Do People Buy Art They See Hanging in Restaurants? I Hope So.

In October, just after the tour of homes, I received an email from Jason at Stone Soup Kitchen asking if I’d be interested in hanging a few paintings in the restaurant. Now, SSK is one of my favorite Grant Park restaurants—and one of our best kept secrets—great for weekend brunch (you can actually get a table without the 45-60 minutes wait) or weekday lunch. They always have interesting art from local artists hanging in the restaurant, so I’m happy for the opportunity for some exposure. Guess putting my card on their bulletin board back in the spring paid off.

Early in December I hung six pieces from a series I did on fall trees, which will hang in the restaurant until the end of January.

Colors of Change, Winter's Solace & Barren

Signs of Change & Fall Trees

They also invited me to be part of their Holiday Art Sale & Party, which was held at the restaurant on December 16th. This was my first event of this type, and I was curious to see if it would be worth the time. I sent out an email blast to my local mailing list and a few people made it by. It was a great chance to meet other local artists—from whom I learned about ICE Pop Up Shop—and make connections.

I enjoyed talking to friends and potential buyers, and sold two paper cuts—A Day in the Country (my personal favorite of the paper cuts) and The Guardian.

A Day in the Country

The Guardian

The night before the show/sale, a colleague of Mr. Man’s and her husband came by the house to buy a piece for each of their parents—Mockingbird in Dogwood and a tree painting I had just recently finished.

Mockingbird in Dogwood

Not a bad December.  Now if I can just do that every month.

A Weekend in the Nation’s Capital

Mr. Man and I were invited to attend the ICF corporate holiday party Saturday night in D.C. Mr. Man flew up early on Friday morning to spend the day working in the Calverton office, and I flew up in the afternoon, arriving at my hotel around 3:30pm. We stayed at the Hotel Monaco (this is a very nice boutique hotel for those of you who don’t like staying at the major chains or just want something a little different) located in a great area walking distance to the National Mall and all the museums/monuments.

Located directly across the street is the American Museum of Art and National Portrait Gallery, and I decided to spend a couple hours there. Currently there is a special exhibit at the Museum of American Art showing the collection of Steven Spielberg’s and George Lucas’ Norman Rockwell drawings and paintings. Now, I’m not typically a Norman Rockwell fan, finding his content a little too idealistic—possibly due to my limited exposure to his works, which consists mostly of his Saturday Evening Post covers.  Regardless, I’m able to recognize and appreciate what tremendous talent he had. His drawings in particular were wonderful; well rendered with incredible tone and value. Being part of Spielberg’s and Lucas’ private collections, these are rarely seen pieces and I was glad to happen upon the exhibition.

My favorite piece was “The Connoisseur” (1962) which depicts the back of a gray-haired gentleman in gray suit, hands behind his back, clutching white gloves, white hat and black umbrella; he is standing in front of a very colorful and believable Jackson Pollock painting. The juxtaposition is excellent, black, white and gray tones against color, traditional against contemporary, realistic against abstract.

At the Portraiture Gallery, I happened upon a special exhibit of Elvis photos by Alfred Wertheimer taken when Elvis was 21 years old and still virtually unknown. Wertheimer was able to capture moments in time of the everyday Elvis: at a diner where he easily charms his waitress; at home, relaxed and shirtless; on stage with an adoring audience of crying, screaming females; reading fan mail in his hotel; and, my favorite, a clandestine moment in a darkened hallway where Elvis seduces a kiss from an unknown fan. At the time of the photo shoot, Wertheimer had never heard of Elvis. The photos are an astonishing glimpse into Elvis’ life before he becomes famous.

On Saturday, Mr. Man and I walked several blocks to the National Museum of the American Indian. The design of this building is great, all curves and flowing lines, not an angle anywhere. You begin on the fourth floor and work your way back down. On the second floor is a wonderful ethnic food court with fare from five different regions. It's a little overwhelming; trying to make a decision took a bit of time, but we finally chose to split a buffalo burger, lentils with chorizo, cabbage salad, and cucumber and grapefruit salad. Expensive but tasty.


Ginevra de' Benci c. 1474/1478 

After lunch we headed across the National Mall to the National Gallery of Art where spent a good amount of time perusing paintings from early centuries (favorites of Mr. Man)—including Ginevra de' Benci one of only three portraits painted by Leonardo da Vinci and the only one in the United States—as well as some more contemporary works by Matisse, Pollock, and Rothko (pictured below) among others. We really wanted to spend more time, but after a late night the night before, and a holiday party to attend in a few hours, we decided to head back to the hotel for a nap.

