Record High, Record Low

Cocooning goes against my nature. Who do I talk to if I'm home alone for days?

What I mean is, I woke up knowing that I was going to start my walk by heading to Kroger, not because I was in dire need of anything - although I did have a craving for waffles and I'm out of blackberry jam - but because I knew it would be an experience. Hell, earlier this week I got asked out just walking out of Kroger.

Trudging up Clay Street, I saw a girl headed back, toting two heavy-looking  Kroger bags. How bad is it, I wanted to know. "Really, really busy," she said with a smile. "Crazy busy."

Perfect, company!

I was amazed that they still had bananas, but not a single egg or rasher of bacon. "No eggs, what's wrong with these people?" a man asked me, shaking his head in disgust. The number of people clutching frozen pizzas was ridiculous.

Walking home with my jam, I passed half a dozen people making the trek toward Kroger and every single one of them spoke to me.

One girl wanted to know how bad it was and whether she had a chance in hell of getting what she needed for lasagna and baking cookies. One guy just rolled his eyes and told me without provocation that yea, he knew he was nuts for going today. Further up, a guy shoveling his walk invited me back for a chili party. An older woman wished me "happy snow day."

Snow makes everyone so friendly.

I detoured by Nick's Market where there was zero sandwich business, but several neighbors busy picking up groceries rather than facing the chaos of Kroger. While I was paying, they got a call from a Baltimore supplier saying they wouldn't be coming on Monday to make deliveries.

First world snow problems.

When I got home, I did the least logical thing: I cleared the snow off my car and shoveled the sidewalk and walkway, not because there was any point in it, but because of my Scottish girlfriend Irene's cardinal rule. She says if you're cold, get up and vacuum and you'll be warm in no time. Snow shoveling is the outdoor equivalent.

Back inside, I was trying to decide between reading and my to-do list when I saw a friend's post.

"I can now spend the rest of the weekend on the couch, as I organized my spice/baking cabinet. I have a WHOLE ROW of extract that is not vanilla."

Her friend responded, "Have thoughts of cleaning out my dining room hutch, but just in the thought stage right now. Maybe if I am bored tomorrow."

"Do it! It's so satisfying!" my friend goaded her. So, yes, I succumbed to that inexplicable urge that hits some women on snow days and got busy hanging pictures in the hallway and making phone calls I'd been putting off. Scrubbing the bathroom top to bottom, including the floor on my hands and knees.

She'd been right. It was incredibly satisfying, I immediately sat down and read two days' worth of the Washington Post, both of which had been delivered today. Snow news dominated.

Looking out the window, I saw that my car and walkway were again covered. Time to fetch the umbrella (ignoring the Canadian who'd told me back in the big 2009 snow that it was silly to carry an umbrella in the snow), go for another walk and see what was happening in the Ward.

In the hallway, I inhaled the heady scent of baking bread, alerting me to how my neighbor was passing her afternoon.

Once on the street, you know what I found happening in J-Ward? Pretty much the same stuff that happens here any other time.

A guy stuck his head out the door of his English basement to pour out the remains of a friend's PBR and we got to talking (he's given up drinking). Clutches of people were gathered on porches, drinking and talking. From inside a house, I heard a band practicing. A guy complimented my umbrella. GWAR Bar was just getting going.

Downtown was a ghost town except for people getting on and off buses. Vagabond had a sign saying they were closed tonight- "sorry for the inconvenience" - making me wonder why they didn't just acknowledge they'd be closed Saturday night, too. Surely another 24 hours of this weather all but guarantees they won't be open tomorrow, either.

Passing a guy with just a jacket on and no hat or umbrella, I was tickled when he smiled and asked if I was enjoying this wonderful weather.

Sure am. My only regret is that my beagle's not here because he adored the snow, so we'd walk five or six times on a day like this, his tail up and nose down sniffing in the snow.

Back home, I  busied myself clearing my car and shoveling the sidewalk, not that it'll make any difference besides momentary warmth and personal satisfaction.

