cruel cross has become the tree of life.  Because of the unimaginable sacrifice of our loving God, death’s power has been defeated.  The gates of heaven are open to all who thankfully accept the priceless gift of grace.  Let us rejoice and be glad! 

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Now let the heavens be joyful!  Let earth the song begin!

Let the round world keep triumph, and all that is therein.

Let all things seen and unseen their notes in gladness blend,

for Christ the Lord hath risen, our joy that hath no end. 

–The Day of Resurrection

words: John of Damascus, trans. by John Mason Neale, 1862

music: Henry Smart, 1835

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A Random Ramble through Key West’s Old Town

Roam just about anywhere in Key West’s historic district, and you’ll pass one appealing building after another.  Here are some that caught my eye. 

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The Southernmost House, a yellow brick mansion trimmed in pastel candy colors, was built 1896 by the daughter of Key West’s first millionaire.  It’s now a beautifully restored luxury inn.  “Southernmost” is an adjective that runs rampant in Key West.  In addition to the Southernmost House, local resorts include The Southernmost Hotel and Southernmost on the Beach.  The Southernmost Point (in the Continental U.S., 90 miles to Cuba) is nearby, marked by a painted concrete buoy.  You’ll know you’re close when you see the line of tourists waiting to be photographed by it.   

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The first St. Paul’s Episcopal Church was built in 1831.  Fire and hurricanes destroyed it and two later incarnations.  The current church, a hybrid Gothic-Art Deco confection painted pristine white, was completed in 1919.  Inside, you’ll find beautiful stained glass windows and an oasis of calm in one of the busiest sections of Duval Street

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The Strand, also on Duval Street, opened in the 1920s as a movie palace.  No longer a theatre, it’s been home to a nightclub and Ripley’s Believe it or Not.  It was featured in the 1993 movie Matinee, set in Key West and starring John Goodman.  While the façade, which resembles a fondant-covered petit-four, remains essentially unchanged, the period interior no longer exists.  The building now houses a Walgreen’s drug store.   

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Like St. Paul’s Church, the Key West lighthouse has been rebuilt several times.  Located on Whitehead Street across from the Hemingway House, the current building was completed in 1849.  The lighthouse remained in use until 1969. 

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The adjacent keeper’s house, seen from the lighthouse tower, dates from 1887. 

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Two more views from the lighthouse.  The second photo looks toward the Atlantic, where a gargantuan cruise ship is docked. 

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The Orchid Key Inn, built in the 50s, is now a stylishly updated small hotel.

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The red brick Custom House, built in 1891, is now home to the Key West Museum of Art and History. 

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The Bourbon Street Pub glittered with thousands of holiday lights during our stay.  On New Year’s Eve, we were among those who packed Duval Street to watch the pub’s Annual Shoe Drop.  At midnight, the drag queen Sushi descends from the balcony in a gigantic red high-heeled pump. Had it been entirely up to us, my husband and I would most likely have avoided the crowd.  But last year in San Francisco, as we joined the throng for a phenomenal fireworks display, our daughter discovered her taste for a high decibel New Year’s Eve among the boisterous multitudes.   

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Each time we passed the aptly named La Te Da, we had the disorienting feeling of being in a Provincetown magically transported to a balmy, tropical setting.  This hotel/restaurant/entertainment complex reminds us of several in that old Cape Cod town, including the Crown & Anchor and The Waterford.  (For P-Town posts, see here and here.)  La Te Da’s main building is a charming white frame house that could belong to a chic grandmother.  The atmosphere is homey, gracious and inviting.  On our final night in Key West, after a delicious dinner at La Te Da’s airy covered porch, we stopped by the piano bar to hear two talented teenagers put a new spin on classic cabaret tunes.  I kept expecting to bump into Bobby Wetherbee, Leslie Jordan or Hedda Lettuce. 

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The contrast between the morning of January 1, 2015 and the night before could hardly have been more extreme.  As I walked down Duval Street around 8:30 AM on New Year’s Day, all was hushed and serene.  I was reminded of Edward Hopper’s paintings of small town Main Streets deserted in the early light of Sunday morning.  Not many hours after the oversize champagne bottle on the balcony of La Te Da had popped its cork and rained down confetti on a lively crowd singing Auld Lang Syne, the complex appeared blanketed in shadowy sleep. 

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An unnaturally quiet Duval Street, on the first morning of 2015. 

The Old Homes of Key West

Spring break approaches, and I have yet to complete my intended posts from our winter break three months ago in Key West. (For previous Key West posts, see here, here,  and here.)  I’m going to try to get them out before Easter.  Here goes. 

Among my reasons for wanting to visit this southernmost spot in the U.S. has always been its architecture.  I loved what I’d seen of this small city in photos, its narrow streets jam-packed with a fanciful variety of frame houses, from tiny shotgun homes to grand mansions.  Key West’s densely constructed historic district is one of the largest in the country.  It did not disappoint.  I found it a great pleasure to wander the picturesque streets in the January warmth, gazing at unique, quirky homes.  Most have shady, inviting porches and small gardens lushly planted with exotic, often supersized foliage. I only wish I could have had Kiko by my side.  I think he would have loved the atmosphere.  What follows are some of my favorite Key West homes, all privately owned and meticulously maintained. 

