A buttery light tart filled with tomatoes, cheese and herbs. A light golden crepe folded around a filling of melted bittersweet chocolate and fresh homemade raspberry preserves. Crusty warm olive bread inviting buyers to break off a chunk and just eat. Jar upon jar of freshly made preserves (think strawberry, blueberry, red raspberry…). This is not your typical farmer’s market.

Every Friday afternoon in a field on a country road in Hardwick, Vermont, vendors arrive to set up their tents and tables for the afternoon’s sales. By 3 p.m., cars have filled the parking lot and spilled onto both sides of the road. This market more closely resembles a country fair.

The Hardwick Farmer’s Market, featuring local produce, products and services, has plenty to offer every taste. vendors market whatever fresh vegetables are ready for harvest : snap peas, lettuce, early corn, cucumbers, and tomatoes are just a few items to be found here (keep in mid that gardens are started much later and are subject to freeze much earlier this far in the Northeast).

A big, bold hand-painted roadside sign advertises the festive weekly sale which is the ultimate shopping delight for “locavores.” On this warm summer day, musicians kept up a lively country rhythm, providing entertainment and a respite for shoppers and their children.

My friend Robin and I and circled the sale area, beginning with a broad array of perennials, a severe temptation, given the massive landscaping job Robin is doing at her mountain home. Sold.

Vermont’s premier product, maple syrup, was showcased by Echo Hills Farm, which presented the delicate amber syrup in an assortment of sizes and unique containers, including glass “maple leaf” bottles. Sold.

A local baker was surrounded by a U-shaped table set-up, each surface covered with large wicker baskets full of fresh stone-oven baked bread in a wide variety of flavors. I bought a crusty loaf olive bread, of which only half made it home. At as much as $6.00 a loaf, it had to be good; in fact, it was mouthwatering great!

A local chef, dressed in baker’s cap and apron, offered the previously mentioned dessert crepe among the many delicacies she prepared for the day. We bought one, passing it back and forth between us since we had either my diabetes or our weight-watcher efforts in mind. Three bites each and the delicacy was gone. Shared, but gone. No, we didn’t save a bite for her teen-aged son.

Decisions, decisions...

Even holistic health practitioners join this festival, bringing a bit of alternative health care option to the table with a display of services and information available in the region. They are more than happy to discuss holistic health options and the value of complementary care.

This roadside gathering of laughing children, friends pausing to chat, and vendors discussing their products and recipes (many organic) gave a festive atmosphere to one of the finest outdoor markets I’ve visited. The Hardwick Farmer’s market is one of many such markets scattered about New England that have stepped beyond the ordinary to create a social occasion behind sale and service. Ultimately, though, the idea is to “Buy Local” and support the many farmers, gardeners, health practitioners and craftspeople who work in this Green Mountain region.

Vermont's finest: Maple syrup, courtesy of Echo Hill Farm

The pensive Spence monument is intriguing as the only one not immaculately tended.

Ten years ago friends introduced me to Hope Cemetery, first in a quick drive-by on the way to somewhere else, and later, for a “quick” tour that became a lengthy monument-by-monument tour. For these monuments are like no others. They honor the dead, but are of themselves museum quality works of art and imagination that attract a flurry of annual visitors from all over the world. The granite monuments, carved from Barre’s own Rock of Ages Quarry, rank as the best granite craftsmanship in the world. Most people do not realize that many of the monuments across our country are crafted from Barre (and other Vermont) granite.

I walked the peaceful, quiet grounds, awestruck by the ingenuity of many of the stones, and by the willingness of the creators to step beyond the traditional “names and dates of life and death” inscription and create memorials that capture the essence of individual in the form of a hobby, a career, a love, a memory…

To say that the images unfolding here are breathtaking is an understatement. I was walking through an open air museum of the finest art.

Barre was known for its master craftsmen, Italian stone carvers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. These master craftsmen were artists of incredible talent and ingenuity, working the rock solid stone into forms of grace and beauty, power and poignancy. The cemetery includes master works of custom figures, bas-reliefs and ornate crypts, where many of these craftsmen and their families were ultimately buried.

The Braun monument with its open book is one of my favorites.

Inscribed in cursive, in impeccable French, a tribute to Madeleine Braun (1931-1994)

This poem, in flawless cursive, in French, remains a tribute to Madeleine Braun. I was attracted to it first because of its sheer beauty, then the French language I love, and then the inscription “Madeleine,” which was my late mother’s name (she also spoke fluent French).

Inscribed in the base, the name 'Madeleine"

On every visit, I walk up to this stone and run my fingers over the inscription, never tiring of the words and the love they represent. It reads in part:

Just as a ray of sunshine, you illuminate my life
with your magnificent smile, your grand generosity,
your dynamic energy, and your marvelous joy in life.
Young of heart, body and spirit (mind)…
you are an admirable example of courage and love…
Your husband, your sons, and all who love you
We think of you and want to say ‘Thank you, Madeleine’
for giving us the chance to love you.”

The Braun monument dominates its section of Hope Cemetery

The theme of love eternal continues with the near life-sized sculpture of William and Gwendolyn Halvosa, sitting up, one can only imagine them propped up on feather pillows, in their marriage bed. Pajama’d figures, shown holding hands, between them the inscription “Set me as a seal upon thine heart for love is strong as death” from the Song of Solomon 8:6. Their tombs stretch out before them, twin “beds” with a single headboard.

Eternal love

Hope Cemetery was established in 1895 and originally contained 53 acres. Since that time it has expanded to a total of 65 acres. Edward P. Adams, a nationally known landscape architect, created the original plan for the cemetery. In the past century, each section of the grounds has emerged after meticulous planning and intricate design, with the approved monuments representing strict architectural and artistic standards. The cemetery was created with an eye to attractiveness, ease of maintenance, and the provision of a unique opportunity for families to honor their loved ones.

While the cemetery has an seemingly infinite array of unique headstones, there is a uniform feel to the grounds because every single one of the monuments and crypts is carved from Barre Gray Granite. Custom carved stones are expensive, so many of the cemetery’s headstones are traditional, but among the more standardized markers visitors will find the amusing, the curious, the inspiring, the sentimental, and outright masterpieces.

A 1/2 scale replica of race car #61 celebrates local driver Joey Laquerre, Jr, who died in a 1991 snowmobile mishap.

Among the more unusual, and distinctly non-traditional, monuments is this race car, a half-size replica of race car #61, designed to celebrate local driver Joey Laquerre, Jr, who died in a 1991 snowmobile mishap. This is followed by a plane, captured angled in flight.

A bi-plane banks sharply on its way to Cloud Nine

Brusa monument: The Dying Man

The stones represent the carvers, the artisans, themselves.

“The Dying Man” is stone artisan Louis Brusa’s own grave, a strange and evocative portrait of the carver in the arms of his wife, slipping into the afterlife. Brusa died in 1937 to silicosis, an illness that plagued stonecarvers and was which was caused by breathing in stone particles in the air at the quarries. In 1930, then modern ventilation equipment elimated that health hazard from the quarry workplace.

Brusa was the creator of one of Hope Cemetery’s most striking monuments, the stone known as the “Bored Angel,” also known as the “Sitting Angel”. Near life-sized, she sits, resting, between columns, her legs crossed, head balanced on her chin, wings flowing to the back of the stone. her look is pensive, thoughtful, perhaps bored as some suggest. We can’t help wondering what, or who, she is waiting for. or remembering.

Louis Brusa

Just as the monument are unique, so too are the numerous mausoleums “museum worthy.” All are fashioned of that hard gray granite, the angles sharp and precise, the columns immaculately rounded, the stained glass windows impeccably fashioned, and the bas reliefs, sometimes in bronze, the equal of what might be found in any world class museum.

Rock of Ages and Barre’s granite quarries lie southeast of Barre, Vermont (I-89, exit 7), and the Granite Sculptures of Hope Cemetery are set across a rolling hillside just off the main road in downtown Barr. The perfect time to view this outdoor memorial sculpture garden is in the autumn, on a fall foliage vacation tour, when nature bathes the hillsides in colors, a fitting backdrop for the vibrant work of these Barre stonecutters.

The best (or most intriguing) of Hope Cemetery:

CALCAGNI: Towering colonnade memorial with an exquisite hand-carved angel centered betweed two four-colum sections. Note the symetry, the perfection of the horizontal lines in the structure of this piece.

ZORZI: A softly curved hand places a bouquet of flowers over the oval inscripted area; the flowers seem suspened over air, a space meticulously hollowed out to create that aura of dimension.

BONAZZI-SULLIVAN: This mausoleum, created with sharp angles and perfect symmetry, is soften by its bronze door, a panel lavishly inscribe with the figure of a woman, head bowed to her arms, perhaps weeping, beneath carved boughs.

BONAZZI-SULLIVAN: A close-up of the figure reveals the sharpness of pine needle clusters and pine cones above and behind the figure. From the strands of upswept hair to the drape of her gown, to the oval leaves before her, she lends an element of softness and gentle sorrow to this otherwise austere crypt.

GIUSEPPE DONATI: A bas-relief of a soldier smoking a cigarette; a portrait of his wife or girlfriend floats in a curl of smoke.

MALNATI: Finely carved ribbons and floral work are a delicate shift in style from the many rugged monuments here.

BRUSA: Between stone pillars, this angel sits, head in hands, waiting. Just sitting? Is she bored?

BRUSA: Brusa carved this angel, with her strong aquiline nose, ragged curls and partially unfurled wings.

CASSAVOY: The corner of this monument reveals a woman outside her country home, pine trees filing the Green Mountain land behind her.

COLUMBO: Stunned rugged cut is tamed by the rolling curves of the scroll and the bursts of wilfowers beneat an assymetrical single column and partial arch

HILLFERTY: This stunning embrace of an angel calls to mind a similar piece by Daniel Chester French, whose "embrace" was inspired by a plume of steam at Yellowstone.

ERIKSON-ANDERSON: A ship sailing the sea; the simplest of wave lines at the top of each section balance the

ELIA CORTI: Cut from a single piece of granite by the brother of the deceased. Outstanding hand carved life size figure. Notice the detail of the clothing, the tools of the granite trade. Background is shell rock finish.

ELIA CORTI: Profile view of this three dimensional figure

SIMONETTA: Sorrowful figure of vieled woman on one knee, holding flowers that droop earthward. Contemplation? Weeping?

SIMONETTA: Close-up of the female figure

SIMONETTA: This oval portrait of the woman buried here is inset into the granite base

EGENIOA CARUSI: Striking bust leaves no doubt of the power and persona of Mr. Carusi. Museum quality work.