The ICF holiday party was held at the National Air and Space Museum. What a great backdrop to a party for 2400 people. The whole museum was open to us, but we didn’t get far off the main area as every ten feet Mr. Man would be stopped by someone from either the (Macro) Calverton office or ICF (ICF bought Macro about 18 months ago). We hardly ate any food, lines were long and food tables sparse, and we made it to the bar only twice, but it didn’t matter. It was obvious that Mr. Man is very well regarded and we spent the entire evening schmoozing. Then, at 11:00pm, they kicked us out into the cold night where we spent some time trying to hail a taxi. Tired and hungry, we ordered room service and then fell asleep.

A quick aside: On the way home Mr. Man was upgraded to first class and he offered the seat to me, he just rolls that way. While the plane was boarding, a soldier in uniform passed by and after people were settled in their seats, a gentleman in the row in front of me called the flight attendant over to request that she offer his seat to the soldier, who was returning to Afghanistan after two weeks leave—he gladly accepted. This act of respect and kindness has, however briefly, restored my faith in humanity.

A Visit to Nature's Harmony Farm

On Sunday morning Mr. Man and I drove to Elberton, Georgia to pick up our Narrangansett Heritage Turkey. You may remember that I wanted a heritage turkey last year and in September or October began looking for one only to find that you need to order much, much earlier. So, I put my name on a list and right after Thanksgiving last year, put down a deposit for this year’s bird. I’ve been wanting to visit Nature’s Harmony Farm for a while and was excited for the road trip (Elberton is approximately 2 1/2 hours east of Atlanta). We arrived around 10:30am after a couple of wrong turns here and there. We had, of course, brought Marley along (he loves a road trip too and since we were going to a farm it seemed like a no brainer) and no sooner had we approached the area where people were picking up their turkeys than Liz had to run out and ask us to please pick up our dog. I had forgotten that they raise Livestock Guardian Dogs (LGD), a cross of Great Pyrenees and Anatolian Shepherds. They are trained to not allow any animal on the farm that doesn’t belong there and as Liz explained, they don't just chase the intruder away, they kill it. No sooner has she told us this than Jethro made an appearance; he is huge, with the top of his head coming to my elbow, but as long as we held Marley he was calm and posed no threat.

We spent some time talking with Liz about how to cook a heritage turkey—very different from how you cook a supermarket turkey. Since the balance between white and dark meat is more balanced, you cook at a high degree for much less time. Our 14.5 lb. turkey should cook in under 2 hours. I promise to write and let you know how that goes. To my delight, Liz invited us to tour the farm and to check out the evisceration lessons that were going on in a nearby processing building. Now this may not be for most people, but Mr. Man and I were not going to let this opportunity slip by. We put the turkey in a cooler in the back of the car and headed over to the processing building. Unfortunately the birds had already been killed and feathers removed, but we were in time to observe both a beginning evisceration as well as one that was already in process.

Narrangansett Heritage Turkeys

Next we headed out across the field (where we were able to put Marley down and allow him to take in all the sights and smells of a farm) to check out those Narragansetts still out on the pasture and the Large Black Pigs. We had seen some along the driveway on our way in and I was curious to get a closer look. They were as curious about us as we were them and came over to give us a closer look. I tried to put my hand out to them, but they briefly smelled me and backed away. Seems the mud was calling to them. I touched the fence and got a little shock, afterwards noting the large batteries connected to them.

Large Black Pigs

After this we went to visit the cows, who were not interested in us, but the two donkeys crazing with them were. After standing for a while and talking to them softly one actually let me scratch him for a little while and then followed me for a short ways when I moved further down the fence line to get a picture of a cow and her calf. Cutting back through the fields we noted the large flock of chickens outside, inside, on top of, and under their moveable tractors. Even though they are free to roam near and far, only a few chickens are adventurous enough to wander far from the rest of the flock.

This is small farm is so inspiring, and Tim and Liz go beyond what is considered organic and humane. According to their website, they use “no artificial fertilizers, no growth hormones, no vaccines, no antibiotics and don't keep animals penned up (which was obvious on our visit). [Their] cattle forage on grass with sheep browsing what the cows don't eat. Chickens follow the grazers, spreading fertilizer naturally, and follow their instincts by foraging for insects and scratching on the ground.” This is real farming, not industrial farming which is cruel and unhealthy, to both animals and people. Check them out, you won’t be disappointed.