And since I'm also not lowering my blinds today - it's far too charming a view not to enjoy all evening - I can watch my hard work undone by Mother Nature.

My work is finished, but tonight's Fretful Porcupine show has been canceled. Time to read...at least until it isn't. Cocooning is hard for some of us.

Alive with Possibility

Oh, the streets were alive, that's for sure.

The second annual RVA Streets Alive! had decided to take over my neighborhood, so by the time I left for my walk at noon, it was in full swing.

I can always get behind the idea of closing streets to cars so people can walk, run, bike, skate or exercise in them and I always enjoy seeing so many people in Jackson Ward when it's not First Friday.

Tony, the gregarious sandwich maker at Nick's Market, stood just inside the glass door, and gave me a big smile and wave as I walked by, trying to lure me in but I was barely half an hour past breakfast.

A unicyclist wobbled down the street, Black Girls Run! had a table and a group of people were sparring, boxing gloves looking huge on their hands.

At Steady Sounds, guys were pawing through discounted record bins while I stopped to chat with Lauren, proprietor of Blue Bones Vintage, a pop-up shop for now but I was thrilled to hear she's looking for a spot in the Arts District to open a brick and mortar shop to sell her gently used flannel shirts and hippie togs.

There was a group spinning and lifting hand weights while a perky, pony-tailed woman led them through their paces.

Another group was going through a dance/exercise routine to a generic auto-tuned pop song that I'd thankfully never heard before while a gaggle of onlookers watched them.

The River City Rollergirls were weaving in and out of each other on the block between 1st and 2nd Streets, showing none of the aggression they do in a match, but demonstrating that skating takes good leg muscles.

Since I walk and work out every day, I wasn't inclined to stop and participate in any of the activities, although the booth giving chair massages held a lot of appeal, so the highlight for me was the triangle at Adams and Broad.

I'd spent four evenings back in February as part of a neighborhood group addressing "The Ephemeral Plan: Brook Road," a project to re-conceive the triangle as a more inviting public space.

Today I finally got to see some of the results of our month-long sessions. Large sculptural letters spelled out "LOVE" facing Broad Street. Public picnic tables lined Brook Road facing Max's and available for all. Pots of greenery and flowers sat ready to be planted around the platforms under the enormous tree that defines the space.

You know what brings the streets alive in my neighborhood? Seeing the fruits of our winter efforts changing the complexion and perception of Jackson Ward on a summer day.

So proud.

Love Letters and Alcohol

One of these things was not like the other.

Namely, me.

But when a friend offered me a ticket to the Sons of Bill show at Capital Ale House tonight, I figured why not?

I'd heard a few of their alt-rock songs on WNRN, as well as a couple by Carl Anderson (the opener) and live music on a Saturday night is an inalienable right, no?

When I arrived just before Anderson began, the room looked about two thirds full, but that quickly grew to cpacity.

T-shirts seen in the crowd: The Hold Steady, Deftones and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

My friend and I made our way to the front, leaning on the long wooden divider near the stage to watch.

A guy from Virginia Beach came over and chatted us up, saying he was a big SoB fan and had seen them many times, as had my friend.

Both proceeded to school me.

Three brothers fronted this band: James and Sam on guitars and Abe on keyboards, along with (non brothers) Seth on bass and Richmonder Todd on drums.

When he began, Anderson was lucky to have so many people already in attendance for his set and he said as much.

He played one song because, "When the mother of three of the guys in the headlining band asks you to play a song, you play it. This is for Barbara."

We weren't the only ones in the crowd who got a kick out his "Twenty-something Blues," a song written because "I recently experienced them."

I'm trying to remember what was worth feeling blue about when I was a 20-something.

Sample lyric: "Ever since my baby left, I can't find no place to call home."

He covered a song called "Losers" by L.A. band Bell Brigade before wrapping up his short set.

Just before SoB got started, my friend had the idea that we should mount the divider, the better to afford two short women a good vantage point.

She hoisted herself up easily enough, but I was a bit more hesitant given I was wearing a dress and the divider was fairly high.