HALVOSA: One of the incriptions on the "beds"

The Corrigan stone includes the flight of wild geese

The tall Friberg monument is elegant simplcity. The 'wings" on either side seem poised to protect, or possibly take flight.

The back road at Hope Cemetery is lined with meticulously carved mausoleums, some with ornate bronze doors and gates, others with elegant stained glass windows.

The Cruickshank monument is magnificent simplicity: a rugged cross that stands nearly ten feet high

The Rouleau Mausoleum, with bronze doors, stauary and urns.

The assymetrical Rovelli stone includes a scroll and meticulously detailed spier mums with every delicate petal hand carved.

The Martel monument has a unique inscription on each side of its cube

Two pyramids with details inscriptions and quotes stand behind more traditional monuments at Hope Cemetery

Inscription on one of Vrooman pyramids

Bible quote fills on side of the Vrooman pyramid

The Bettini armchair has an intricate floral design on the face of each arm.

Grenier's love of violin immortalized in this bas relief

ROULEAU: Impeccably carved Mausoleum with ornate doors and guardian statuary

The Entrance to the Hope Cemetery

CUMMING: A flower garden

MAURICE: Christ kneeling in the garden

SPENCE: Hauntingly pensive

THOMAS: Love

DAVIS: Remembering his love of the sport

PECOR: In the hands of the Lord

In the midst of grandeur, this simple ceramic plaque honors a teacher.

In downtown Barre, this monument stands as a tribute to the stonecutters of the local quarry

Click here to view the embedded video.

Photos by Christine Anne Piesyk

An unexpected business trip resulted in this writer traveling to the famed ‘City of Broad Shoulders!’ Chicago was our destination and The Sears Tower, our business epicenter. Chicago truly is ‘An American Big City.’ Make no mistake, the city center is absolutely impressive with skyscrapers aplenty, social amenities, commercial ventures and a swift hustle and bustle everywhere. The people of Chicago are as diverse their city’s business environs.

Crown Plaza Metro Hotel, Downtown Chicago

Our lodging choice was the Crown Plaza Chicago Metro at 733 W. Madison Street, which is just four blocks from the Sears Tower in the heart of downtown. It proved a wise choice with its own unique treasures, that being the marvelous restaurant which feted us with food and drink to rave about. The Crown Plaza is also one block from Greek Town, a block of eateries that specialize in traditional Greek foods. The hotel’s own restaurant, ‘The Metro,’ proved to be a special treasure in itself. They serve Goose Island, a local micro-brewery whose beers harken back to authentic German brewmaster recipes and have no bitterness or aftertaste. The summer beer is a caramel Wiezen that flows smoothly.

Anyone who has been to Germany will appreciate the ‘Pils’ style Melinda. It doesn’t take ten minutes to draw the beer, but the flavor, color and mellowness of the traditional Pils are all there in abundance. Compliment your drink choice with any of the wonderful food choices from the menu. I particularly recommend the Ocean Scallops with Polenta. The scallops are large and cooked to a golden brown, tender crispness. The Polenta, made with mushrooms, is moist and deliciously accents the scallops. With the Melinda as your beverage, ‘The Metro’ becomes an in-house treasure of dinning. I also recommend the steamed mussels in white wine sauce. Indulge your taste buds. This chef knows how to impress and does it ever so well.

Soldiers Field as seen from the Sears Tower Sky Deck

Our business appointment at the Sears Tower afforded me the opportunity to learn about its unique elevator system. I was unprepared for the left-right sway that characterizes their ascents and descents. The views from the 64th floor are truly awe-inspiring. Skyscrapers are ever adding floors to increase their height and capacity. Boom cranes abound. The harbor, Navy Pier, Michigan Avenue, the Miracle Mile, the John Hancock building, The Exchange, the Chase Bank building, the Chicago River, Grand Central Station, the Citibank building and Soldiers Field, all these elements are presented in a wide panorama that really does take one’s breath away. Our business associate has this view on a daily basis: lucky fellow indeed! By those listed references, you are correct to assume that Chicago is a city of big money and big money managers and that’s why we were there. It was easy to see that this town truly is an American Big City.

If you have never been, I would urge you to plan a trip to Chocago. I recommend the Crown Plaza Metro for your lodging base. Great location, super comfortable, well appointed rooms, attentive staff, valet parking, Greek Town and a great time await. Pamper yourself and get to know the ‘City with the Broad Shoulders’ for yourself.

That hallowed group spearheaded an era of glamour evidenced in romantic and elegant couture, offered unparalleled, unequaled garments that now grace fashion institutes and museums. [At left, First Tuxedo: 1966 Fall/Winter Collection No 76, Nap and satin silk jacket and trousers, madarin Tuxedo shirt. Tie, Cumberbund and satin silk ankle boots, metal cufflinks with fancy pearls. Foundation Pierre Berge -- Yves Saint Laurent, Photo Foundation Foundation Pierre Berge -- Yves Saint Laurent]

The creations of these master craftsmen of fashion were emulated, a source of inspiration to ensuing generations of fashion designers. They were trendsetters too, shaping fashion to match the shape-shifting of global cultures. Nowhere was that more evident than in Saint Laurent’s transformation of the pantsuit for the world of working women. His adaptation and softening of the suits men wear to fit the emerging world of women in business was groundbreaking, changing the face of fashion in the workplace.

Actress Katherine Hepburn years earlier broke through boundaries with her confident stylish wearing of women’s trousers in the 30s, but it wasn’t until Yves Saint Laurent introduce pantsuits for the professional women in the 70s that the change took hold.

It is ironic that Saint Laurent passed away just as a spectacular retrospective of his work opens at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (at right). I scanned the web for photos of his work, culled them for my private web album of fashion, though the photos for this story were submitted by the MMFA. My kind of fashion. The Montreal exhibit will be presented from May 29 to September 28.

Curators working in collaboration with the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco have designed and developed, in partnership with the Fondation Pierre Bergé – Yves Saint Laurent, the first retrospective spanning the forty years of creation of the Maison de haute couture Yves Saint Laurent. From Montreal, the exhibit will move to the de Young Museum of San Francisco, from November 1, 2008, to March 1, 2009.

I read about this and thought, well, I am going to be just a few hours and a border crossing from this exhibit in another month. Wow! I see an alteration in itinerary on my agenda. One rooted in some 40 years of my adoration for this designer and his peers.

Though it was 60s, the age of the mini-skirt, the maxi-dress and Mary Quant, as a teenager with a bent for sewing and design, I poured through magazines seeking out the newest cut and drape of Europe’s high fashion season, waiting, holding my breath, for the patterns to emerge in Vogue or in the pattern books at my local fabric outlets. The shape of a collar, the length of a sleeve, the swirl of a skirt, the meticulous matching of a fabric’s weave and color. I drank it up. made my own copies, sought unconventional fabrics that “would work.”

[At left: Cocktail Dress, Homage to Mondrain, 1965 Fall/Winter Collection No. 81; Wool Jersey yoke. faceted jet stud earrings with fancy pearls, patent leather pumps with metal buckles. Foundation Pierre Berge -- Yves Saint Laurent, Photo Foundation Foundation Pierre Berge -- Yves Saint Laurent]

As a teenager, my closet held Catholic school uniforms, work clothes, fishing boots, neat suits with accessorized hats and gloves, and ball gown and dresses for a professional ballroom dancing obsession that began at age 14. Back when you still find a dance orchestra and slick new dance floor on every corner. I didn’t buy my first pair of jeans until age 30 had come and gone, somewhere in the 80s.

I lived in a river town with fabric mills and outlets at every turn; I knew just where to get the best fabrics at the best prices. For while, I worked at a fabric mill outlet, selling fabrics by the yard, learning the nuance of weave, texture, grain, color shading, dye lots…

My friends and I scanned the European press and all the fashion magazines for hints of what was to come our way, working on the principal that what appeared in Europe this year would hit Canada next year and make it to the USA a year or two after that — it was the pre-internet age. I went to the movies to be entetained and ended up copying Givenchy’s designs for Audrey Hepburn in How to Steal a Million and Breakfast at Tiffany’s (where my passion for the “little black dress” was born), Channel’s neat little suits, Balenciaga gowns, and, of course, St. Laurent’s everything. At least, I tried. And it helped that in those days that at 5′9″ I weighed a mere 100 pounds soaking wet. A clothes-horse with an appetite like … let’s not go there. I was skinny. Hepburn slender. Twiggy thin.

Exhibition Yves Saint Laurent — May 29-September 28, 2008, Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. Photo: Denis Bernier

People sometimes watch the exaggerated television runway shows with a snicker and laugh and say “who would wear that?” But the fact it, while such designs fit a certain lifestyle and budget, and while some are purely theatric, the influence is a trickle down effect in term of color, cut, length, drape and a dozen tiny details. It’s the transition from haute couture to ready-to-wear. It sometimes takes a couple of years for high to recycle down the marketing food chain, but the influence of high fashion is out there in every piece of clothing — and art — we buy. Some make the transition better than others. St. Laurent was among the former. [Evening ensemble, 2001 Spring/Summer Collection, No. 89, Gauze Coat with Ostrich Feather border, satin crepe gown, Fondation Pierre Berge -- Yves Saint Laurent, Photo: Foundation Pierre Berge -- Yves Saint Laurent]

Yves Saint Laurent gave us flamboyant and romantic gowns of the 50s, 60s and early 70s when he worked in the House of Dior. He gave us some of the bold geometric “mini” designs of the 60s. He pioneered pantsuits for working women as the decade shifted to 1970. He was a visionary artist working in the finest linens, glistening silks and softest woolens. For fashion at his level is art. Saint Laurent “redefined” femininity with signature work that transcend the fashion norm.

The unique style of Yves Saint Laurent “blends references to the world of art with allusions to pop culture and social revolution.” The exhibit is structured around four themes and includes 145 accessorized creations along with drawings and videos (courtesy of Fondation Pierre Bergé – Yves Saint Laurent).

Director Nathalie Bondil sums up the new exhibit:

“Yves Saint Laurent is famed for revolutionizing the haute-couture tradition and laying the foundations of modern women’s wear. The wardrobe basics that he designed – pantsuit, culotte skirt, pea coat, blazer, safari jacket and tuxedo ­– shone with his innovative style and became true timeless classics. His designs were equally remarkable, reflecting wide-ranging sources of inspiration. In Saint Laurent’s stylistic vocabulary, music, art, performance, literature and impressions of far-off places were just as important as the new shapes he introduced…

“The poetry of each of his creations reflects this man’s incredible sensitivity and vast cultural knowledge. Every square inch of fabric is compelling…

Another aspect of Yves Saint Laurent’s work that touches me is his desire to empower women day and night. He appropriated masculine codes of dress, creating a wardrobe for modern women who were stepping out of traditional roles. This was in stark contrast to the practice of depicting women as Barbie dolls designed to sell products. But above all, he idealized the beauty of all his models, whatever their ethnic background or the colour of their skin (he was the first to use a black model), and his inspiration was nourished by a beautiful soul. Today, more than ever, young designers are re-examining his complex work.”

