Yes, I Do Windows

There are art nerds and then there are hopeless art nerds and my photographer friend and I definitely qualify as the latter.

After we finished seeing the Tiffany exhibit at the VMFA back in June here, we (like probably a bazillion other visitors to that show) picked up a sheet mentioning that Virginia was full of Tiffany windows available for public viewing.

But unlike those who tossed that sheet or forgot all about it, we were determined to start the process of seeing them all, beginning with Blandford Church in Petersburg.

So on this beautiful rain-washed and windswept day, we took a leisurely drive down Route 1 past the trailer parks and tiendas to see what Tiffany had wrought in the name of Civil War memorial windows.

Our intention had been to eat at the Dixie Diner, but once again they were closed ("You just never know when they're going to be open," we were told), so we headed to nearby Longstreet's Deli and a sunny window table.

Today's special was a half club sandwich, cup of soup (Italian wedding, chicken/sausage gumbo or French onion) and fripps ("They're our house-made fried potato chips, but they're addicting," our server warned us).

And although I enjoy a good club sandwich, I rarely order one because it ends up being too much.

So a half sounded great (as did cheese-covered soup since the temperature had dropped 17 degrees since I'd walked this morning).

And, for the record, the thick sliced fripps were delicious, with far more potato taste than a typical house made chip

We ate and watched the clouds tearing across the sky as if they had somewhere to be, like Nebraska.

It was almost like an artsy time-lapse shot in a movie to indicate the passage of time, except that not much time was passing.

Arriving at Blandford, we were met by the Ladies Memorial Association decorating committee, two welcoming women working on the Visitors' Center Christmas tree.

When they learned that we were there because of the VMFA exhibit, we became the star visitors.

Apparently they had hoped to get a lot of residual guests as a result of the VMFA show but that hasn't really been the case.

Pity, really, because Blandford's windows made for as soul-satisfying an afternoon as did the museum show, with the bonus of being in a 1735 church with a glorious wooden vaulted ceiling.

Our tour guide, a charming women who's been doing it for five years and willingly gave her age as 76, provided more than facts and encouraged the closest possible viewing points so as not to miss a nuance of the works of art.

When the Ladies' Memorial Association began the project to restore the abandoned church as a memorial chapel in 1901, they conceived a plan where each of the Confederate States would provide funds for a window in memory of that state's Confederate dead.

For each window of the planned size for the chapel, Tiffany was charging $1800 at the time.

For this project, he dropped his price to $300 per window with a $35 packing/shipping/installation fee. It boggles the mind today.

Additionally, the faces, hands and feet of the saints depicted in each of the windows were hand-painted by artisans for the most realistic detail possible. In many cases, tiny painted rounds of glass were added at the last moment to add a three-dimensional element to the image.

We were astounded to learn that these magnificent windows had gone uncovered until the 1980s when Plexiglas was put on the outside of them.

Seventy years of Tiffany masterpieces undisturbed, not stolen, not shot out, with no rocks thrown through. Surely that's some sort of cosmic gift.

Up close with today's brilliant sunshine streaming through Tiffany's Opaline and gem-like colored-windows was even better than the VMFA exhibit in some ways.

The proximity, the natural light and the cohesiveness of the windows' themes were breath-taking.

The only state that hadn't managed to raise funds for a window was Kentucky, so Tiffany had created a small window with a cross on it in honor of the state's dead and charged the ladies only $100 for it.

Neutral states Maryland and Arkansas had smaller windows as well.

Walking out through first the Colonial cemetery and then the Civil War cemetery was like being in a rolling sea of gravestones.

After the war, when the Union made no provision to bury the Confederate dead, the L.M.A. spent twenty years burying 30,000 men's bodies in the hilly back of the church.

We were both surprised to learn that although Blandford is no longer an active parish, you can still be married there and buried in the cemetery ("You can end it either way here," one of us quipped).

Driving back out, I asked my friend if he wanted to be buried because I know I intend to be cremated.

"And scattered where?" he asked.

I think I'll leave that to the scatterer, presuming that he'll know me well enough to know my mind.

Poolside Dining at Best Cafe

My earliest memories of eating at a museum are of dried out burgers in the basement cafeteria of the National Gallery of Art.

Even as a child, I appreciated that I was there for the art, not the food, so whatever was available was good enough; it was just sustenance between morning and afternoon gallery roaming.

And I was fine with that.

I'd fallen in love with the museum experience the very first time I stood in wonder in the rotunda of the National Gallery, a passion that has never waned.

Fast forward to 2010 and a friend and I made plans for lunch at the VMFA, followed by a tour of the Tiffany exhibition today.

As it turned out, we couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day for an al fresco lunch, although neither of us had had any idea that that would be the case.

We'd already eaten at Amuse, so we were going to give the Best Cafe a shot and see how it stood up to my misty cafeteria memories.

To start with, dried out gray burgers were not an option.

We could choose from salads, wraps, paninis, a couple of entrees, hot dogs and pizza.

And then there was the unexpected glamour of wine and desserts; clearly we weren't in a basement lunchroom anymore, Toto.

One of the salad options was country ham, asparagus and mozzarella over mixed greens and that sounded pretty wonderful to me.

With a piece of unexpectedly good cheese-sprinkled bread, followed by flourless chocolate cake, it was the perfect summer lunch.

The Best Cafe is situated alongside the reflecting pool, which I have admired on previous visits from inside for its mirror-like stillness.

But today it was appealing for different reasons, so we took our meals outside to enjoy on the patio.

The breeze rustling through the enormous magnolias and the constant rippling motion of the water made for a tranquil oasis on a Friday afternoon.

My friend teased me because I was so quiet (a second night of less than five hours sleep will slow down even a talker like me on occasion), but part of the reason was just my enjoyment of the experience.

I wouldn't have changed anything about the moment.

As for Mr. Tiffany's glass, I was impressed with the scope of the exhibit.

Knowing that he'd been a painter first, I would have been disappointed had some of his paintings not been included.

I'm also one of those people who are not satisfied with simply seeing the fruits of an artist's labor, either.

I need the historical context to full appreciate a body of work and was rewarded with vintage photographs of his homes, studio, store, and glass factory as well as pictures of the workers and artists who brought his vision to fruition.

I definitely appreciate a side of history with my art entree.

The chapel-like room that housed the full-size Tiffany windows from a church in Canada was the centerpiece of the exhibition and absolutely breath-taking.

Even a heathen like me could appreciate the majesty of these ecclesiastical scenes rendered in eye-popping colors with light streaming through them.

If anything, I became a convert to the church of Louis Comfort Tiffany, so perhaps I'm not a completely lost soul.

And although personally, I still go to museums for the art, and food is just the fuel for doing so, a place like the Best Cafe will be far more likely to impress a ten-year old on her first visit to a museum than a basement cafeteria could ever hope to.

I understand that not every kid will experience the genuine frisson of pleasure that I did on merely being in such a place. If hot dogs and pizza help win her over, so be it.

But we want her to be won.