The problem was solved when I inquired of the guy standing in front of us wearing two cameras if I could borrow his knee.

Turns out he couldn't bend down, but his able-bodied son was more than willing to do what was needed.

Will you get down on one knee like you're proposing to me, I asked sweetly.

A quick step on his knee and I was sitting atop the divider, able to see over tall men.

Our new Virginia Beach friend circled back around, observing, "Found yourselves some good seats, I see."

He introduced himself and we had a new best friend named Stewart.

A few minutes later, another girl hoisted herself up to join us, but she lasted only a couple of minutes.

When I asked why she got down, she said, "The divider felt a little shaky when I got up there. Plus I wanted to be closer to him," and pointed at her man.

True love at Cap Ale House.

It was clear from the crowd's reaction when Sons of Bill came onstage that there were a lot of long-time fans there.

"Can we dim the lights?" lead singer James immediately asked. "It feels a little cafeteria in here."

Honestly, it was fairly dim throughout the room with the only major lighting on stage.

As they moved through their set, it didn't take me long to figure out that I was probably the only person in the room who had never seen SoB before.

One time, they got as far as the first three notes when my friend asked of Stewart, "Is this 'The Rain'?"

It must have been because they smiled and nodded at each other once it began fully.

Even with limited song recognition skills, it didn't take any effort to fall in love with Sam's stellar guitar playing.

While some of the songs came across more alt-country, so far as I could tell, this was a guitar-driven band who rocked hard.

Bonus: there is nothing like the sound of siblings harmonizing and these three were gorgeous together.

James did most of the leads, with Sam and Abe each taking a couple of songs.

One of the rabid SoB fans next to me informed me that Sam had gone to Julliard and been a jazz guitarist, although tonight he was more of a rock god.

I did recognize "Broken Bottles," a song about love letters and alcohol with lap steel accompaniment, with its memorable lyric:

Hank Williams might have been a lovesick drinker
But being a lovesick drunk don't make you Hank

Come on, them's words to live by.

Because of my SoB virgin status, I was unable to join in when everyone began singing along.

The crowd chorus got especially loud after James exhorted us to, "See if you can sing louder than Charleston did the other night," causing James to grin and say, "Sweet!" when the volume rose.

During another song, the guy in front of me was telling strangers, "This song is about my high school," so I guessed he went to school with one or some of the sons.

Sample lyric: Go down to King Street and find myself a queen

The energy in the room was terrific, no doubt aided by a lot of fans from Charlottesville and points beyond (like our new BFF Stewart).

"We played D.C. last night and it was a great show," James said, "If you can put up with D.C."

The tone of his voice conveyed that they'd prefer not to.

After a gospel song testified mightily by brother Abe and his keys, we got a treat.

"Let's take a little adventure to 1988," James enthused. "I was four."

Amid audience groans (four, really?) the band launched into REM's "Finest Work Song" and I couldn't have been more surprised or tickled.

It was the best kind of cover, too, with SoB making it their own, taking it and running with it way past the REM four-minute mark.

Let's just say Sam's playing would have made Peter Buck proud.

And I say that as someone who heard REM do it in 1989.

Side note: Fully half the crowd showed absolutely no recognition of the song whatsoever.

Weird.

Before doing a song from their new album, "Sirens," James said, "We recorded it with Dave Lowery of Cracker right here in Richmond, so we ate at Nick's a lot. Any of you know Nick's?"

Know it? I live two blocks from it. I consider it part of the heart of my neighborhood.

I was the lone person to respond when he asked the question, but my voice was lost among the talkers.

"Best sandwiches around," James informed the clueless crowd.

All I could do was clap in agreement.

J-Ward, represent.

Earlier, James had commented that the girls down in front of the stage were always the same, no matter what the city.

It didn't sound like a compliment to me.

But when it came time to close the show, he threw one of them a bone.

"You guys have been great," he said. "All except you. You've been right in front of my microphone all night. But that's okay, cause we're going to play 'Texas," and she all but fainted, apparently having yelled out for it repeatedly all night.