Exhibition Layout

Divided into the four themes, the exhibition begins with The Stroke of a Pencil”, that point of conception where the idea is created from the original sketch. The Yves Saint Laurent Revolution gives us the “feminized versions” of men’s attire with a touch of seductive appeal. The Palette explores a reversal of the traditional rules of colour harmony. Lyrical Sources brings the life cycle of fashion full circle to the sources of inspiration, sources rooted in the “historical, literary (Marcel Proust, Oscar Wilde, Louis Aragon, Jean Cocteau…) and artistic “influences” explored and interpreted in the genius that is Saint Laurent.

Throughout his career, Yves Saint Laurent examined the work of the great artists of our day, expressing his personal tastes and the paintings he admired by transforming painting into fabric. Some of his creations reflect the visual sensations of Impressionism, while others liberate the expressive power of some of the great names and movements of modern art: Mondrian and Poliakoff in 1965, the “Pop Art” dresses in 1966, Picasso in 1979 and Braque in 1988.

Exhibition Curators

The French fashion historian Florence Müller, Chief Curator of the exhibition, has shared her passion for and knowledge of French fashion and haute couture with Associate Curators Diane Charbonneau, Curator of Contemporary Decorative Arts at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, and Jill D’Alessandro, associate curator, Caroline and H. McCoy Jones Department of Textile Arts, Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.

The museum is located at 1380 Sherbrooke Street West, Montreal, Quebec Canada with the mailing address at P.O. Box 3000, Station “H”, Montreal, Quebec Canada H3G 2T9.

The artists and their works were selected by a juried panel from more than 400 submissions. The works featured in the exhibition have an expressive force and sense of beauty that transcend any limitations that might be imposed by their makers’ disabilities. The artists’ personal circumstances often inform their art, as well as their chosen media. Some of the works explore an artist’s daily struggles of living with a disability; others convey a positive outlook, rich with vitality and raw energy that is often achieved through the use of bright, bold color. Intertwining themes of strength, resilience, fragility, contentment and endurance can be seen throughout this exhibition. Though each work stands on its own artistic merit, the individual stories of their creators make the art even more engaging and awe inspiring.

“The works in The Artist’s Voice are a testament to the power of art to eliminate barriers as it offers healing, strength, and encouragement to its creators, while giving voice to the varied lives of these resilient artists. The artwork provides a visual language that broadens our own understanding as well, not only of people with disabilities, but also of our connections with each other and the world.” ~~ Anne Henderson, director of education at the Frist Center

The artists in this exhibition are motivated to make art for many reasons. Some use the creative process as a means of coming to terms with their particular situations and the world, while others use art as an escape from it. All of the artists attest to the therapeutic value of art and maintain that creating it assists them in their personal efforts to heal, live, and flourish in the world at large.

An example of this transformative power of creativity is seen in the work by residents of the Clover Bottom Developmental Center. Many of the non-verbal residents, as well as those facing other communication challenges, respond to color, shape and texture. Their intricate sculptures, which are made of wood with polymer clay or brightly colored felt, are testimony to the idea that art offers vision and voice to the silent and misunderstood.

For Lyrica Marquez, an artist with autism who usually relies on her mother’s support and assisted typing to communicate, the act of painting benefits her in the same way sculpture benefits the Clover Bottom residents. “In art, I am free to lose my disability over [to] the ways that the colors and lines flow from a soul’s expression,” writes Marquez in her artist’s statement. “It frees the ‘me’ who has no spoken words, only color and form as my own independent language. My art gives me a home in an otherwise hard-to-fit-in world.”

Selection Process

Last summer, the Frist Center announced a statewide Call for Works to receive entries for this exhibition, open to Tennessee artists ages 18 years and older who have physical, cognitive or mental disabilities (a disability is defined as an impairment that substantially limits a major life activity). Submissions were reviewed and chosen by a selection panel that included Donna Glassford, director of the department of cultural enrichment at Vanderbilt University Medical Center; Carol Mode, Nashville-based artist and Frist Center artist council member; and Mark Scala, chief curator of the Frist Center.

In advance of the exhibition, the Frist Center collaborated with VSA arts of Tennessee and Full Circle Art to provide free workshops across the state for artists. Participants learned how to create professional portfolios, write artists statements and photograph work for submission to juried art exhibitions.

Advisory Committee and Sponsors

An advisory committee assisted the Frist Center in the process of organizing this exhibition. Participants included individual artists and community members with and without disabilities and representatives from the following organizations: Centerstone, Full Circle Art, Pacesetters, Inc., Technology Access Center, Tennessee Arts Commission, Tennessee Disability Coalition, Tennessee Performing Arts Center, Vanderbilt Kennedy Center, Vanderbilt University Medical Center and VSA arts of Tennessee.

The Artist’s Voice is sponsored by HCA and the TriStar Family of Hospitals. This project is also supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts. This exhibition was organized by the Frist Center for the Visual Arts. Susie Creagh Elder, former educator for outreach at the Frist Center, is the guest curator for the exhibition.

Accredited by the American Association of Museums, the Frist Center for the Visual Arts, located at 919 Broadway in downtown Nashville, Tenn. The Frist Center’s Martin ArtQuest Gallery features more than 30 interactive stations relating to Frist Center exhibitions. Gallery admission to the Frist Center is free for visitors 18 and younger and to Frist Center members. Frist Center admission is $8.50 for adults, $7.50 for seniors and military and $6.50 for college students with ID. Thursday evenings, 5–9 p.m., admission is free for college students with a valid college ID. The Frist Center is open seven days a week: Mondays through Wednesdays, and Saturdays, 10 a.m.–5:30 p.m.; Thursdays and Fridays, 10 a.m.– 9 p.m. and Sundays, 1–5:30 p.m.. Additional information is available by calling 615.244.3340.

‘On the Road in America’ is an occasional column of meanderings and musings, written during my semi-annual sojourn north.

After the first bursts of near tropical heat in Clarksville, the cooling summer rain in Vermont is a gift to cherish. It began last night, after a day of haze and clouds. It ushered in coolness somewhere around sunset, and by nightfall I could hear the raindrops lightly kissing the brick sidewalks, dripping lightly from the eaves. No blustering wind, no storms. Just that gentle rain.

This morning I walked by a bank of peonies, damp and brightened by that rain, slightly bent by the weight of water. The temptation to pick a few stems was strong.

We are a large group this semester at Goddard College, writers all of poetry, prose, fiction and non, memoir, plays and screenplays, even graphic novels. Unlike other residencies here, this one — by its very nature as an MFA writing program — requires a certain amount of solitude in and around such activities as workshops, advisor sessions, seminars, and sometimes heated discussions abut things like style, form, voice, perspective, language… Students meet, interact and retreat for the solitary task that is composition.

Having been so very ill for so long this spring, having lost so much time, I feel as if I am playing “catch up” with where I ought to be. But this is a personal as well as a professional quest, so it will be done — when it is done. By removing that psychological pressure, that constricting parameter called “must,” I free myself to work, and work well. In my own stride.

It’s not to say that pressure does not have value; it does. It is a framework and guideline and sometimes a deadline. It keeps me on track. My train is just running a tad slow.

The beauty of this program is within its timeframe and requirements it acknowledges the need for respite, the extence of fatigue, and space for “think” time and “me” time.

With an advisors eye looking over my shoulder, the semester’s reading is determined, the schedule of writing is established, and the requirements yet to be fulfilled are spelled out. Submitted. Awaiting approval.

I walk back to my dorm, past the Clockhouse and the bank of Peonies, up the stairs to a room with a view, click on my fan to bring that rain-dampened air and the scent of peonies inside. I begin the semester’s work.

There are five more days to go, days that mix business with pleasure, work with camaraderie. Then I will be On the Road In America again, taking roads less traveled in the company of friends.

On the Road in America is an occasional and serendipitous column about people, places and observations, with publishing predicated on the random availability of internet access or lack thereof.

Being On the Road in America can sometimes be a bore.

Oh, there’s a great deal of beauty to be seen, from the Green Mountains of Vermont to the rolling farmlands across Ohio, from the rugged Rockies and the dramatic coastline of California’s 17-mile drive. That’s not the issue.

As implied in Josh Neuman’s Lemmings (right) ,what is troubling is the growing lack of identity, of uniqueness, of individuality, as one moves from state to state. North, south, east or west makes not a whit of difference. Commerce in America is cloning itself at breakneck pace, mass-producing blueprints for hotels, motels, box stores, shopping malls and restaurants that increasingly lack a sense of their own identity and certainly have no ties to community heritage or culture.

I’m on the road again, as Willie Nelson would sing, and I am heading for one of the few bastions of non-traditional development — via the central midwest to the rural northeast, home of green mountains, clothing optional backwoods beaches, interstate bike paths, and those perpetual golden arches relegated to the outermost borders of some cities.

The “Main Street” of Norman Rockwell fame in Stockbridge MA (Pine is the cross street). Photo by Christine Anne Piesyk

Travelers seeking “something different” often have to search out small little “Main Streets” in small little cities and towns, taking that “road less traveled” literally, if they hope to find any sense of the individuality that America was once famous for. Yes, Norman Rockwell’s Main Street in Stockbridge remains essentially the same — I’ve had mulled cider at the Red Lion Inn there many times, and sat beside their fireplace with its chain of antique keys hanging from the mantle. Some small towns retain and cultivate their Main Streets specifically to draw in tourists and travelers with unique architecture and themes that either reflect their history or re-create themselves as a new destination, as a place people WANT to be. Paducah, Kentucky, just a few hours from Clarksville, has done this, and done it well, redefining itself and its development with art. Yet today, in most cases, moving from point to point across America is to journey through a litter of mass produced economy.

Day by day, America’s unique local vistas are being enveloped in rubber-stamped malls with the same rubber-stamped stores: JC Penney’s, Sears, Blockbuster, Circuit City, Best Buy, Avenue, Gap (and Baby Gap), Macy’s, Kohl’s, Fashion Bug, Foot Locker, and such. It’s not just the Smiths keeping up with the Jone’s anymore; we can’t tell the Smiths from the Joneses.