Why I am Boycotting Discovery Network

Today is a sad day for me. I’ve decided to put my money where my mouth is and boycott Discovery Network and all its channels. This is hard for me; I love Discovery Channel, Animal Planet and TLC. This means saying goodbye to some of my favorite shows—shows like Planet Earth, Cash Cab, and Myth Busters on Discovery; Pit Bulls and Parolees (I know, I know, but I love seeing Bullys gets a break and find good homes) on Animal Planet; and What Not to Wear on TLC. Why am I boycotting these channels? Because Discovery has decided to pay Sarah Palin $1.2 million per episode for “Sarah Palin’s Alaska.” To me, this is a grotesque attempt to put a favorable face on a woman who is no friend to Alaska’s environment or wildlife. Why would Discovery give Sarah Palin a show? It boggles the mind, after all they have great programming. Could it have anything to do with COO, Peter Ligouri’s history with—drum roll please—you guessed it, Fox Broadcast Co.

Shame on you Discovery! Shame on you, shame on you, shame on you. As Alaska’s governor, Sarah Palin accelerated the cruel aerial wolf-hunting program, wanting to pay a bounty of $150 for each wolf’s forelimb. I’m sure that won’t be part of the show, but it should be, for that is Sarah Palin’s Alaska! Maybe that can be Episode One. Imagine it, up we go in a small plane with Sarah Palin as our guide, over beautiful snow covered mountains. Wait, what’s that? It’s a beautiful gray wolf, and oh, how precious, her cubs.

BLAM!   BLAM!   BLAM!

What the fuck was that? As the plane turns to make another pass we see the red-stained snow and the young wolf cubs running for cover, but hesitantly, not wanting to leave their downed mother. Pan back into the plane, to Sarah with her smoking rifle and “you betcha” smile. Maybe we can even land and watch while Sarah takes the forelimb as a souvenir of her kill.

In Episode Two, maybe we can go with Sarah to Pebble Mine while they dump cyanide and mining waste into streams that empty into Bristol Bay, home to the largest sockeye salmon run in the world. After all, Discovery, you have to know that Sarah made a personal appeal to Alaskan voters to oppose a ballot measure to stop the dumping. Oh and wait, the show gets even better, perhaps in Episode Three we can follow Sarah to polar bear habitats, those that remain, while she explains why the polar bear should NOT be listed on the threatened species list.  You know of course, Discovery, that she actually sued to challenge this listing.

Episode Four would have to be in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and the Cook Inlet, home to beluga whales. Sarah can hike us in, in her brand new parka and snow shoes, all the while expanding upon how this beautiful setting would make a great backdrop for oil and gas drilling. Can’t you just see the rigs standing out starkly against the pristine snow?  Maybe she’ll even treat us to her infamous catchphrase, “Drill, Baby, Drill.”

It is irreprehensible that Discovery is making Sarah Palin the face of Alaska, in all her glory (Alaska’s, not Sarah’s) and bounty she provides to the people, animals, and eco-systems that make their lives there.  So, instead of just spouting off at the mouth, which I know I can tend to do, I’m putting my money where my mouth is. I will no longer support Discovery Network or any of its channels by watching its programs. And I hope that you will join me.

A Veteran's Day Tribute

Thursday being Veteran's Day, I sat down to write about two veterans: my uncle, Guy Otto, and my father-in-law, Arnold Cotton, when I realized that I didn’t really know anything about my uncle’s time in the service other than that he was a fighter pilot in the Air Force during WWII. So I did what any sensible person would do, I googled him, and there he was on a website for the 82nd Fighter Group, 97th Fighter Squadron. I thought I’d share a some of his story and wait to write about Arnold another day.

First Lt. Guy Otto joined the Air Force in August 1944 when he was 21 years old.  He flew 50 missions over Austria, Germany, Yugoslavia, Czech, and Italy between October 1944 and April 1945. That’s a lot of flight time; just over 244 hours. He took his first flight on his 22nd birthday on October 8, 1944. After an hour-and-a-half in the air he lost an engine in the P-38, but managed to land the plane without incident. Just eight days later he was escorting B-24’s over Austria when he had his first experience with FLAK (anti air-craft gunfire); he later wrote “scary” beside this entry in his flight log, and a couple weeks later he wrote that he “finally got to fire the guns and cannon.”