The kick-ass song about a Virginia boy needing to get the hell out of Texas name-checked several cities ("Got my butt kicked in a bar outside Abilene" and "I wasn't strange enough to fit in in Austin, I soon found out") and had the crowd in ecstasy.

And while the narrow divider had not been the most comfortable seat for the past two hours, my view had been stellar.

True, I'd probably been the only first-timer hearing Sons of Bill.

And I'd definitely been the only Jackson Ward resident if no one else knew Nick's.

Doesn't matter. I can always appreciate a tight band displaying superior musicianship and harmonizing in full-on rock mode.

But as someone who was a tad older than four in 1988, it was especially an unexpected delight to hear REM re-interpreted by a band of Virginia boys.

I sang along to every word.

Seems I ended up fitting in just fine.

Get Out Your Peeler

Following the instincts of generations of Richmonders since Byrd saw the bend, I spent a July afternoon on Belle Isle.

With sandwiches from Nick's Market ("You don't want mayo, we don't give you mayo"), half of a perfectly ripe cantaloupe and an enormous bunch of red grapes, we found a shady rock and spread a beach towel.

With the burble of the rushing water nearby, we'd scored a sweet oasis away from the families and hardbodies

We'd purposely waited for late afternoon, knowing it would be easier parking and less competition for good rocks.

The people watching as we ate was superb.

It's a lot like the Folk Festival. Everybody comes to Belle Isle.

There was drama: two hat boys facing off in overly loud and inane obscenities, like "You Church Hill, pregnant f**k-off!" said to a guy.

Physical comedy: the guy walking slowly into the river with a cup of beer in his hand, only to go head over heels in a slippery spot. Bye bye, beer.

Adventure: rafting parties going earnestly by only to take a rock break a few yards ahead.

Curious: two guys walking their bikes through the river's edge, carefully staying in the water.

And heartwarming: a young mom sitting herself down in shallow water with her baby on her lap and doing endless water play to his great delight.

Since I'd been at the Rappahannock just this week and recalled how warm it had been, I was eager to compare the temperature of the James.

Right about the same, which is to say mighty warm.

We moved closer to rushing water, hoping it would be cooler, but mostly it just knocked into us, making us lose our footing.

Current aside, we stayed in for a good long while just enjoying being immersed in the wet.

Meanwhile, the crowds continued to disperse as the sun moved lower.

Eventually I put my shorts back on over my bathing suit and we ambled back over the footbridge, emitting that damp essence of summertime wet bodies.

I got asked about my evening's plans but hadn't decided yet. We'll see, I said.

Coming home, I was greeted by the pile of peaches I'd recently picked, here.

It was like being figuratively hit over the head by the back of my Richmond grandmother's hand (not that she ever did such a thing).

And just like that, instinct kicked in and I peeled off my shorts and began peeling peaches for ice cream.

They were so perfectly ripe that the skins came off almost in one piece, all but begging to be peeled.

It was 7:53 and there was still enough light in in the kitchen window to make peach ice cream.

And people ask me how I can love summer?

Until you've stood in your kitchen making peach ice cream wearing a bathing suit and covered in sticky peaches and cream plus sweat and river water from an afternoon at Belle Isle, you haven't experienced one of a Richmonder's distinct summer pleasures.

Who needs an apron?

And how many generations of Richmond woman have used a warm Saturday evening in July to make peach ice cream?

I think I may have figuratively proved my southern woman chops to my long-gone grandmother today.

But I also happen to think that if she had a choice of feeling boastful about my practicality or having a bowl of my peach ice cream, no one would ever hear about me from her lips.

Never underestimate the power of peach ice cream. Or how much of it will end up on your bathing suit.

River Walk for One

Despite having been out on the Northern Neck just yesterday, the weather had prohibited spending much time on the Rappahannock. The wind, ungodly strong and uncharacteristically from the west, made being on the dock way too cold for my shorts-clad legs.