Not that you can’t find good merchandise or big sales in these stores; bulk buying and and blockbuster sales can produce great deals. It is the lack of uniqueness, the absence of originality and creativity, that quickly becomes boring. This lack of diversity in the cloning of America converts shoppers into clones of one another. My own take on this: if everybody has it, I don’t want it.

It’s the same with eateries; McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, Subway (I do favor Subway), and Arby’s are epidemic. Applebees, Cracker Barrel, Pizza Hut, Ruby Tuesday, Chicago Pizza, Pizzaria Uno and others in a slightly higher price range are everywhere. When I travel, I don’t opt for a sure thing — I know what I have had. If I wanted more of the same I could stay home.

I deliberately seek out the non-chains, the mom-and-pop hole-in-the-wall places where the locals eat, a long narrow diner, or a small country inn with unique menus and local foods. It’s why I’ve bought lobsters directly off the boat on Cape Cod, savored deep fried wild turkey tenders, Moose steak, caught my own 23 pound catfish on Lake Champlain, mulled over the taste of venison in a hunter’s stew in northern New England, and savored clam chowder on (again) Cape Cod.

It’s why I like those funky purple potatoes that now grow abundantly in Maine (I first tried them in the Andes of Peru), and the taste of Hadley (MA) asparagus fresh picked from the field. And then there is French Onion soup dressed with fresh apples, or sea scallops on the pier in Monterey Bay (CA). Or chunks of cheddar cheese cut off huge aged rounds (at the Granville Country Store in the Berkshires) as I watch.

Besides grabbing some locally grown fresh fruit for the road, Atkins Fruit Farm also has home-baked goods such as warm Apple Cider Donuts, pure Maple Syrup, and a selection of goodies from regional farms. (Photo by Christine Anne Piesyk.

Loca’Vore (commonly spelled “localvore”) is the Oxford University word of the year, a term coined in San Francisco that defines a commitment to consuming only foods grown within a hundred miles radius. Now that easier to achieve in some parts of the country than others, but where there is an abundance of local produce (including jams, jellies, breads, cheeses, meats) it is a also a strategy for supporting local growers and farmers in a local economy. The products used are always unique to the region. It’s what I look for wherever and whenever I travel. Long trips, regional trips, or just ambling around town.

As for chain hotels and motels, they assure a fairly certain standard of comfort, and for those who need that kind of security or standardization, by all means be their guest…but checking into Red Roof Inn is not half as much fun as walking through a small Canadian village pool hall, paying ten dollars for a third floor walk up room (upstairs from that French-speaking pool hall/country store/post office/feed store) — a fine old room with a bath down the hall, latched but not locked doors, handmade rag rugs, feather quilts and pillows on a an old iron bed and a view of the St. Lawrence River from my window. It is not the same as finding that little cluster of cottages with a lake view to the east and a mountain view to the west and home-cooked community meals with fellow fishermen on the great lakes. It’s not as good an seaside inn on the California coast. Or a rooming house in old Quebec City. Or any small locally owned motel or bed and breakfast.

Along America’s highways, the view is increasingly the same: Motel 6, Red Roof Inn, Hometown Suites, Holiday Inn (not from the Bing Crosby musical), Hyatt, … you get the idea. Get out that rubber stamp.

I see these cloned hotels, malls and eateries as dots on the corporate maps, bottom lines on the corporate profit statements, a push toward standardization that saps individuality from the highways and main streets of America communities, funneling the competition of small business into oblivion.

Don’t “reach out.” Hang up!

It’s hard for some people to get a handle on traveling without a cell phone, not having access to internet, not being connected. It’s hard for some to get a handle on not accessing “the familiar,” not constantly being able to “reach out and touch someone.” It’s hard for some to step back from the manic pace of modern living, to turn off the music and the television and simply be, or be silent. It’s hard for some to turn the key to a hotel or hostel or cabin door and commit themselves the unfamiliar. It’s hard for some to imagine the night without a backlit afterglow of streep lamps, to imagine that the only light on a moonless night comes from the stars, that there is such a thing as “nightblack” — a completely black night.

These cloned corporate chains, this connectedness to technology, this fierce need to be bigger, faster, better, and perpetually linked are ties that bind us to work and home, precluding the kind of getaways in which we really “get away.” It isolates us, and keeps us from experiencing something new. Something different. It keeps us from knowing ourselves, and getting to know the people in other parts of our world.

As I move about the country, I become increasingly determined (moving quickly into adamant) to skip the mainstream, refuse the redundant, and seek out those places and people I don’t know yet … but want to meet. I want to slow down long enough to experience the heritage, the local color and culture,the values, the texture and taste of community. No spoon-fed culture, thanks. I like that “road less traveled.”

We cannot and probably should not always retain or re-create yesterday’s atmosphere exactly as it was. We can take the best of our history, or traditions, our cultural quirks and with careful planning redefine them in a way that anchors us to our heritage and history while moving us forward. That heritage is what gives our cities and towns solidity, and a “destination”stamp that actually means something.

As I prepare to board the bus for my semi-annual sojourn north, ready to be “On the Road in America,” I am thinking of all the roadblocks thrust before me as I was pulling the jigsaw pieces of my itinerary puzzle together. Starting with the travel plans…

To begin with, there is no easy way to get where I am going from Tennessee. Take Amtrak and you have to navigate to Indianapolis first. Flying means not only getting to Nashville but landing in Hartford, navigating to a bus terminal and — taking the bus for hours and hours more. Or tripling the airfare to land in Burlington and — get to the bus station or train station and take a train. I’ve since resolved to take the scenic routes by Greyhound, which has, until this trip, been both flawless and economical. And scenic.

To begin with, I’ve been enjoying the 14-day advance purchase for my tickets for years. Apparently that particular and very appealing price option was discontinued on June 3. Okay. I was not happy about that, since I subscribe to Greyhound Rewards and never got a notice about this change. Neither did it show up on June 17 when I cruised their website double-checking prices and schedules. So I opted to buy a discounted 7-day advance purchase ticket. Yeah, right. Since buying online tickets involves surcharges that add up, I went to the Clarksville Greyhound Terminal, as I always do, to buy my ticket.

A very young person working behind the counter informed me that she couldn’t sell me a ticket because my destination, the first stop on my journey, Montpelier, did not exist. I spelled out and re-spelled the name of the city, even as she kept telling me all she could find was Mt. Mansfield (near the ski areas of Stowe) which proved Vermont and Greyhound did exist — somewhere in the Green Mountain State. Given that Montpelier is the state capitol, and the microscopic riverside trailer that serves as a terminal is a place I have been through dozens of times each year for the past ten years, a terminal that also serves a steady stream of locals and college students, I seriously doubted that the stop had been eliminated. Besides, just a few hours earlier I had researched my route, layovers, prices etc. online and had the schedule, the route numbers and times to back me up. No go. This gal said as far as she was concerned, there was no Montpelier. I stormed out, tired and agitated by the new wrinkle in what should have been a simple, straightforward purchase. I give you money. You give me a bus ticket. How hard can it be?

Irate, ticked off, and frustrated, I went home and promptly called Greyhound’s 800 number, noting to a very pleasant online travel agent that I wanted to book my ticket at the station to take advantage of the 7-day advance purchase.

“Of course we stop in Montpelier,” she told me. But as we booked the trip I encountered a second element of frustration: apparently 7-day fares now only apply to trips of 800 miles or less. Instead of leaving me hanging, however, this agent worked out a schedule that enabled me to maximize my savings by splitting the travel in half: I bought two tickets , one for each half of the trip. It would still cost more to do this than the price I got online originally — which quoted a price of $77 for the 7-day advance purchase. It was too late to argue the difference, and I will still get there when I need to. Buying two tickets online would have doubled the fees and surcharges so I opted to go back to the terminal, with instructions from this agent to have the local counterperson call her if she still couldn’t find Vermont.

As I stood there in the somewhat dilapidated, outdated terminal, finally getting my turn at the counter, the same young woman looked up at me, immediately went to the back of the office, and sent out a much older (read: experienced) agent who promptly found Montpelier with no extra effort, issued my two tickets. My passage to Vermont was ensured.

FYI: Like the airlines, Greyhound is taking up the slack over escalating fuel prices shifting the fares and by allowing only one free ‘under coach’ bag; a second bag costs $5.00 (still not a bad deal). Three bags per customer under the Coach means those bags will travel as freight, not luggage: I assume that means your excess luggage will get there “eventually.”

Having traveled by Greyhound for ten years, I have always bragged about the good deals. I often brag about it in print, since I write a chunk of my “On the Road in America” columns during the course of these bus trips. I meet people, talk to people, listen to people, observe people. I scour out the details, the minutia that is too easily overlooked by so many. I find stories everywhere, though I haven’t had to vent dissatisfaction over Greyhound service in nearly 40 years.

I haven’t had any major issues since one horrendous trip to Canada in the 1960s (another story). I’ve watched them neatly order five additional buses in the post-9-11 “afraid to fly” era when 200+ customers were waiting for a single bus. They coped, beautiful, with minimal delays, shifts in schedules with drivers who deftly made up for the delay. Smooth, seamless operation, that was. I’ve watched drivers settle two elderly people with “hearing dogs” aboard without blinking. Kind and courteous. I’ve noted the amenities of additional plugs in most terminals allowing customers to recharge cell phones and laptops.

I traveled Greyhound because of the ability to buy discounted fares and because they have affordably gotten me where I need to be, when I need to be there. Given the probabilities, or should I say inevitability, of further fuel hikes, the probability of discontinuing the advance purchase discounts looms large. If that happens, I will have to search out alternatives through online discounters for all forms of transit (planes/trains/buses), or possibly carpool with other Tennessee or southern state students to get there.

I am not a hard person to please; I live and work simply. But I expect things to work and I expect a certain level of professionalism from the people I deal with in business, particularly in customer service. This time, Greyhound fell flat, generating stress and triggering unnecessary aggravation. I was not the proverbial “happy puppy.”

When I finally settled in at home, tickets safely tucked in my travel bag, I went to the kitchen for a tall cold glass of my home-made lemonade. I looked out the kitchen window to see the brilliant full moon shining down on me.

Daytrips and Weekenders. As the summer months and the vacation/travel season approaches, we offer you, our readers, ideas for day trips and weekend excursions to places and events that can be done in a day, or maxed out over a weekend. Time and the high cost of gas fuel our efforts to find local or regional entertainment and activities. This column will appear each Thursday through Labor Day.