Some of his missions were to drop chaff (small fibers that reflect radar signals) or escort bombers. In November 1944 he flew his first dive bombing mission where he successfully bombed highways to disrupt troop movement in Yugoslavia. The next day found him on his first Droop Snoot mission to bomb a depot in Oseppo, Italy, and then back to Yugoslavia the following day on another dive bombing mission, which he wrote about in his log as “very harrowing, having to fly down river valleys on the approach to the bridge actually below some of the hilltops where the enemy could fire down on us. This is the worst for the tail end fighter whose job it [is] to take gun camera film of the damage to the target.”


P-38

In March 1945 he was assigned his first squadron lead in a fighter sweep over Zagreb, Yugoslavia. He wrote home that this will “give you gray hairs quickly.” The following day, he was escorting an unarmed photo reconnaissance aircraft in Munich when he was attacked near the target area by a ME-262, a German jet-powered fighter aircraft (the world’s first) considered to have been the most advanced German aviation design during World War II. He wrote that the ME-262 pilot “almost got close enough to be part of the formation, but left when we dropped our spare tanks and turned into him.”

His next bombing mission wasn’t until April 1945 when he spent several days bombing railroad bridges in Germany. On April 8th after bombing a bridge he made a “fighter sweep over some marshalling railroad yards [and] was credited with 2 1/3 locomotives.” He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for this mission. Several days later he was again bombing railroad bridges, this time in Austria. When he returned he found that several holes had been blown into the bottom of his plane by the rocks that are thrown up from the bombs, evidence of the dangers involved with dive bombing. He also received the Air Medal and 4 Bronze Oak Leaf Clusters—the bronze oak leaf cluster represents second and subsequent awards of the Air Medal (2nd awarded on March 13, 1944; 3rd on April 16, 1994; and 4th on June 4, 1945. I couldn’t find records for the award of the Air Medal and 1st Oak Leaf Cluster).

The Distinguished Flying Cross

Awarded to aviators and aircrew for heroism and/or extraordinary achievement during aerial flight, the Distinguished Flying Cross is the only medal conferred by all five military services, in all wars and campaigns from World War I to the present.

On April 22nd, during an armed recon mission in Italy, Guy’s wingman, Lt. Hollingsworth was shot down after they encountered heavy machinegun fire. They were flying at low altitude over what appeared to be an abandoned government building. Lt. Hollingsworth was captured as a POW and was liberated on Victory in Europe Day.

The Air Medal

Awarded to any person who, while serving in any capacity in or with the armed forces of the United States, shall have distinguished himself by meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight. Awards may be made to recognize single acts of merit or heroism or for meritorious service. Award of the Air Medal is primarily intended to recognize those personnel who are on current crew member or non-crew member flying status which requires them to participate in aerial flight on a regular and frequent basis in the performance of their primary duties. However, it may also be awarded to certain other individuals whose combat duties require regular and frequent flying in other than a passenger status or individuals who perform a particularly noteworthy act while performing the function of a crew member but who are not on flying status. These individuals must make a discernible contribution to the operational land combat mission or to the mission of the aircraft in flight.

Guy flew his last mission on April 26, 1945 and was awaiting transportation to the United States when the war ended.

200,000 Well-behaved People Rally for Sanity

Mr. Man and I flew to Washington, DC on Friday night to attend the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear.  We got up early on Saturday morning and walked to the Farragut North Metro Station.  Waiting on the platform we were surprised by the small number of people waiting for the train, but when it rolled in, it was tightly packed. We barely managed to squeeze on. Getting off at the Chinatown station to change to the green line we waited in a long line of people to get up the escalator. The air was charged. People were smiling and laughing, anxious and excited to get to the rally. We jumped on another crowded train to the Archives Station and walked up 7th Street with hundreds of others, picking up stickers, cones, and towels from volunteers along the way. 





Arriving at the Mall around 9:15am, we immediately made our way toward the stage.  It was packed and moving was slow.  The closer we got, the tighter it became.  At times, we were literally walking shoulder-to-shoulder, squeezing through any opening we could find.  Finally finding a spot on the right side of the stage about 100 yards back with a large screen just ahead, we settled in. 

