by jphilo | Oct 1, 2015 | Uncategorized
- Press Release: The Man of Steel and I are going to Philadelphia with my sister and brother-in-law next week. We want to assure reporters in the City of Brotherly Love that we do not expect the same level of press coverage as the Pope received. Though we wouldn’t turn down a parade in our honor and a ride in the Pope-mobile.
- New Super Power: The ability to select the public bathroom stall with a latch that appears to be secure but mysteriously opens once I’m seated on the porcelain throne.
- Simple Pleasure of the Week: Watching a flock of birds discover and devour the teeny-tiny fruits on our ornamental crab apple tree. Though if they eat all the fruit before it ferments, we will have to forego the annual tipsy-birds-falling-out-of-the-tree extravaganza.
by jphilo | Nov 15, 2011 | Out and About
Four years ago this week, Hiram’s workplace sent him to a training conference in Philadelphia. I tagged along, and after the conference was over, we stayed in the city a few extra days. As today’s recycled post shows, we had a wonderful time.
Just Around the Corner – Recycled
The time has come to leave Philadelphia behind. But I have to share one more story. This will be the last one, I promise.
We stayed at a B & B called The Mosaic. The literature said it was named after the Mosaic Gardens, just around the corner from our B & B. The gardens were created by famous South Philadelphia artist Isaiah Zager. It took a while for us to believe that just around the corner meant what it said – just around the corner. We thought it was advertising hype.
We discovered that Isaiah lived across the street from us when he stood at his front door and dickered with a junk peddler one morning. The scene prompted us to go around the corner to the Mosaic Garden and pay our $3 admission fee and enter a different world.
The garden covers the area of three row houses, with one building and two outdoor lots. Every inch – floors, ceilings, interior and exterior walls, steps, garden paths – is covered with mosaics made of junk. Broken bits of mirrors, crockery and china. Rows of colored glass bottles. Layers of ceramic tiles. Bicycle wheels embedded in mortar. The colors and textures overwhelmed our senses. The amount of time required to create it boggled our minds. Our sense of wonder grew as we walked around the city and found many other buildings, alleys and retaining walls covered with Isaiah’s junk art. Bits of garbage, which in the hands of a creator, became things of intricate beauty.
From now on, when I feel broken and worthless, I’m going to look at my pictures of the Mosaic Garden. And I’m going to think about my Creator and step out in faith. I don’t know His plans, but I do know His ways. I know that just around the corner, He’s prepared something beautiful.
by jphilo | Aug 26, 2010 | Reviews
When you pick up a Lisa Scottoline novel, what comes to mind?
Legal thriller? Yes.
Women lawyers? Of course.
Philadelphia? No doubt.
Road trip? Maybe not so much.
But on a recent, unexpected road trip, and a long one at that, I found the audio version of Daddy’s Girl by Scottoline to be a perfect traveling companion. Performed by the incomparable Barbara Rosenblat (this woman can make every voice, from a young child to a elderly socialite to a male prison inmate to a poverty-stricken Appalachian migrant sound believable), the book kept me wide awake for hours.
Now, I’m not saying Daddy’s Girl is classic literature. It follows the standard thriller formula, starting with a hero minding her own business who is suddenly thrust into an impossible situation as all her normal supports – social standing, friends, money, cell phone, car – are knocked away one by one. Eventually, armed with only her wits, she wins the day and proves her mettle to herself and those around her. The book screams “women can do everything men can do” with as much subtlety as punk rock hair cut.
However, Daddy’s Girl did its job well, keeping me awake on a long drive. More than that, the author made me care about the protagonist, Nat Greco. I wanted to see how she solved her dilemma, which she accomplished with the requisite number of wasted cars, hidden guns and funky disguises. The book even had an unexpected twist near the end, a small wrench in the romance end of things, to keep things interesting.
Daddy’s Girl may never make it into my top ten favorite books of all time. But Lisa Scottoline won’t care, because she accomplished what successful authors must do. She made herself indispensable in my little world.
Before my next road trip, I’ll find another Lisa Scottoline audio book to keep me company. And that’s exactly what Lisa was hoping for all along.
by jphilo | Nov 16, 2007 | Out and About
Here it is – Ben Franklin’s excavated privy pit. The picture’s a bit cloudy since this bit of history is encased in a concrete and plexiglas case, a deterrent against theft or vandalism, I suppose. Just so you know, this is not the exact spot where Ben did his business. That took place on a seat in a water closet at a higher level in the house. A dump pipe ran from the water closet to the privy pit. In his home Ben had all the comforts of home, including indoor plumbing.
Which leads me to an open and frank discussion of the traveling malady I am presently experiencing. No, it’s not Montezuma’s revenge. It’s the Dorothy Syndrome, a phrase some swanky psychologist has probably nabbed already. This is the premiere Dorothy, as in the Wizard of Oz Dorothy. As in “There’s no place like home” which is how I am feeling on this third day trapped in the Philadelphia Airport Hilton. In some strange way, the hotel resembles the enchanted forest, and if I’m not watching, the artificial trees will hurl plastic fruit at me if I loiter too long in the lobby.
Tomorrow will be better, once we’re back to the Bed & Breakfast in South Phillie. We have two more days to explore the city and elbow past the Philadelphia Marathon crowds. But Monday, when we pack our bags and take a taxi to the airport, the malady will be in full swing again. I hope i don’t embarrass Hiram too much in the middle of the terminal when I stop, close my eyes and click the heels of my brown leather clogs every hundred feet. I’ll keep the volume low as I chant “There’s no place like home” and “Take the turkey out of the freezer when you get there.”
As soon as the turkey’s thawing, I’ll ask Hiram to sketch out our home’s plumbing and septic system. We’ll mail it to the national park system in case they ever needs the information for a historical display. It’s the kind of authentic documentation that makes history come alive for school children. Or makes them to lob artificial fruit at the display.
Suddenly, concrete and plexiglas make a whole lot of sense.
by jphilo | Nov 15, 2007 | Out and About
There’s the picture I promised – the privy pit. Actually, this one is a teaser. Tomorrow I’ll show you the privy that was part of the fancy house he built for his wife. It includes excavated bricks and an empty hole.
In the past week Hiram and I have walked all over Philadelphia and seen so many historic sights that I can’t remember them all. But two are unforgettable. One is Franklin Court, where the privy pits are located. Sandwiched between modern buildings, this bit of history was preserved somehow. Franklin’s home is gone, but the rental property he owned is intact, along with the working post office he established. And below the courtyard is a museum dedicated to Franklin’s life. Pretty cool.
But the exhibit I enjoyed most was the Signers’ Gallery at the National Constitution Center. In the gallery, bronze statues of the men who signed the constitution are arranged as if in conversation with one another. At the foot of each statue, a plaque gives the name of each signer, along with the state he represented and his age. Ben Franklin was the oldest at eighty-one. Many of the men were in their forties, fifties and sixties. But several were in their twenties and thirties, and that fact blew me away. Young men. These young men, one only a year older than my son, were entrusted with the creation of a government for a new nation.
Breathless with hope, I stood among them and thought of the twenty-somethings in our country today who are searching for a grand cause to champion, for meaning beyond the toys that distract them. And I prayed that they will find their cause and change history for the better once again. Standing among those statues I was convinced it can happen again.
A small part of me remains in that gallery – breathless, waiting, hopeful.