The Frist Center for the Visual Arts’ exhibition “Tiffany by Design” , which opened in May, continues to attract crowds interested in the art and artistry of Louis Comfort Tiffany. The exhibition features Upper-Level Galleries. This exhibition, which showcases 40 beautifully crafted Tiffany glass lamps, celebrates the craftsmanship of the colorful leaded glass lamps produced by Tiffany Studios between 1900 and 1918. Tiffany by Design will continue through Aug. 24, 2008.

Tiffany by Design examines the beautiful design and complex fabrication of 40 lamps, including chandeliers and desk, library and hanging lamps, created by craftsmen in Tiffany Studios in New York under the direction of Louis Comfort Tiffany from 1902–1932. (At left, the famous and familiar ‘Dragonfly’ lamp). The exhibition examines every aspect of the lamps—from the beautifully crafted bronze bases and finials to the radiant colors of the leaded glass shades—to reveal what makes these designs so extraordinary. Visitors will learn how to recognize the hallmarks of a Tiffany lamp, including the deep rich color, the elegant design and motifs and the superior craftsmanship.

The exhibition also presents new evidence for the vital role of women in the Tiffany firm. Recently discovered letters show that Clara Driscoll, a longtime Tiffany Studios employee, designed some of the most iconic Tiffany lampshades. Without diminishing Tiffany’s own reputation, the exhibition endeavors to show that his artistic vision served as the inspiration and guide for all the artists and artisans who worked for him.

Tiffany by Design features works from The Neustadt Collection. Dr. Egon Neustadt and his wife, Hildegard, began their collection with the purchase of one lamp in 1935. For the next five decades, they assembled an extensive collection of Tiffany lamps and glass. In 1970, Dr. Neustadt published The Lamps of Tiffany, which remains a standard reference on the range of styles, designs and colors of the lamps and glass created at Tiffany Studios.

“In terms of the variety, number and quality of Tiffany lamps, few museums anywhere in the world can compare with The Neustadt Collection. This exhibition is able to demonstrate precisely what sets Tiffany lamps apart from the imitations found in so many antique shops.” ~~ Trinita Kennedy, associate curator at the Frist Center

Signature pieces featured in Tiffany by Design include Dragonfly Library Lamp (1905–1910); Favrilefabrique Reading Lamp (ca. 1915); Daffodil Library Lamp (1900–1910); Turtleback Chandelier (ca. 1905); Lotus Pagoda Library Lamp (1895–1900); Peony Library Lamp (1905–1910) and Pond Lily Library Lamp (1900–1910).

Louis Comfort Tiffany and Tiffany Studios

Based in New York City, Tiffany Studios (1902–1932) employed hundreds of master craftsmen and other skilled workers in the production of a complete range of decorative objects, including blown glass, leaded glass windows, mosaics, lamps, metalwork, enamels and ceramics. Louis Comfort Tiffany was the creative force behind this large enterprise. His personal aesthetic and artistic vision is evident in every object made at Tiffany Studios. Tiffany windows, lamps and metalwork reflect his sense of beauty and color and love of rich materials. His interest in nature and enthusiasm for the decorative potential of glass, metal and other media served as inspiration to the craftsmen and the designers who worked for him. Tiffany’s style was influenced by the underlying geometry of the Arts and Crafts Movement and the sinuous curves and organic themes of Art Nouveau. Craftsmanship was paramount: no detail was too small, no process too complex.

Tiffany Studios produced thousands of lamps in hundreds of designs, although many of them were closely related. Examining the ways the designs and the forms were altered from object to object reveals much about the aesthetic vocabulary of Tiffany Studios. The wide range of possibilities becomes evident through a consideration of a single design, which might be realized in varying color schemes or adapted through the use of different shapes and sizes of glass. Each piece of glass was selected and cut from a larger sheet, which was itself unique. Add to this the diversity of Tiffany’s lamp bases, and it is safe to say that no two Tiffany lamps are identical.

Tiffany by Design is sponsored by SunTrust. The hospitality sponsor is Union Station. This exhibition is organized by The Neustadt Collection of Tiffany Glass, Long Island City, New York. Nina Gray is the curator of the exhibition and the author of the exhibition catalog.

Related Programs

Saturday 21 and 28: Frist Center Kids Club: 1–2:30 p.m. Inspired by Tiffany meets in the Upper-Level Foyer. This program is free. Call 615.744.3357 to reserve a space. Designed for 5–10 year olds, the Frist Center Kids Club offers exciting opportunities for children to discover, explore and create art. Free membership includes a Kids Club card, rewards for participation, and a variety of hands-on activities in the art studios and the Martin ArtQuest Gallery. Featured activity: Using decorative, semi-transparent paper, design your own paper version of Tiffany-style stained glass. 2008 Kids Club Sponsor: Northwestern Mutual Financial Network, The Pruett Financial Group.

Thursday, June 26 Gallery Talk: Tiffany by Design at 7 p.m. Participants should meet at the Information Desk. Free with purchase of gallery admission. Join Trinita Kennedy, associate curator at the Frist Center, for a tour of this exhibition. Complete your evening with music in the Grand Lobby, wine or other beverages at the cash bar, and visiting with friends.

Sunday, June 29 Curator’s Perspective: “A Quest of Beauty: The Art. The work of Louis Comfort Tiffany and The Collection of Auditorium Dr. Egon Neustadt”. This program is free. Louis Comfort Tiffany’s life was dominated by his self-proclaimed “quest of beauty.” Captivated by color and transfixed by the splendor of the natural world, Tiffany spent his career translating the beauty around him into spectacular works of art. Join Lindsy R. Parrott, manager and curator of The Neustadt Collection of Tiffany Glass in Long Island City, New York, for an overview of Tiffany’s career and artistic works, with a special look the world-renown collection of lamps and glass amassed by early Tiffany collector Dr. Egon Neustadt.

Saturday, August 2 and August 3 Adult Stained Glass Workshop: 10 a.m.–4 p.m. at the Frist Center Studios. $40 for Frist Center Members; $45 for non-members. Call 615.744.3247 to register for this two-day workshop. Sam Simms, a Nashville-based glass artist leads a two-day workshop in conjunction with Tiffany by Design. Participants learn the basics of stained glass construction using the copper foil method. Each participant makes a stained glass creation to take home.

Sunday, August 17 Family Day from 1 p.m.–5:30 p.m. Free admission for all visitors. Call 615.244.3340 for information .Enjoy a fun-filled day of exciting art activities, live concerts and theatrical performances with friends and family! In addition to viewing the exhibitions on view—Color As Field: American Painting, 1950–1975, Shades of Gray: Four Artists of the Southeast and Tiffany by Design—visitors may participate in hands-on studio art activities that relate to the exhibitions.

Accredited by the American Association of Museums, the Frist Center for the Visual Arts, located at 919 Broadway in downtown Nashville, TN., is an art exhibition center dedicated to presenting the finest visual art from local, regional, U.S. and international sources in a program of changing exhibitions. The Frist Center’s Martin ArtQuest Gallery features more than 30 interactive stations relating to Frist Center exhibitions. Gallery admission to the Frist Center is free for visitors 18 and younger and to Frist Center members. Frist Center admission is $8.50 for adults, $7.50 for seniors and military and $6.50 for college students with ID. Thursday evenings, 5–9 p.m., admission is free for college students with a valid college ID. Discounts are offered for groups of 10 or more with advance reservation by calling 615.744.3246. The Frist Center is open seven days a week: Mondays through Wednesdays, and Saturdays, 10 a.m.–5:30 p.m.; Thursdays and Fridays, 10 a.m.–9 p.m. and Sundays, 1–5:30 p.m., with the Frist Center Café opening at noon. Additional information is available by calling 615.244.3340 or by visiting our Web site at www.fristcenter.org.

Author Turner McCullough Jr. outside Sullivans

Sullivan’s Island is home to Fort Moultrie, one of the fortifications which fired on Fort Sumter in the Charleston harbor, thus initiating the Civil War. The island is a small stretch of land with it’s own lighthouse, historic sea captain homes, fortifications and bunkers of Fort Moultrie, but it enjoys a lively commercial district of eateries, guest houses and taverns. Most of these places open for the evening meal during the week and brunch on Sundays. The best of these is “Sullivan’s,” a seafood paradise at 2019 Middle Street, a family friendly dinning place that has been around for over two decades.

I treated myself to the Ft. Moultrie Steamer: steamed Alaskan King crab legs, peel & eat shrimp, corn on the cob, smoked sausage and drawn butter. As I am a New England Clam Chowder fiend, I ordered that as my appetizer. I must confess Sullivan’s won me over with the very first spoonful. A hearty bowl of creamy chowder, saturated with clams, diced potatoes, dill and mouthwatering taste sensations was my reward. I was a goner!

The steamer platter came out steaming! The aromas were divine. Alaskan King Crab legs and claw, a generous serving of steamed shrimp, corn on the cob, smoked sausage and shaved butter melded together to just simply engulf my senses, and they succeeded!! I admit I attacked my steamer with dogged determination. The peep and eat shrimp were first on the list. Dipping the shrimp and the corn in the shaved butter and then biting in was such joy. My friend just sat there watching me indulge in this wondrous offering. I am a Charleston native and this was native seafood favorites prepared to delight and satisfy.

The King Crab was no small offering. Trying to retain a modicum of restraint, I used the shell cracker and worked each leg appendage loose and extracted its prize of crabmeat, dipping it in the shaved butter and guiding it to my waiting tastebuds. It was worth the work of extraction. I tempered this with the smoked sausage which proved to have a unique flavor of its own. I’m told it’s a special Charleston recipe of seasonings, but I will only say, “Go get some, quick!” This was about forty-five minutes of gourmet taste indulgences. I was so engrossed in enjoying my meal, my friend noted that it was the first time he had seen me fail to offer to share my selections. I admit my guilt- it’s true. I didn’t even think to offer a bite. BUT, it was just too intoxicating to consider!

My friend and the restaurant treated me to a tasting of their Key Lime Pie. Grandmother’s recipe, mind you! I will only say this – “There IS NO equal. Hands down, I have never tasted better.” It was the perfect companion to my steamer and I must say, “what a delightful experience it was for my tastebuds. It was simply, Sublime!” I asked to kiss the pastry chef! It’s that good. And there are no pictures of that!

So, if you allow yourself only one Atlantic Coast journey this summer, I urge you to let it be to Charleston. Enjoy the roar of the Atlantic Ocean, the waves breaking on the shore, the pelicans drifting overhead and go to “Sullivan’s” on Sullivan’s Island. Tell them, “Turner send his regards, and asks how’s the pastry chef?” <www.sullivansrestaurant.com> Phone: 843-883-3222.

