To-Do List

In my family, we would call today a goof-off day.

I mean, come on, it's the first day of the shortened holiday week, it was 77 degrees and all I wanted to do was take advantage of it all.

The first thing I did on waking up was open every window in the house. Such a treat in late November.

Step one: a long, sunny walk down Colorado Avenue to Texas Beach (five people, five dogs, water cold but not freezing) and then back via the North Bank trail (surprisingly all but empty: two joggers, two bikers).

Soaking up sunshine on a rock at the beach and then again on Bubba's bench overlooking Belle Isle. Heavenly.

Step two: a saunter through Church Hill near Libbie Park with a stop at a 1904 house that's being renovated by a couple from Pittsburgh. The trunk room is becoming an office, old ceiling joists are becoming a dining room table and there are still raccoon hand prints on walls from the two years the house was uninhabited.

After the nickle tour and lots of conversation, I fell madly in love with this couple when she told me they weren't going to put in air conditioners, allowing the natural air flow to cool the house in warm weather. And here I thought I was the only one who turned my back on artificially frigid summers.

Step three: a seat on the patio at Conch Republic with a view of the river (even a couple of boats on it), happy hour Sauvignon Blanc and some steamed shrimp, ordered because my partner in crime said they couldn't mess it up. Wrong. All the spice was sprinkled on the shells after the fact while the shrimp had clearly been steamed without it. Duh.

Our server turned out to be a Charleston transplant studying environmental science at VCU so he can work at the Dismal Swamp when he graduates. A discussion of the summer the swamp was on fire ensued because we all remembered it.

His first concert was Kings of Leon (unless you count the Red Hot Chili Peppers show his Dad took him to which he doesn't remember), a band he went on to see 15 times since. I told him I'd seen the band in Chicago in 2007 and it had been the loudest show I'd ever seen. He grinned and agreed.

We watched as the sun set behind the trees, streaking the sky with peach and violet clouds and the thinnest sliver of a moon (2-3% visible, according to the meteorologist at the table) and vapor trails began appearing out of nowhere.

Step four: dinner at the bar of my neighborhood joint, Bistro 27 alongside an Ashland mother and son headed to the James Taylor concert at the Coliseum. She was beyond excited to finally get to see JT.

Her first show had been Chicago in 1978 and she recalled going with older friends who got stopped and searched for pot. Turns out she had the bag of weed on her person and no one bothered to check her. She shared this story out of the blue, saying it still gave her a laugh.

My dinner was French onion/mushroom soup followed by a petite crab cake while people continued to arrive for dinner before the big show. But by the time I was eating my double chocolate torte,  the dining room had cleared out. Time for fire and rain, I suppose.

Step five: a show at Sound of Music studios, in yet another location from the last time I was at a SoM show. The place looked dead from outside but a small sign directed people to the alley behind the building.

There, a burly man stood guard and when asked if this was the place, responded, "It is to rock and roll." In we went.

Lady God, a fairly new band, was already playing their pastiche of garage, soul and pop to an attentive crowd. I was sorry I'd missed any of their set based on the sound.

I ran into the baker/DJ who reminded me that the last time we'd seen each other had been at Metzger when Mr. Fine Wine deejayed. He was kind enough to tell me I was a great dancer but then shared that when he'd taken off his jacket to dance (at my insistence) and tossed it aside, his phone had been a casualty.

He wanted to blame it on my aggressive dancing but was quite happy because now he has a much nicer phone to replace it. All's well that ends well.

Next up were the lo-fi Beat Awfuls from Kentucky, notable because they had a female drummer. "This place is cool," one of the Awfuls said. "Is that ceiling tin?" Sure was.

Twice while the band was playing, a stranger walked up to me and introduced himself (Hi, Tom! Hi, Adam!). Maybe I looked like I could use some conversation.

During the break, I geeked out with my favorite nerd, discussing his trip to Shirley Plantation today (showed me his ticket to prove it), mine to Menokin (a place he's been keen to visit) and Fort Brady.

The evening's headliner was Warren Hixson, the band that reliably delivers surf guitar, pop gems and tight performances. Tonight was no different and, as usual, I leave their shows wishing they'd play out more often. I'm especially fond of the shared male/female vocals (Nelly and Brent) that distinguish their sound.

Did I do any work today? Sure, I made an appointment to do an interview late Wednesday afternoon when most people will have left work behind.

Did I make the best possible use of this gloriously unseasonable November day? Sure did. I didn't even go inside until a couple of hours after the sun set.