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Now, This is March!

 

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The snow has melted, at long last, here in Northern Virginia. We have relatively solid, earth-toned ground beneath our feet again.   Gone are the high banks of  gray snow that had lined the roads, making it nearly impossible to venture out of our neighborhood on two legs or four.  Kiko had become increasingly frustrated, bored with each day’s limited circuit.  In recent mornings, he prances excitedly as we head toward  the winding county road that offers a choice of routes and a million fresh new smells. 

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It looks, feels and sounds like March, just as it should.  As the wind whistles around the corners of the house, I can hear Winnie the Pooh commenting on the blustery day.  The sky is in constant transition.  One moment white fluffy clouds race across the deep blue.  The next, the sun shines in golden streaks through a leaden blanket.  The raw, newly exposed fields by the lake are the color of straw.  Bird choruses are tireless.    

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On our lawn, so recently flattened by snow, green blades of grass are interspersed with white.  It’s a speckled, signature look of early spring that I love. 

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Budding branches are sharply highlighted against a brilliant blue sky.  Spring is, without a doubt, in the air. 

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And in the ground.  In a little patch of desolation beneath our still bare redbud tree, our first crocus blooms.  Every year it amazes me that these delicate-looking, solitary little flowers on thread-like stems manage to force their way up through the cold, dark bleakness of the earth.  Proof of spring’s reliable, eternal, unstoppable dependability. 

The Dog Loves His Girl . . . The Dog Loves Her Not . . .

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As I’ve said before, our dog Kiko doesn’t go in for expected over-the-top displays of doggy devotion.  This may be because, as a Shiba Inu, he believes he’s a cat.  The breed is known for its independence and regal aloofness.  Kiko likes his own space.  Once his needs are meet, he prefers undisturbed solitude.  When he decides it’s time for a walk or treats, he beams a persistent, focused stare in my direction.  This is a far cry from the loving, entreating gaze of a Golden Retriever.  It’s a willful obey-me-or-else eye lock.  And it works.   I toe the line, because the Shiba stubbornness is a force of nature. 

If he’s been left alone for a while, Kiko usually ambles into the kitchen unhurriedly upon my return.  Exultant jumping and frenzied face licking are beneath his dignity.  After a sniff to determine where I’ve been, he sidesteps me to paw at the door so he can check out squirrel activity in the back yard.  As for close human contact, he’s warming up to it somewhat as he ages.  (He turns eight this August.)  Occasionally I can put him on the sofa with me and he’ll rest his head on my knee.  But it’s still generally true that he consents to cuddle only if he’s asleep or frightened.  He fears nothing but thunder and fireworks.  (See here and here).  We knew to expect this sort of temperament before Kiko joined our household.  Because simply looking at my little dog makes me smile, I’m content to take him on his own terms.  If I need to be gazed at devotedly, I can visit a neighbor’s Lab or Golden Retriever.  Or I can get that sweet look from Ziggy the Rhodesian Ridgeback, Kiko’s walking pal. 

My daughter has learned to be less offended by the depths of Kiko’s reserve.  She still finds it annoying when she lies down beside him on the floor and he gets up and re-settles a couple of feet away.  But what may ignite her fiercest ire is his tendency to ignore her when she calls him for a walk.  Of course I’m the one who walks the dog most frequently.  He’s not sure D means business.  Sometimes, hearing her calling, he bypasses her to seek me out expectantly.  Typically, by the time she’s out of the house with Kiko on the leash, my daughter is furious and the dog is confused.  I’m not very happy, either, although I’m relieved to see them leave. 

During the recent snow days she took him into the woods several times.  A meandering, exploratory woods walk, whatever the weather, is one of Kiko’s favorite activities.  He was starting to hop up quickly at the first sound of her invitation.  One afternoon when D got a chance to meet friends for sledding, she realized there wouldn’t be time for a woods walk.  I wasn’t up for wading through the deep snow, so Kiko and I would start off with D and then continue on our regular neighborhood walk. 

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Snow days still find D sledding with the same neighborhood friends today as in years past. Here she is with a buddy in February 2007.

The three of us set off together.  All was fine until the point at which D veered off course toward her friend’s house.  Kiko couldn’t believe we weren’t joining her.  He tugged hard at the leash.  He stared at me.  Come ON! Why are we NOT GOING?   Where is SHE going?  I tried to persuade him to carry on with our walk.  He splayed his legs and ducked his head.  He wouldn’t budge.  He sat down. 

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Surely she’ll come back.  I’ll wait right here in the middle of the frozen street. 

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I don’t see her.  But I’ll keep waiting.  She’ll come back. 

But she didn’t. 

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If I can’t go with her, we might as well head towards home.  But slowly. 