This unique “dome” shaped home was the only structure to survive a major hurricane.

Daytrips and Weekenders. As the summer months and the vacation/travel season approaches, we offer you, our readers, ideas for day trips and weekend excursions to places and events that can be done in a day, or maxed out over a weekend. Time and the high cost of gas fuel our efforts to find local entertainment and activities. This column will appear each Thursday through Labor Day.

Paducah, Kentucky, is about a two hour drive from Clarksville. The town rests on the Ohio River where it is joined by the Tennessee River. Its prestigious past speaks out in the ornately designed houses and buildings.

Except for the great flood in 1937 where 95% of the city was flooded, this town prospered on the edge of the world’s greatest highway — the river, and had a flair for wealth and diversity. Trains later replaced river travel for goods; semis replaced trains. But since the 1900’s, barges carry goods up and down the river once again. One barge carries as much as 23 railroad cars.

Paulette Mentor is ready to do some work in her art room/gallery. Her house is a perfect example of creativity in re-design of a gallery house. — Debbie Boen photo

If you throw enough money at it, you can do anything, says Carol Gabany about Paducah’s Downtown revival. The Paducah bank has been throwing money at artists offering 300% loans to buy up old rundown houses, fix them up, and open art galleries throughout the downtown area. Esteemed artists from all over the US have been drawn to this exceptional deal in Paducah.

This town is a great weekend getaway. We stayed at the Egg & I Gallery, which rents out two (giant) rooms. Our wonderful host and president of the art association, Carol Gabany, carves breathtaking designs into eggs. She makes use of the three layers in an egg shell. Egg and I web site: http://www.eggandiarts.com

Across the street was etcetera, a coffee house where locals hang out.

The second Saturday of every month is an art walk where downtown gallery’s throw open their doors to the public.Visitors can view and purchase some of the most progressive art. Some may get a demonstration of how some art is made. Always is found a friendly face. Maps of the art walk are available in town.

Downtown hosts a street party every Saturday during the summer. The main downtown street was closed to traffic and three bands played at different areas. The Paducah Symphony happened to be playing outside also. Horse drawn carriages combed the streets, vintage cars were shown off while families, elders and teens met and hung out. Teens hung out. I don’t see that in Clarksville, the town rated worst place to raise children.

We’ve done the Paducah weekend trip two times now. The first time we were there on the second Saturday art walk.The inspiration I got from it was beyond description. Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist’s Way, talks about the importance of getting out to see what art is out there in the world, what other people are creating. It inspires us and feeds us like some kind of “other” food.

“Art evokes the mystery without which the world would not exist.”~ Rene-Franciois-Ghislain Magritte

This time we missed the galleries but saw the Quilt Museum. Designs pop out of the material giving it a 3D look that isn’t done with painting. I have never been interested in quilts, but both my husband and I were so amazed by the quilts on display. I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at traditional quilts but others did. Many couples enjoyed the museum while we were there. To protect copyrights, I wasn’t allowed to photograph quilts in the museum but even the pictures of children’s quilts in the lobby show what a beautiful art form this is.

Caryl Bryer Fallert (at left) won Best of Show, three years in a row, at the Quilt Museum for her quilts. She gave me permission to use photos from her web site at: www.bryerpatch.com

So many great choices of restaurants invite visitors to pause, dine and savor. This time we dined at Whaler’s Catch and C.C. Cohen’s and had excellent food.The menu at C. C. Cohen’s speaks of a mischievous ghostly inhabitant who died in 1980 but still seems to want to own the place.

“The restaurant was locked up secure for the night. I’m the manager, the only one with the key. I came in to open up the restaurant and all the salt and pepper shakers were open and dumped out,” says Jackie Lipham.

A small but upscale River Heritage Museum downtown has well done (and expensive) displays and a short movie. The movie space is used by the museum during the day and as a separate movie house during the late afternoons and evenings. Kids were lined up outside to see The Goonies.

Sundays are quiet downtown, a good time to sit by the river. A flood wall (above) protecting the town shows art scenes depicting the history of Paducah.

Take a break. Stay at a bed and breakfast. Enjoy art. For all the information you need to plan your trip to Paducah, go to Paducah at http://www.lowertownartdistrict.com/index.php

A few choices of places to stay:

1857 Bed & Breakfast: 1-800-264-5606

The Egg & I: 1- 270-443-6323: www.eggandiarts.com

Gallery 5: 1-270-444-2020

The Guest House of Paducah, LLC: 1-270-331-5548 or www.theguesthouseofpaducah.com

Paducah Harbor Plaza: 1-800-719-7799 or www.phplaza.com

Fox Briar Inn at RiverPlace: 1-877-FOXINN 1 or www.foxbriarinn.com

More Debbie Boen Photos capturing images from Paducah:

Carol Gabany (top left; Paducah welcomes art enthusiasts to visit the city’s many galleries.

Paulette Mentor’s gallery, www.mentorhousegallery.com

Jackie Lipham of C.C. Cohen’s (left); street scene in Paducah

With that in mind, I’d like to offer some hints on how to make sure you’re invited back to visit next time and how to avoid driving your hosts crazy in the process.

When packing for a trip to visit with friends and family, make sure you pack your own towels and toiletries so that you’re not imposing upon your hosts. Even though they may provide towels and some toiletries, it would keep them from having to stock up or do extra laundry at the end of your stay. I recommend purchasing travel or trial size versions of toiletries so that you don’t have to bring your entire bathroom collection. Don’t forget the little things like soap, toothpaste, and Q-Tips. You should never assume that these will be available at your hosts’ home. They may use brands that you don’t care for or possibly have allergic reactions with.

As my mother often reminds me, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Don’t forget about medications you may need. An empty pill bottle can be used to store multiple medications you may need such as pain reliever, vitamins, or prescriptions as long as you can remember which ones are which. Make sure if they have pets that you’re aware of this and plan for any medication needs if allergic.

It is always appropriate to bring a gift for your hosts as a token of your appreciation. I know that it may seem simple, but it goes a long way. And, if you consider the costs, spending $50-$75 on something nice for your hosts is a small price to pay for a short stay in their home compared to at least $50-$75 per night in a less than reputable motel. A great idea is a gift basket filled with items the hosts’ whole family can enjoy. Some fresh homemade bread, candies, gift certificates for restaurants, bath products, or cookies from a local bakery in your hometown are all excellent starters to add for a gift basket. Try to find gifts from your home area so that you’re sharing something from your home with theirs.

Gifts are a great way to start a visit with your hosts as it shows them that you truly appreciate what they’ve done by opening their home to you. If you’ve never visited their home before, make sure to find something you like about their home and compliment it. It will smooth things over and make a great beginning to the trip.

Once you’ve settled in, make sure you pay attention to the rhythm of the house. Are there children present? If so, what time are they asleep? What time are your hosts’ asleep? When do they shower? Keeping an eye out for these details will allow you to integrate yourself smoothly into their routine without disrupting their daily lives. Make sure you make time for your hosts’ privacy. Following them around the house like a lost puppy is only going to exhaust and frustrate your hosts. Make sure to retreat to your guestroom or a quiet area of the house at least once daily to give them some time to themselves. Read a book or go for a walk even. This will ensure that they have their privacy in their own home.

Manners are an absolute must. If you’re not familiar with the common courtesies – brush up on them before you set foot in your hosts’ home. Always offer to clear the table or do dishes after a meal. This means every meal. Do not venture out on your own to re-organize their pantry or to sort their recyclables. Always ask – “Is there something I can do to help?”

If you have a snack or meal by yourself make sure to clean any dishes or cookware you’ve used as to create no mess for your hosts to pick up after. Do not leave clothes or dirty laundry lying about the house or even the guestroom if staying in one. If you’re staying in a guestroom you should make the bed every day when you wake up. This is not a hotel and there is no maid service. Be aware that everything you do while in their home is creating extra expense for them. Little things like leaving lights on when you leave a room, or taking long showers are causing their utility bills to go up. This isn’t to say you should take cold quick showers or not charge your cell phone, but be aware of your actions.

If you are a smoker and your hosts are not – make sure that you do not smoke in their home (even if they’ve said it is okay to do so). It will smell and they won’t be thrilled about it (whether they mention it or not). Don’t leave cigarette butts on their lawn, driveway, or patio. Make sure to take them inside and discard them in the trash when you’ve finished your smoke.

If you’re planning on visiting others while staying with your hosts, make sure to plan around their schedule. If they’re going to be at work from 9am – 5pm, make plans to visit with other friends and family during that time. Go shopping in that time. Go enjoy local attractions. This will eliminate that potentially awkward “I’ve got guests in my home while I’m at work” mentality from your hosts who won’t have to worry about you being home all day. If your hosts are not working during your trip, you can involve them in activities such as going to see a matinee (your treat of course), or going shopping at local stores together. Your hosts may be providing some meals while you are staying, however you should take them out for at least one meal during your trip so that they don’t feel they have to cook every day.

Remember, at all times, it is their house and therefore their rules. If you’re watching TV with your hosts and it is the series finale of your favorite show and they change the channel ten minutes before the end – don’t say a word. Unless you’re paying the cable bill, it’s not your call on what’s being watched. In general, go with the flow of the household. After a day you should get the hang of how things work in the home.

Make sure you’re not overstaying your welcome. You should have a set day that you’re arriving and leaving at least two weeks prior to your visit so your hosts can make accommodations to their schedules if necessary. Do not stay past this time under circumstances. If necessary to change your itinerary to stay longer – do so at a hotel. This way your hosts don’t have to worry about changing their plans after they’ve made them.

When the stay is over and it’s time to head back to your own home, make sure that you’ve packed everything and left no mess. You should remove linens from the guest bed or couch you’ve stayed on and offer to start them in the laundry for your guests. Of course thank them profusely for letting you stay in their home. As soon as you get home and get unpacked, sit down and write a thank-you letter to them. Make sure to include something personal for each of your hosts if possible. “I had such fun at lunch with Kate even though the waiter got our orders mixed up!” or “Your children are so well-behaved and mannered.” The letter should be sincere and heartfelt and thank them once again for their kindness and for sharing their home. Invite them to visit yours anytime. A good thank-you letter and using your best behavior during your stay will ensure that you’re invited back again.

I smiled and said, “then it’ll be a refreshing change.”