One more notch in my lipstick case for another stellar goof off day. Oh, I'm good at this.

Sitting on Bubba

Imagine being shown up by a couple of newcomers.

Yesterday I'd decided that I was going to walk the North Bank Trail today, with a secondary goal of finding the trail to Texas Beach. If I could because I am directionally-challenged.

I know all this sounds like a modest plan, but take into account that in two decades of living here, I'd never walked either trail.

In fact, the main reason I was doing this at all was because on my way back from Belle Isle yesterday, I'd come through Oregon Hill and seen a sign pointing to the North Bank Trail.

Well, looky there!

With no idea what to expect trail-wise, I set out down the path, which soon changed from paved to gravel to dirt and rocks.

On either side was thick growth and in many spots, a living canopy overhead hemming in the air flow to almost non-existent. Places felt almost rain forest like.

The greenery eliminated any view of the river until I came up a hill and all of a sudden, I had the most sweeping view of the rapids and Belle Isle.

First thought: there ought to be a bench here.

Looking behind me, I saw why. I was at a high point directly in front of Hollywood Cemetery, one of the loveliest river views in the city.

I continued around the bend and there it was: Bubba's bench, with not one, but two plaques designating it as such.

It was a high bench - it came to my hip - so I had to hoist myself up on it like a kid, but the view (and seat) were worth it.

From there I kept going on the path, pausing to let mountain bikers, clutches of runners and and nervous-looking groups of walkers pass me on the narrow trail.

Eventually the shrubbery broke and I saw more of Hollywood Cemetery to my right and not long after another cemetery - Mount Calvary- spreading out beyond the trail.

Signs along the trail warned that parts were considered difficult, mainly due to elevation which in places reached 200' but once you're hot and sweaty, what's a few hills more?

In a couple of places I took shortcuts to avoid loops in the trail, other times I balanced on boards to cross muddy parts of the trail.

Finally I spotted the hiker's best friend, a PortaPotty, and climbed up to the parking lot for Texas Beach. Ta-da! But where was the beach?

I gravitated to the map to see if I was getting close, only to meet a couple already studying it who'd just moved to RVA two days ago.

Warning me that they'd be no help in finding Texas Beach, I nonetheless took the time to welcome them and tell them about Belle Isle, Brown's Island and the pipeline walkway.

I was terribly impressed that they'd been ambitious enough to already be out and experiencing their new city.

We parted company and it didn't take long for me to find the bridge that crosses the railroad tracks (where a coal train sat) and leads to the beach.

Best of all, when I arrived it was completely empty.

It took me no time at all to shed my shoes and socks and wade out into the river up to my shorts (on me, that's over half my body).

The view coupled with the solitude made me feel like I was far from home, a lovely, unexpected experience.

As I was wading out toward the rushing water, I heard voices and turned to see a father and son with fishing poles arriving at the beach.

They had a radio with them -the voices I'd heard- and all of a sudden, the peaceful scene had become a lively one.

Cooled to my core by then anyway, I climbed back on a rock to put my shoes and socks back on and continue my walk, passing a couple and their dog turning into the beach as I left.

Coming back over the bridge to the trail, I again ran into the newcomers and this time we stopped for a longer get-to-know-you chat on the bridge.

From Fairfax, one high school age daughter, live in Short Pump but hope to move to the city once she's off to college.

And guess what they wanted? Restaurant recommendations. Naturally I obliged.

The walk back flew by, perhaps because I recognized landmarks now, although one surprise came at the end of a small bridge where I looked down to see a broken gravestone next to the bridge.

"Katie Low," it said but the end of Katie's last name was broken off. Lowe? Lowell? Lowery? "1877-1941. Rest in peace."

Such an interesting place to be buried, so close to the river but away from the cemeteries.

It was a far quieter walk back with no hikers or bikers passing me as they had earlier. It was also hotter, sunnier and more humid if that was possible, so perhaps wiser souls had gotten their trailing done in the morning.

Not me. I'd set out at 11:00 and by the time I made it back to Jackson Ward, it was 1:30.

Of course, that allowed time for river wading, conversation with strangers, sitting on Bubba's bench twice and one pit stop.

I'd say I did pretty well for a first-timer. But, when strangers express surprise that it's your first time, you know you're way overdue.

Don't worry, I intend to make up for it with future frequency.

I can't wait to take some of my favorite walkers with me. Who'll be the expert then?