It was quiet considering the number of people; everyone peacefully waiting for the rally to begin. We talked with others about where they were from and made friends with those immediately around us, and passed the time looking at the signs and the costumes.  By 11:00am they were no longer allowing anyone to enter the front section where we were as it had reached capacity.

The show was, at times, slow but it didn’t matter; we were there.  I thought Colbert in particular was over the top at times, he was almost a caricature of his character.  Myth Busters’ Jamie Hyneman and Adam Savage took the stage early on and had the crowd do the wave, beginning at the front of the stage and ending in the back, wherever that was.  It was an incredible sight! When they had us do it again, just women, followed by just men, they timed it; it took almost a full minute to reach the back.

Sam Waterson read a poem by Colbert, "Are You Sure?".  The highlight was when Yusuf Islam (you may remember him as Cat Stevens) took the stage to sing “Peace Train.” He was interrupted by Colbert who then introduced Ozzy Osbourne. There was a roar from the crowd at the opening notes to “Crazy Train.” The interruptions went back and forth until the duo left the stage. From off stage we heard a voice, "love" it said.  It was the lead singer of the O’Jays, who took the stage to sing “Love Train.”

We were also treated to performances by John Legend and the Roots, who actually got the show started, Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow, Mavis Staples and Jeff Tweedy (Wilco), and Tony Bennett who closed the show with “America the Beautiful.”

The day was inspiring and as I listened to Jon Stewart’s closing speech, I was grateful to have experienced it. I am still awed by the knowledge that 200,000+ people—young, old and middle-aged; black, white and brown; Christians, Jews and Muslims—can come together and stand shoulder-to-shoulder without anger, or judgment, or as Stewart would say “douchiness.”

Tour of Homes

Study

It has been over two weeks since the Tour of Homes, and with preparing for the Open Studio, there hasn't been much time to write about it. We spent eight weeks getting the house in order (this was the best reason to justify doing a lot of things we've put off over the years).  Armed with paint and paint brushes, I refreshed all the trim in the house and painted four rooms.  And that bookcase that's been waiting to be "finished" for 10 years? Done.  I even managed to talk Mr. Man into buying a couple of rugs, something we had been putting off until our aging pets were gone.


The last week before the tour was spent cleaning and staging (never thought I'd use that word outside of talking about HGTV). My house hasn't been this clean in a long time. And of course with the Open Studio following two weeks later, we managed to keep it that way.


McCoy & Niloak pottery on dining room mantel

Although we didn't officially keep count, there were approximately 200 people through the house over the course of the weekend.  My brother, Troy drove over from Columbus and spent the day greeting people on the porch, checking tickets, and directing them on what not to miss.  He did a really great job of plugging the art in the central hallway as this is now my gallery.  I hung around inside, answering questions and inviting those who seemed interested to the Open Studio.

Central Hallway/Gallery

One of the tour participants, a slightly frumpy, socially awkward gentleman, questioned my use of three colors in the dining room; when I explained that the lighter (third) color between the picture molding and the crown molding helped draw the eye upward to the height of the ceiling, he obnoxiously told me it wasn't necessary.  I bit my tongue and sent him outside to see the chickens and let Mr. Man deal with him.

Den

Almost everyone went out back to see the chickens, even on Sunday when it rained all day—Mr. Man had a large umbrella on the back steps so that those who wanted to visit the coop could do so without getting wet. 

Penny, Letty, Matilda & Buffy

Mr. Man spent most of the weekend in the backyard talking about the chickens, patio, and landscaping.

Back patio

While our volunteers manned the front porch and back of the house directing people upstairs.


Guestroom

 All in all it was a great experience, but not one I'm looking to repeat anytime soon. In all honesty, by Sunday afternoon I just wanted all those people out of my house.

 

Preparing for the Grant Park Tour of Homes

When first asked to be on the tour of homes, you feel honored; you love your house, and while it’s not a “show place” as some homes on the tour tend to be, it’s comfortable, eclectic, and beautifully lived in. And, you think, what a good reason to get a couple of projects done around the house. Great, we're in!

Then reality sinks in; strangers will be traipsing through your home, looking at it with fresh eyes. You start to look at your house a little more critically and soon realize there is a lot that goes unnoticed during the day-to-day routine of life. Where did that crack come from? When was the last time the baseboards were cleaned? How many years (yes, I said years) has that bookcase gone unstained? Before you know it, what started out as a simple “freshening up” turns into patching, repairing, painting, sewing, and spending, spending, spending.