All kidding aside, there’s plenty to say about visiting our country’s most populated city. Its history is replete with everything that makes for great movies, including making movies. It was Hollywood before Hollywood. The country’s comic book industry began there. It’s the first place in the world where “going up” meant REALLY going up. Skyscrapers became the norm as early as the 1920s. They hit their heyday in the early 1930s when the Chrysler Building and the legendary Empire State Building was built.

Sure, I knew all this before we arrived in Manhattan. No matter how much about New York I thought I knew, I could never have been fully prepared for the staggering reality that the Big Apple would present.

Legendary Empire

We only had a few days to see the City that Never Sleeps. My time was even more limited since I had to attend a seminar while in town. I didn’t complain a whole lot since the class was held inside the Empire State Building. I admit, I was a bit nostalgic the entire time.

One of my favorite books of all time is Michael Chabon’s Pulitzer-prize winning The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. It’s a story of two Jewish boys that live in 1930’s New York City, who created their own comic book that was eventually published by Empire Comics – you guessed it – with an office in the Empire State Building. If you’re even half the comic book nerd I was as a kid, then you’ll not be able to put this book down.

My best friend of 30 years called while I was in the elevator, the very same best friend who suggested – no, demanded – that I read Kavalier. He asked what I was doing. “Oh, I’m getting off an elevator in the Empire State Building.”

“You suck!” he said. I knew he had been to New York before, but he never made it to the Empire. We talked a little about the book, and he reiterated just how much he hated me at that moment. I never felt better.

By the way, there’s a comic book store right across from the ESB on 33rd Street called “Empire Comics.” I resisted the temptation to go into that store – my bank account can only take so much!

My seminar was in itself an experience, as it was a class called “Train the Trainer.” Part of my profession is to conduct training classes in Photoshop and other Adobe products, so this is a step toward the needed certifications.

The class itself was small, with seven other training professionals (including the instructor), all from New York. Once they knew I was from out of town – a Southerner, even – they went out of their way to welcome me. I enjoyed telling them about my home state as much as they enjoyed telling me about all their favorite eateries and hangouts.

The conversation migrated to the events of September 11, a topic I really didn’t want to broach. After all, those atrocities happened right there in New York City. I felt a ping in my spine the first time I saw the skyline from the George Washington bridge; a skyline without the twin towers of the World Trade Center.

One man, Obinna Nwoke, whose family hailed from Nigeria, told with teary eyes how he went to work even mere days after the 11th. “The smell from the buildings – it was horrible – it lasted for months,” he said. Even after more than six years, it still brings tears to his eyes. He told of how he had to go through several checkpoints in order to get to his job, which happened to be in Lower Manhattan at the time. He described it as constant state of fear. “I just wanted to go to work,” Nwoke said. He added, “We were scared every time we went into a building.”

I finally understood what that line in RENT meant: “I’m a New Yorker. Fear is my life.” I couldn’t imagine what they went through during that horribly dark time. I recounted how we gathered around our television sets that morning. To actually be in the city where the buildings collapsed, well, it’s a whole new feeling of comprehension. The men I got to know in that room all had their own story to tell. Ultimately, though, they were stories of overcoming. They overcame their fear, their anxieties, and found a renewed strength and passion to do their jobs; terrorism be damned. I felt a sense of pride as an American as I got to hear their stories.

There was a sense of even greater urgency as we discussed these events in another of the world’s tallest buildings, a building that had itself been hit by a plane once. When I left the Empire later that afternoon, I did so not as a visitor, but as someone who was welcomed as a fellow New Yorker, even if it was to be just for a few days.

Subway – Which Way?

Aside from big buildings, New York City has one major challenge for all visitors from out of town: public transportation. The city boasts one of the world’s best public transportation systems (and arguably the most taxis per capita I’ve ever seen).

Whether you want to take a bus or the Subway, you’re sure to get around town very quickly (as long as you don’t drive).
That is, once you figure out just where the hell you want to go. Central Park? Take the A, B, or C train. Uptown? Take the D or F train. Downtown? Take any of these trains, but be sure you’re going the right direction. Crosstown? Take the 1, 2, or 3 trains. Whew. Thank heaven the local NYPD officers were so helpful (and patient) for visitors to ask which train to take.

The Subway has a mystique of its own, which presented to me an experience like I’ve never seen: The subway preacher. One afternoon while I was headed toward Columbus Square, I entered a train that would be at least a five minute ride to the next stop. An African-American man entered the train with a huge duffel bag and began his inspiring message by asking for donations to help his church feed the homeless.

After a few “God Bless You’s,” he began his fiery sermon of how he was once a crackhead, and now he’s filled with the Holy Spirit, changed by the power of God. He spoke with passion and power. Interestingly, though, the entire car largely ignored the man. They listened to their iPods (I think there are more iPods per capita in New York than anywhere else in the world), they read their copy of the New York Post. For me, it was a fascinating experience. For everyone else on the train, it was just another day on the Subway.

My companion and I both bought MetroCards for use around town, which is essential. There are kiosks around town that sell the ubiquitous cards – giving every New Yorker a chance to get around town at their leisure.

Lights, Camera, M&Ms!

If any particular place in New York is overwhelming to this Southern boy, then it’s certainly Times Square. We’ve all seen films that feature this legendary intersection, as well as the countless New Year’s Eve events. There’s seeing it on TV, and then there’s actually seeing it! The lights are as dazzling as they are breathtaking. They move, they dance, they have forty-foot video screens. The Coca-Cola sign, in its latest incarnation, is a broken-up computerized gizmo that has dozens of smaller screens to make up the whole.

In short, the whole experience of Times Square was “Bambi, meet headlights.” I’ll freely admit it: I gawked the entire time. No matter how mentally prepared I was, the dazzle of the Times Square lights was enough to give me a sense of being incredibly, hopelessly small.

I don’t know what came over me. I was instantly on a beeline to some place special. I couldn’t help myself. I was irresistibly drawn to the M&M World store. Call it curiosity, or just call me a “sucker,” but I couldn’t help myself. I HAD to see that store. My sister told me of it, so I knew it was going to be an unique experience. Boy, was it ever!

The store features a myriad of M&M-themed items, all of which were stamped with either the “m” logo or had one (or many) of their M&M mascot characters adorning them.

Along two inner walls were vast columns, each filled with a single color of M&Ms. Combined, they formed a confection spectrum that drew dozens of people at a time, each filling their own bag of M&Ms with their favorite color. I created a red-white-and-blue bag for myself. For my purple-centric partner, it was to be a bag of purple and teal candies.

Now the big question is whether we want to eat them – alas, I’m sure the nostalgia will wear off eventually. I suspect that if I bring them to the office, that my fellow artists will devour them in just a few minutes

The Big Apple in the Big Apple

I admit it. I’m an Apple nerd. I’ve turned over a new leaf. This former windoze-only guy has now been converted into a Mac evangelist! Want to play? Windoze is fine. But if you want to get real work done, then get a Mac! There. I did the “get-a-Mac” spiel. Now go buy yourself a Mac so you can be cool like the rest of us.

Being cool isn’t the only reason to get a Mac, however. When you have a Mac, you can be one of the millions of people who get misty-eyed every time you walk into an Apple store. What’s more, you can visit Apple’s flagship store on 5th Avenue, near Central Park. It is heralded by a giant glass cube with a simple apple logo hovering in the middle of it.

A friend of ours offered to meet us at the Apple store on Wednesday before we went to dinner. Who was I to complain about such a wonderfully brilliant idea? We quickly agreed.

We also deliberately arrived at the store about an hour early so we could properly drool over all the new Macs – especially that nifty little MacBook Air. It’s small, it’s sleek. It’s incredibly light. But no optical drive. Oh well. I’ll stick with my two-week-old MacBook Pro instead.

I know. I’m such a nerd. I was also a nerd in a store full of fellow Mac nerds, and it was indeed Mac heaven. I’m even getting misty-eyed just thinking about it. I actually felt a little depressed that I was already content in my Mac ownership that I didn’t even need to get that mini-DVI-to-VGA adapter. Oh well.

Everything is RENT

One simply cannot visit New York without taking in one of the many shows on Broadway. I found out that RENT, the popular play that opened in 1996 to rave reviews, was due to close this year. It spawned a major motion picture and at least two major soundtracks.

It was a cultural phenomenon as well, and created a whole new class of play attendees called “RentHeads.” These are people who wait at the door in the hopes of getting a chance to sit on the front two rows for only $20 a ticket. After all, what good is a story about bohemia if bohemians can’t see it?

Written as an adaptation of La Vie Boheme, it tells the tale of a group of friends in the late 1980’s who all must endure the impact of HIV and AIDS. What makes the story so universal in its appeal is that while there are indeed some gay subplots, they are merely parts of the overall story.

RENT was written by the late Jonathan Larson, who died of a heart attack the night before opening night. It cast a huge, dark shadow over the entire production. That shadow didn’t last long as the popularity of the play grew into the spotlight once everyone realized that it was actually a great play. Larson’s death actually grew into the mythos of the play, appearing to give it a boost from beyond.

If you’ve seen the movie or heard the soundtrack, you know that there’s a scene during which Maureen encourages the audience to “moo” with her. Yes, we mooed. It was icing on a very rich cake of an evening of entertainment.

An Unexpected Pleasure

One of the most unanticipated delights of the trip was an impromptu visit to a small French diner that’s just across from an ornate French restaurant that looked too expensive to read the sign (maybe that’s why I don’t remember the name of the restaurant). This quant little diner presented a classic 1950’s décor that offered relief from the cold and rain with two older gentlemen who offered a quick dessert and coffee.

I ordered a simple cup of hot tea (with milk instead of lemon) and a Greek salad. I didn’t realize it came with anchovies. I figured, “what the hell?” and tasted one. My dad loves them, so why not? My taste buds apparently haven’t changed very much since the last time I tasted anchovies when I was a child. They were revolting. Not wanting to be an unwelcome guest, I simply moved the rest of them off the plate. Yuck. No more anchovies for David.

The diner itself looked a little out of place in modern New York City, but that was part of its charm. Anchovies aside (literally), there’s nothing like a cup of hot tea on a cold evening, especially after miles of walking in the country’s most storied city.

Oh, the walking. How could I forget? I remembered how much I felt the “burn” after walking through the Sequoia National Forest last year. Even that paled by comparison this time around. We walked so much that even my rear end hurt. I forgot there were muscles back there!

The Exclamation Point

In all, the trip was entirely too short. We visited the Museum of Natural History, only to be chased out after a couple of hours since it was close to closing time. I chuckled at the sight of a standee of the Ben Stiller film, “A Night in the Museum,” which featured the Natural History museum. The planetarium featured a “Cosmic Collisions” film narrated by Robert Redford, and a short film about the Big Bang, narrated by Maya Angelou.