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If I sleep in the road for a bit, maybe she’ll be here when I wake up. 

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All the way back home, and still no sign of the girl.  So sad. 

When my daughter returned that evening, I told her how her dog had so wanted to accompany her.  How he had waited, and wanted to keep waiting, there in the snow.  How that maybe, in his own narcissistic, catlike Shiba way, he does really love her. 

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Further proof of Kiko’s devotion to D may be his willingness to remain placidly in the strange places she puts him, as in the knothole of this maple in our yard.   

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Winter 2015: The Farewell Tour (We Hope!)

Seems I was wrong about our biggest snow events occurring in February.  That distinction, this year, belongs to March.  Yesterday’s storm was predicted well in advance, but it took its time in coming.  The school cancellation was announced the night before.  Snow was expected to start in the early morning hours.  At 6:00 AM, and then at 7:00 AM, not a new flake had fallen.  I was beginning to think Snow Day #10 would be a no-snow day. 

But just before 8:00, the snow arrived with a determined flourish.  It fell steadily until late evening, covering the messiness of the existing clumpy, discolored snow with smooth white fluffiness, artfully frosting foliage and trees.   

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This time of year, Kiko needs longer legs. 

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Today, another day off school (Snow Day #11), the sun is out, creating dramatic blue shadows on our lawn. 

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In a neighbor’s yard, a perfectly frosted blue spruce against a perfect blue sky.

The phrase “winter wonderland” is on the tip of the tongue, even for those (like me) who thought they were sick of the season. 

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This snowstorm found my husband in town, fortunately.  Of course it didn’t keep him home from work.  Even after an emergency repair of an outdoor sump pump pipe, he was in the office well before any precipitation began.  But he did come home somewhat early, so he could make use of his favorite toy while wearing his electric orange ski jacket.   

Days of Dr. Seuss

I know I’m a day late with a Dr. Seuss post.  But with our snow day yesterday, I assume that local schools will be honoring the author’s birthday today.  During my daughter’s elementary school years, it was a big deal, indeed.  Everyone brought in their favorite Dr. Seuss books.  Children, teachers and staff dressed up.  There would be an army of Things 1 and 2, and Cats-in-Hats by the dozens roaming the halls.  My daughter and I tried to find a character for her that wouldn’t be over-represented. 

For the 100th Birthday celebration in 2004, we succeeded. 

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 Can you guess? 

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Does this help? 

Probably not.  My daughter returned home somewhat downcast because no one recognized her character.  When she was in Kindergarten, she was neither skilled at winking nor bold enough to tell people who she meant to be. 

We thought it was so clear.  Obviously, she’s a Yink.  The Yink from One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish.  Maybe you don’t have a lot of ink.  Because if you do, you should get a Yink.  Dr. Seuss, of course, says it best: 

This one, I think, is called a Yink.

He likes to wink. 

He likes to drink. 

He likes to drink, and drink, and drink.

The thing he likes to drink is ink.

The ink he likes to drink is pink.

He likes to wink and drink pink ink.

SO. . .

If you have a lot of ink,

then you should get

a Yink, I think. 

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The Yink pages from One Fish Two Fish, as colored by my daughter at age five. 

A couple of years later, we opted for a more mainstream character.

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This time, we took no chances.  In case the reindeer horn, the floppy dog ears and the furry shirt rang no bells, my daughter wrote “Max” in big letters on the red collar.

Today, with a vague pang of regret, I notice that my daughter left for school dressed in the typical clothes of a sixteen-year old urban American girl.  My Yink has grown up (thanks to all that healthy pink ink).  My little dog Max is no longer so little. 

Maybe you look back with fondness on a time when you outfitted a small Fox-in-Sox, a Horton, a Lorax, or a Sam-I-Am.  Perhaps you kissed your Sneetch or Little Cindy Lou Who goodbye this very morning.  Maybe you worked for weeks crafting an amazing Green Eggs and Ham Costume.  Whatever the case, may your day be enlivened by the light-hearted, fresh-faced wisdom of Dr. Seuss. 

So. . .

be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray

or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,

you’re off to Great Places!

Today is your day!

Your mountain is waiting.

So. . .get on your way!

–Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

Ice, Ice, Baby

Yesterday’s sleet refused to do as predicted and turn to rain.  The expected thaw evaded us. Today we awoke to a world even more firmly encased in ice.  We’re quickly catching up to last year with the number of school days canceled due to winter weather.  This is Snow Day #9.  I doubt it will be the last. 

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March 1

March is here.  It looks just like February, only bleaker.  A wintry mix is coating all surfaces with ice.  The snow is topped with a clear, thick crust, and tree branches are frosted and heavy.  Walking the dog is treacherous business.  On the bright side, it’s not windy. 

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Even snowmen find the icy surface tough going: this surprised-looking one in a neighbor’s yard seems to be frozen in the midst of a topple backwards.  

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A blog about motherhood, marriage and life: the joys and frustrations, beauty and absurdity, blessings and pain. It's about looking back, looking ahead, and walking the dog.