When your husband tells you he has to go to South Africa for a week, you file it in the back of your head and think about how you’ll be able to work into the night without having to stop to make dinner (not that you’ve made dinner lately, being too tired from working on projects all day). Or perhaps you’ll go ahead and push yourself past the point of reason and paint the dining room and study while he’s out of town. Realizing you have only four weekends before the tour, you sit down with the calendar to plan out what still needs to be done—since someone has to work, Mr. Man is only available to help on the weekends, so you save certain “manly” projects for him (like pouring concrete foundations for the rain barrel stands)—when it hits you that his trip to South Africa begins on a weekend!

So, you find yourself sweating in the 90+ degrees of a humid August Saturday afternoon, planting, raking, and mulching the garden when your glasses break. Not the a-screw-fell-out, easily fixed kind of broken, but the I-need-new-frames kind of broken. Every time you bend over they fall off, missing one arm as they are. Normally, you’d be thrilled to get a new, funky pair of glasses, but who has the time; not to mention the money considering you’ve bought enough chalk, spackle, sandpaper, paint and paint brushes to single-handedly raise the price of Home Depot stock.

Sometimes things are not as easy as they sound.

Treasure Hunting

For the last couple of years, I've kicked around the idea of checking out the World's Longest Yard Sale that starts in Gadsden, Alabama and follows Highway 127 up to Ohio. It is reported to have 5,000 vendors, selling just about anything you can image; clothes, toys, books, guns, furniture or even an old plow. I've always been a fan of flea markets and antique stores, and try to make it out to Scott's Antique Market several times a year. I don't always have anything "special" I'm looking for, just unique, interesting pieces. So I decided this was the year to see what all the hype is about....

Thursday, August 5th
My mom, brother Troy, and I loaded up the car and headed for Gadsden where the Yard Sale begins on Lookout Mountain. Making our way north toward Chattanooga, the road was littered with family yard sales as well as flea-market-like, multi-vendor sales. At times driving was slowed by heavy traffic, with cars lining both sides of the road announcing “good” stopping points. I found a cool sugar sack at one stop, a wonderful old kerosene lamp at another, as well as a beautiful McCoy vase and three small paintings from a Mentone artist named Andrea Boudin, who was invited to paint an ornament for the White House Christmas Tree under the last administration. She paints most of her pieces with her fingers and uses a two-haired paint brush for detail work. I would share her website with you, but unfortunately, she doesn’t have one. If you've never been to Mentone, it is a small, quaint mountain town with antique shops, an Inn and restaurant, and mountain cabin rentals.

We especially enjoyed the beautiful drive through the mountains, stopping a couple of times to just appreciate the view. We ate a late lunch at a small, home-cooking restaurant where we ordered the special of pot roast, potatoes, green beans and carrots for $4.95! The food was good, but it seems they don't have no-smoking-in-restaurants laws in Alabama and in the adjoining booth sat two older gentlemen, one of whom smoked the entire time we were eating.

We stayed at the Ramada Limited in Chattanooga, tired from our day and the heat. It was expensive for what you get; rooms with exterior entry, tiny bathrooms, poor air conditioning, and a complimentary breakfast that is less than appetizing. I wouldn’t recommend it.

Yard Sale Tip #1: Book hotel rooms early, they fill up fast. One gentleman trying to find a room in Chattanooga had been to 6 hotels looking for a place to spend the night.

Friday, August 6th
We drove through Tennessee on our way to Harrodsburg, Kentucky and made several stops at large, multi-vendor sites were we spent time wandering from booth to booth looking for a "find." For my mother this translates into finding a piece of McCoy pottery, that she doesn't already have in her collection, at less than market value.
We quickly realized we made a mistake in not renting a trailer (a must for next year) for transporting larger items as there were lovely dressers, chairs and armoires at great prices. Our space was limited in the Prius even though we all packed lightly for the trip. I found two lidded baskets and we packed some of the more delicate items in them.

It also didn’t take long to realize a redneck is a redneck, whether you are in Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee or Kentucky. I overheard a shorn-headed, large fella telling his companions, two of which were teen-aged boys, “that there’s a queer” and turned to see they were looking at Troy. I was offended and protective and walked over to join my brother, keeping my eye on them the entire time. Luckily we didn’t cross paths with them again. There were lots of McCain/Palin or old "W" bumper stickers. We were in conservative country. Wonder what they thought of my Obama sticker?

