Monday, November 29, 2010

Of Memories and Offerings

I set out to be a good daughter and ended up with a trip down memory lane, followed by another turn as the sacrificial offering.

No one but parents can provide those two experiences over the course of a mere twelve hours.

With the holiday season looming large, my parents had asked for my assistance in getting Christmas stuff down from the third floor of their over-sized waterfront Northern Neck house (it should be noted that they raised six daughters in a 1300-square foot suburban rancher and only moved to spacious digs once we were out of the house, but that's okay).

I spent the day schlepping box after box of stuff down two sets of steps so they can begin over-decorating their house.

What I hadn't expected was all the detritus of those years in suburbia to still be filling the top floor of this house.

I opened the shades up there for the gorgeous and panoramic views while we worked and suddenly light was shed on all kinds of long-forgotten reminders of childhood.

Like so many post-war houses, ours had been "improved" by adding a bar to the basement rec-room.

Much to my surprise, the adornments of that bar still live on in a room upstairs with a beautiful eyeful of the widest stretch of the Rappahannock River.

The gray knitted poodle cover made for a bottle of booze? It's up there.

The tilting stand that holds the 16" bottle of Galliano? Dusty, but present.

The bobble-head Redskin figure that all the teen-aged boyfriends commented on? Check.

But it wasn't just bar stuff they inexplicably kept.

By the time the cultural revolution had trickled down to suburbia, my mother was in her crafty phase.

Hanging upstairs was a colorful, framed needlepoint piece she'd done proclaiming, "God Bless Our Pad."

Maybe it was a preemptive thing since we weren't church-goers.

Still, really?

In any case, I stumbled across more forgotten family treasures than I had any need to, so I had to tease them unmercifully about hanging on to such crap.

My mom assures me that it's my dad who's the pack rat; she said she's even threatened to call the fire department for an inspection just to make him deal with it.

Apparently there are many ways to say I love you after decades together.

After that kind of day, it was good to know that we'd be heading out to dinner at the historic Lancaster Tavern, built in 1790.

I was a tad surprised to learn that it wouldn't be a family affair, though, because they'd invited a neighbor along to "even up the numbers."

That and I have no doubt that they're still seriously worried about me being an old maid.

The neighbor came over for drinks first and I shared with him some of the surprise finds I'd made today, much to my mother's mortification.

No doubt it was more than she wanted a neighbor to know, but considering I had a stranger to entertain, I was going with some recent material.

Anyway, he seemed to find it funny.

We were amazed to discover a nearly full restaurant at the Tavern considering it was a Monday night. I know Chef Adam Ginsberg has been getting some good press for his "traditional comfort foods in untraditional ways" but it made for a far more festive ambiance to be surrounded by a full house.

I had the grilled bone-in pork chop with buerre de pomme and traditional green beans, long-cooked with salt pork but not to the point of mushiness and with the unexpected addition of bits of red pepper.

Given the water's proximity and the season, tonight's special was rockfish with crab meat Hollandaise, ordered by the male contingent (and rated very highly).

The fish was cooked perfectly, exactly the way the fisherman would have wanted it done.

The formerly-crafty one had the hot crab dip (the fact is, they're still awash in crab here) and the soup du jour, a hearty beef noodle with peas.

It was almost a stew and bone-warming good, especially with the hot-out-of-the-oven crusty bread.

Despite my presumption that my parents had an agenda in inviting a fourth, the conversation flowed and we enjoyed a most entertaining evening.

I even got the offer of a tour of the 18th-century county jail and clerk's office just across the street, should I decide to offer myself up again to the company of my parents' neighbor.

I am a nerd for history, so you never know.

But as I reminded my parents before they went off to bed, I may be their love child and the reason they got (happily) married, but they're going to have to let the old maid thing go.

Chances are, I'll get it right sooner or later...and without any assistance.

13 comments:

  1. touched by your memories...it's almost as if another side of you has opened up.

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  2. Ruminations on J-Ward---Years ago, I'd ride Clay..weather permitting..convertible, top down, heat on. A few renovations,some modest,some not..trees, porches..decorations.. nights' had character..X-mas in the Ward. Street alive, drug deals 'round one corner, transvestites 'round the other. Pretty but wild..temptations abound..Santa's coming but he's not deliverin' that. Sundays, I'd awaken to the African Street Choir across the street.. African Zion Rollers with God behind them. Walked in one day..God was there but not for me. Didn't have a phone..would walk to Brook & Broad & dial the pay. Sortta trashed...half empty bottles, used rubbers..my link to the world..(no TV then)..Believe they're still there...side by side..sentinels to another time..my time. Not deterred I moved on. Sometimes when I'm back.."Old Joy" soundtrack in my head.."sorrow is nothing but worn out joy,"...willfully moving on.

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  3. Loved this... laughed out loud.
    1300 sq. ft. - really? How the hell did they do that?

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  4. Anon #1: I'm a Gemini so I have lots of sides. Never sure which ones to reveal and I don't want to bore.

    Anon #2: Great memeories! What years are we talking about? I've only been in the Ward since fall 2006, but I am devoted to it now.

    gmlb:It was a more communal time, I suppose. I never felt cheated by a lack of square footage. Still don't.

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  5. hi - been readin yr site off n on (i skip the food stuff though) - i need to chk out yr wkly calendars u mentioned - not sure who u is, but if u see me somewhere & recognize me from my mug shots, say hi - or throw somethin @ me & look away real quick

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  6. Monthly calendar (Lush Life)is at readbelle.com and weekly (WWKD)is at rivercityrapids.com.

    As my friend Andrew pointed out, now all my stalkers know where to find me. Not that I'm saying I'm worth finding.

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  7. this posting struck an emotional chord within me & I responded as such. perhaps my response was too personal & wordy. not my intent to start a dialogue. no stalkers here... apologies offered if offense was taken. in answer to your question..i resided there over a decade ago. your penmanship/writings may easily be enjoyed without my comments or feedback... perhaps that's the way to go.

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  8. No offense taken and no presumption of stalking, either (a la hidemyass.com).

    I found your response neither too wordy nor too personal, but fascinating for its allusions to another time in J-Ward which I did not know.

    Feel free to comment whenever you like. A great deal of the satisfaction of writing the blog is hearing back from readers when what I've written grabs someone.

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  9. i enjoyed readin Anonymous' "Ruminations on J-Ward", i didnt think it was too personal or wordy at all, either - a very good description of my turf.

    Still have no idea who any of u people are though, which kinda sucks.

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  10. It's not like we can wear signs saying who we are...

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  11. sure we can - throw a kegger that i can crash & i can totally wear a sign sayin who i is

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  12. A tub full of hawaiian punch & grain alchohol could be fun.

    (till the room starts to spin & im throwin up fritos & cheez whiz while everyones laffin @ me - good times, good times!)

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