On the other side of the museum were large dioramas and life-size replicas of animals that populate the globe. One room featured a full-size model of a blue whale. Another exhibit featured a cutting from a giant Sequoia. “Been there,” I thought to myself. It was over fourteen feet in diameter. It was a small one.

We took the subway back to the parking garage, and began our gridlocked trip out of town. I’m really glad we weren’t in a hurry, since it was plainly evident that we were going nowhere fast. I started to understand why there was so much advertising plastered all over the walls in New York – What else are drivers going to look at?

We left town via the Holland Tunnel, located on the south side of town. It’s a mile-long tunnel that literally goes under the mighty Hudson River. We emerged on the New Jersey side and began the journey to our next destination.

When we crested a hill a couple of miles later, we saw her. Yes, her. Lady Liberty. Sure, she was a good mile or two away, but there she was in all her glory. The sun had begun to set by then, and the lights were turned on, so she appeared to glow over the horizon.

My breath was completely taken away. Nothing in New York was as breathtaking as seeing the Statue of Liberty for the first time. I didn’t even think I’d be able to see her, but there she was. God, she was beautiful. I can only imagine the audible gasps that immigrants would release upon seeing her for the first time after a long sea voyage.

This trip was one experience in delight after another. To see the Statue of Liberty at its closure was as fitting of an exclamation point as I could imagine.

Leaving New York City was like leaving a new friend. I don’t think I’ll ever want to live there, but I sure want to go back.

My first memorable stop on this On The Road In America sojourn was Brattleboro, a quick pause at the roadside trailer that serves as the Vermont Trailways bus terminal, and the first bit of local news: a story about the upcoming town meeting and a petition to charge President Bush and Vice-President Cheney with war crimes. That was followed by a jumble of news stories about the inroads John McCain is making in his New Hampshire presidential primary bid. I felt right at home. Snow on the ground and political discourse hot enough to melt it.

In the valley that cradles the Connecticut River, the haze of wood smoke hung low, wispy strands of thread connecting chimney after chimney to the sky. It costs money to heat with wood — and it’s labor intensive. But for hardy Vermonters, there’s enough deadfall in the forests and enough people to harvest it. Wood stoves in these country homes are often built for function as much as form; sturdy cast iron stoves with flat tops for cooking, for steeping water for tea, for simmering soups and stews throughout the day.

I hoped off the bus (well, crawled off the bus) after a two day trek, ready for a wintry stay at my best friend’s home, a mountain hideaway with, yes, a wood stove. With the heat it generates, and the carefully placed ceiling grates (heat rises), that one stove heats six rooms. Three up, three down. Toasty.

Last winter was fairly snowless; what a difference a year makes. THIS was the Vermont I know and love: snow. Measured by the foot. Soon to be measured by the yard. Huge sheets if it slipping slowly to the edge of the roof, finally reaching that delicate point at which tons of snow — the stuff we haven’t yet raked off the second story roof — tumble to the deck with a thunderous crash. No one, not even the new dog, blinks. We just head out and shovel the icy packed snow from the doorway and the deck, craving yet another path to the driveway.

Snow has already piled up half the height of the bird feeders, and another 8-14 inches is due on New Year’s Day. We may lose power; we will likely be snowed in. We’ll manage.

Many of my friends are aghast (perpetually) over my love of this part of the country and this season of the year in this part of the country. I don’t ski, but then, I don’t have to. I walk in the snow, or sit in a lawn chair on a snow-covered deck, and watch the red squirrels raid the bird feeders while hoping for a sighting of the local Moose population (they move through this back yard and the marsh below).

I smile when a neighbor/grandchildren, all of six years old, knocks on the door after dark, asking to borrow an egg. His snow pants are crisp with frosty snow, his cheeks reddened. He walked up the rocky trail that connects his house to grandma’s (over the river – almost- and through the woods…). He wouldn’t linger for a quick hot chocolate because he hadn’t had supper yet.

I linger over a discussion of how high gas prices have sent people scurrying to the local food shelf to bridge their budget gap between food and fuel costs. There are no short roads to work in Vermont; every worker’s commute involves long drives in the only kinds of vehicles that a shot at making it through the snow: four wheel drives. With gas hovering at $3.00 a gallon, the food shelf (i.e. food pantry) lines have grown 400% and the little volunteer-run food program in Woodbury is scrambling to meet a rapidly escalating need. With a recent broadcast suggesting gas will hit $3.75 a gallon by spring, these creative and dedicated volunteers see no end to the hunger crisis in sight.

We spend part of the day driving around taking pictures (South Woodbury Church at left); it was the perfect snow — the wet, heavy kind that coats every branches, that wraps pines with a crystalline shawl. It shimmers.

As I download the days photographs into the computer, I thought about the ease with which I returned to this space, this place, this lifestyle, then realized it is part of me. Always has been. Will forever be.

None of us are waiting up for the new year; we know it’s coming — with more snow. So at 8 p.m., or maybe 9 p.m., we are heading for our rooms, our overstuffed quilts, and quiet sleep in a place where the city bright does not intrude.

Tomorrow we will watch the snow fly, and listen to the wind howl. We will melt marshmallows in hot chocolate, eat leftovers and the turkey soup we simmered yesterday on the wood stove. And we will keep that wood stove well-stoked.

From northern Vermont: Happy New Year.

My story: In my 54 years of life and work BT (before Tennessee), I moved in several dimensions: I was an editor, an arts critic, a caregiver, a part-time plumber and home remodeler, a gardener, and … a fashion fanatic. I’m the woman who goes to New York City’s Bergdorf Goodman’s to pet the fabric and get close-up and personal with intricate embroidery on $10,000 gowns. When I was sixteen and couldn’t afford a ball gown, I raided a local curtain fabric supply store, emulating Scarlett O’Hara as I designed my own from yard upon yard of white organdy diverted from its intended use.

When I talk about fashion I am not talking about the pop-culture stuff — I’m looking at New York and more importantly, European couture. At 13, as a budding teenager with three years of sewing and design already behind me, I was frantically copying designs by Givenchy (who dressed Jackie O. and Audrey Hepburn in all those classic designs), Coco Channel (those little suits of hers were minutely detailed), and Valentino. Romantic, Italian, gifted Valentino (above, right).

Valentino, or rather the recently announced retirement of icon known simply as Valentino, prompted this writing.

So today I am in mourning. Not just over his retirement but over this newest loss to the art of design (though it is also a new addition to the realm of art history). For true fashion design is an art form. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York has an entire department dedicated to clothing/costume design. I once sat on the floor in that shadowy exhibition hall for an entire afternoon, listening to Tchaikovsky’s Firebird Suite while eyeing the details of 300+ years of costuming from the Russian Ballets.

Anyone who has worked with fabric, with fiber arts in any form, knows it is all in the detail. A quarter inch snip of the scissors here, the tiniest perfectly aligned stitches there. The geometry of a straight edge played out against a curve. The positioning of a pattern for dramatic effect. A sensual length of fabric that slips through you fingers, or has a roughened texture that screams ‘touch me.’ Of all this, Valentino remains a master.

With Valentino’s retirement, an era is ending. An era of class, classic design and absolutely elegant clothes handmade with infinitely perfect stitching, fit and the finest fabrics. An era of grace and style.

Today Valentino made it official: announcing that with one more ready-to-wear and one more Haute Couture season, he will walk away from the runway to pursue “other interests” which he hinted would include promoting the study and preservation of fashion. Though he is a icon on the Paris fashion scene, he remained based in Rome throughout his career, designing clothes that would”celebrate the female form and accentuate her sensuality.”

Valentino once commented that the “only color besides black and white is red;” indeed, his best clothes are black or white, punctuated with splashes made by the dozens of dazzling red gowns that emerged from his 45 years of design. Three hundred of those designs are being showcased through October 28 in the Ara Pacis Museum in Rome, a stunning display by a design legend.

The Valentino line will not dissolve; another, younger as yet undisclosed designer will step in to fill these formidable shoes. But as happened when other icons stepped down from their pedestals, their replacements, while deemed “hip,” “young,” “progressive,” “innovative” and “imaginative” (most of which seem discordant and lacking grace to me) never seem to capture the elegance that these design veterans lay before us for so many years. I browsed the 21st century Givenchy line today; gone was the grace, and in its place was slick, slinky, and futuristic, all shown with disheveled hair. I flinched. Great stuff for MTV and pop videos. Definitely young. But hey, I wave my arms and say “what about the rest of us?” We’re still here. We may not be twiggy thin anymore, but we’re still here. Design for us. Please.

And it may be just me, or maybe it is just my generation, or the influence of the cultural mecca in which I lived before Tennessee. But some of us budding antiques still have, tucked inside our bureau drawers, carefully placed linen bags with beaded elbow length gloves, glittering earrings (twist ons, not pierced), jeweled shoe clips, satin pumps, beaded chiffon shawls and other trimmings for an elegant evening of dinner or theater or dance. Okay again. Maybe I am closer to antique than I care to think about. But this style, this elegance required manners and grace and created a beauty of its own.

Few consumers stop to think that while the exaggerated design and expensive forms as seen on Style and other fashion and entertainment networks are not something most people buy (though many try to emulate what seems to be the worst of it), it is the genesis of styles that filter down through the economic strata and become, in much modified and less well made versions, the styles and colors selling locally, now. What wears in Paris or Rome take a year to hit New York, and three to five years to filter down to the masses in radically altered form. It happens a bit faster now in this age of internet and global TV.

I liked being on the cutting edge, European style. I like having places to go where being on this cutting edge could be played out. I would love to make a knock off of a Valentino suit and wear it on a trip to Rome just to see this exhibit. Won’t happen, but I can dream.

The museum itself, redesigned (not without controversy) and renovated by internationally acclaimed architect Richard Meier, showcases Rome’s most famous symbol of peace, the altar of Augustus, circa 9 B.B., an altar against which the 20th century designs of Valentino are showcased. The majestic altar has white marble with carved floral and garland bas-reliefs. The altar is flanked by walls of windows that connect the interior exhibits to the exterior vistas of the city of Rome.

So I spend an hour this morning culling through the stock photos of Valentino designs, culled a few from my digital portfolio of favorite things. And I think I found a dance dress I will make for my next trip north — a dance with a long-time friend to music played by a 16 piece orchetsra. The kind of thing a Valentino gown was made for.

These are some of my favorite newer but still classic Valentino designs:

Photos by Christopher Moore of Herald International Tribune; Press Office of the Ara Pacis Museum; and IMAXTREE.COM.