The rolling hills and lush countryside of Tennessee are beautiful and dotted with cattle and horses or crops of corn. The vendors are friendly and curious about where others are from, and you can easily get caught up in a conversation that's hard to break away from. Highway 127 travels through Signal Mountain and crosses Cumberland Lake at the Wolf Creek Dam shortly after you cross into Kentucky with its horse farms and crops of chartreuse colored tobacco (look for this in a painting soon).

I underestimated the amount of time that it would take us to reach Harrodsburg and we wound up about two hours from our hotel when folks started closing up for the night, not getting into Harrodsburg until around 9:30 p.m. We quickly found the Days Inn, which was somewhat better than the Ramada (although we had the same difficulties with the air conditioners). I managed to find a lovely piece of stained glass and a Niloak vase, both for great prices, and felt it had been a successful day.

Yard Sale Tip #2: It can be very hot; bring lots of water, sunscreen and a hat.

Saturday, August 7th
Saturday morning we checked out of the hotel and found a little diner for a breakfast buffet and then hit the road heading north toward Ohio. We decided to make the most of the time we had left and only stopped at the larger, flea-market-like sales. We were all a little tired and learned that we can go for miles without saying a word; driving from sale to sale in comfortable silence.

Ohio was pretty disappointing with few vendors along the route—we'll bypass Ohio next year and concentrate on Tennessee and Kentucky. We made it to Eaton and cut over to Dayton where we stayed at the Courtyard; the nicest and least expensive hotel of the weekend.

I bought an old wooden chair (child sized), a cast iron skillet, another McCoy vase, and a really cool iron cobbler’s stand/shoe form. Troy found some of the glassware he loves, and mom wound up with a couple of really unique pieces of McCoy to add to her collection. All in all a great trip.

Yard Sale Tip #3: Use the clean restrooms whenever you can and pack sanitizer, seat covers, toilet paper, and wet wipes for when you can't.

Sunday, August 8th
Sunday morning we jumped on 75 South and headed for home. I’d made a 10-hour playlist before I left home with music I thought my mother would enjoy—Sinatra, Etta James, Duke Ellington, Ella Fritzgerald, Elvis, Johnny Cash; you get the picture. We couldn’t wait to get out of Ohio, and were happy when we reached Kentucky and her lovely vistas. We made great time and were in Knoxville, Tennessee (shout out to my Bush Brothers' friends) in time for lunch and were back in Atlanta by 5:00 p.m.

The Beautiful Gulf Coast

Some of you may be surprised that we are 74 days into the oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico, and I haven’t yet written about it. I’ve wanted to. I’ve even sat down and begun to write several times. But then my emotions take over and I find myself unable to articulate my thoughts in any rational manner—I’m furious! And fury often paralyzes me. This is the worst environmental disaster in our (certainly my) lifetime! BP continues to lie, hide and obstruct the American public about what is happening; barring the media, continuing to use a toxic chemical dispersant that hasn’t been approved by the EPA—who knows what the long-term impact of that will be on sea and shore life; fish, fowl and human—not protecting the safety of clean-up workers, and threatening workers with termination if they speak out about what’s going on. I’m flabbergasted! This is America; those fuckers are in our waters. How dare they act like they don’t have to account to us! See, my emotions take over and all I can do is rant.

Every time I see a photo of a pelican, sea turtle, dolphin, or other wild life endangered by this leak (I’m so sick of it being called a “spill”, it’s a LEAK, with no end in sight), I feel powerless. I grew up on the Gulf Coast of Florida and spent a many a summer day at the beach. Even after moving to Atlanta, we pack the car every summer for a week long respite in the sun and beautiful water of St. George Island. The first thing I do when we arrive, before we unload the car or buy groceries or use the bathroom, is walk to the edge of the water and close my eyes, feeling the wind on my skin, the sound of the surf in my ears, and, taking a deep breath, the smell of salt and sea. I open my eyes and take in the majesty of the ocean and I am in awe… I’m home. The gulf is part of my soul and I am heartbroken. Even though I no longer live on the gulf, I still feel its powerful pull, and I ache for those who do live there, whose livelihood and way of life are damaged, perhaps beyond repair, and who must look out each day and see the destruction that has been done to all they hold dear, and I know they too are heartbroken.

And for what?