So today's shiny 72-degree day practically begged some time down at the river. I made a pit-stop at Nick's Market here in J-Ward for one of his excellent Italian subs on my way south. Might as well incorporate lunch into my river time.

Walking across the suspension bridge, a musician I know and I had to do a double-take when we passed each other, neither of us initially recognizing the other outside of a music venue. We laughed about seeing each other in the day-lit non-music world.

Over on Belle Isle, I had lots of company. Not like sunny-summer-day-people-on-every-rock crowded, but plenty of others like me out to enjoy this beautiful late October day.

As I skirted the water, I was surprised to see two river rafts of people paddling furiously over the white water, their team leaders calling out instructions. For some reason, I think I thought the raft outings ended with Labor Day. Not so, apparently.

When I got up to the bend in the path, I headed down to the flat rocks for my afternoon in the sun. There was a guy sunbathing nearby (in swimming trunks, no less, not just shorts) and studying who said hello. I met a couple with a little beagle, reminding me of my beagle and all the hot days we spent down there cooling off last summer.

Facing out to Hollywood Cemetery, I spread out my lunch and tucked into it. Is there anything more basic or more delicious than a good Italian cold cut sub (and the requisite chips that go with it)? Everyone needs a Nick's Market two blocks from their house. For that matter, everyone needs a pumpkin cupcake with whiskey cream cheese frosting for dessert, at least during October.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a couple of kayakers coming around the bend in the rocks, making u-turns to go back and come through the whitewater again and again. When they tired of that, they paddled in front of us and I noticed that one had on a Lycra tank top and the other a turtle-neck long-sleeved Lycra shirt.

Not sure which one was over or under-dressed, I decided to wade in and check the water temperature. Taking off my shoes, I went in far enough to establish that the water was pretty chilly, but by no means unbearable (I've felt the ocean colder in July on the Outer Banks).

No doubt vigorous paddling on a bright sunny day would heat up the body enough to compensate for any cool river spray, so I'm going to go with the guy with the well- muscled arms and tank top being properly attired (although I may have been swayed by the nice arms).

I watched an endless train snake through the bank below the cemetery, squealing and clanging slowly all the while. Because the river level is below five feet, there were rocks everywhere, making for easy river walking almost the whole way across, although I did disturb a couple of ducks along the way and they flapped away in disgust.

People-watching and enjoying the river views, I had dozens of comments I could have made if I'd had company. Still, the afternoon at the river was exactly what I'd needed and just listening to the rushing water for a couple of hours had satisfied whatever that need is.

Now, about those other needs...

On Nick's Deli and Naps

When you're entertaining until 2:30 but have to get up at 6 a.m. and you're not a coffee drinker, some adjustments are in order.

The energy's got to come from somewhere and for me it's food and lots of it (and doubtlessly a little nap before I go out tonight).

And not just any food, but the kind of eats that will distract me from my fatigue and keep me going long enough to get a few things done before giving into it.

Despite a crack of dawn breakfast, that meant a mid-morning chocolate chip scone hot out of the oven at Garnett's.

They bake their scones fresh every morning and while it's true that most baked goods are better fresh out of the oven, scones are sublime when they're warm and steaming.

The variety of scone changes daily but with my chocolate sweet tooth, I lucked into the ideal taste delight for me today.

And when you get up at 6, you're ready for lunch by 11.

I hung on until after 11:30, but not by much, and then I made the two-block dash to Nick's Deli on Broad Street (okay, Nick's Produce and International Market, if you want me to be specific).

As a recent commenter to one of my restaurant posts wrote, "...nothing in the world beats a sandwich from Nick's."

I heard that and today I needed an 8" ham, turkey and bacon sub doused in oil and vinegar.

What a huge and delicious sandwich; with a pile of potato chips almost as big as the sub, I got enough sustenance to be relatively productive before shifting into siesta mode.

At the counter being rung up, I was asked how my day was going.

I explained that it was a 3 1/2 hour night with an early morning wake-up call.

Handing me my bag, the girl empathetically said, "Eat this and then take a nice long nap."

You know, I think I will.