The Bridge is Back

To the tune of the chorus of Elton John’s “The Bitch is Back”:


Yes the bridge, yes the bridge,
Yes the bridge is back.
No more detours, highway’s in the past.
Take the bridge, take the bridge
It’s the new direct route.
Just relax when it moves—
That’s what drawbridges do.

Whoa-oh-oh.

This drawbridge reopened yesterday after a few years of construction that interfered with getting from our neighborhood, and other by-ways and residential parts of Greater New Bern, to downtown. The trip required more time, with a short detour onto a busy highway. (This was nothing compared to yer average Northeastern commute.) As they sensed their customers migrating to other establishments reached more efficiently, retailers and restauranteurs felt that the limited access and prolonged building process was the bitter icing on the sagging cake of the national economy.
 
Now, however, "Everyone's celebrating," as the proprietor of Mitchell's Hardware said rapturously, his face aglow not only from the setting sun, during an evening stroll on the first day the bridge was open to traffic. Indeed, there was a festive, Renoir-ish feel to the scene, with a stream of cars (carrying happy spenders, one hopes) going into town, and a stream of pedestrians going the other way on the sidewalk hung with red and yellow banners. Parents pushed strollers ("Yes, Tanitha, you were on that bridge the very first day!") and young couples snapped commemorative photos of each other against the background of marina and sunset.
 
The governor will be here for the official dedication on Monday, they say.

Lucky day?

As of this moment, my flickr photostream has been viewed 7,777 times, which sounds like a lucky number to me.  According to a perhaps wacky web site I found by googling, "The octal number 7777 is significant, it represents the limit, two hexagrams. It is the 10,000 things, it is that which is more than we care to count. This is possibly similar to R. Buckminster Fuller's Wave Pulsation of Indigs."

Oh, ahhh!

Also, we are lucky to have a gorgeous weather here this weekend in "the Land of the Long Leaf Pine/The summer land where the sun doth shine."  It sure is a-shinin' today.  After yoga, I drove to Pollocksville just for the hell of it, took a couple of pictures, turned around, and headed back home (hadn't had my morning coffee yet and it was nigh onto noon).

We've enjoyed having Mark and Chris back in town.

We did the "pub crawl" on St. Patrick's Day night (a semi-organized civic function, with earnest, novice bagpipers from the NBFD that followed in the wake of the merry-makers. No trad, alas). We fondly recalled marching in the 3-mile Holyoke parade with spectators' lawn chairs perched on snow banks, and a wind chill of 20 degrees, followed by Susan and Steve's really fun annual party (where I once was thrilled to meet the Parade Marshall of the year). I toasted friends afar with a ceremonial green Harp at The Chelsea, while my comrades drank The Guinness, as Barry Maloney would call it.

Slainte.

Sweet Carolina/Sweet Caroline: reminders of New England

"Wasn't there a dock around here somewhere?"

Gail and Barry "The Big Dog" Murphy's arrival in New Bern from the Cape coincided with the arrival of New England-style weather. No snow, but  rain and a glaze of ice. Churches cancelled services Sunday--which around here is saying something.

Saturday, we had lunch at The Chelsea and did a quick auto tour of town and assorted golf courses. On Saturday night, the city's public safety teams were out in force keeping cars off the cloverleaf-style ramps of the highways, blocking them with fire engines to keep unpracticed local drivers away from potentially slippery conditions.

Last night saw Livingston Taylor, who also came all the way from New England to give a concert in celebration of the city's 300th anniversary.

Taylor's great-great-great grandfather, Isaac Taylor, lived in New Bern. His descendant was an admirable combination of clever and funny, professionally smooth and "aw shucks" engaging, with quite a good voice, still. (Check out his Vineyard retreat!) Unable to travel earlier because of weather, he'd left Boston at 5 a.m. to arrive in New Bern at 5 p.m. that day, much to the gratitude of the Historical Society which had sold 600 or so tickets. At times we've thought we were the oldest people at a show; this was not the case last night.

Speaking of Boston, we got a little sentimental when the lounge act at Ratty's sang the Red Sox anthem, "Sweet Caroline." As opposed to Livingston Taylor's "Carolina Day," which he performed.

But, we are putting down our roots. We tried out the pleasantly gritty underground bar at the otherwise elegant Harvey Mansion. We've been given hope by 37th Street that we can find satisfactory pizza in these parts. And, newly equipped with new NC driver's licenses, today we can get NC plates for the cars.

Eagles and hot dogs

Yesterday, from the back yard, I saw big birds soaring on updrafts, following in the air the course of our creek.  At first I thought they were turkey vultures, a common sight in Massachusetts; then I concluded they were bald eagles -- at least one was, with a white head and a white underside on its tail.  They were too high up for a photo. The others weren't as distinctly marked -- maybe juveniles.

During a stroll downtown in the late afternoon, I sat on a bench in the sunshine and enjoyed my first Joliet Jakes hot dog.  The "Stubby Dog."  Yum.

Santa Claus, salons, and a cockroach

Blogger's eye view.

If you read a previous post, you'll know that another customer beat us by milliseconds in claiming a rug we'd had our eye on at the local furniture clearance center, Branch's.  She was going to take it home on a trial basis. Well, the next day I got a call from Jim ("Jim," like "cat," is two syllables here) who said, "Ah'm Santy Clows today," pleased to announce that our rival had brought the rug back. So, I drove the Big-Ass Truck out Highway 70 and picked it up. It looks like it was meant to be in our dining room. Now, if only we had chairs....  Well, at least there's something soft to sit on, underneath the table.

Most women I know get nervous about switching hairdressers.  There's always the danger of going in for subtle highlights and coming out a bleached-blonde scarecrow.  But I felt confident about Juanita because of two coincidental recommendations a year apart.  At the downtown New Year's Eve fest last year (80-09), my friend Chris had asked a smartly-turned-out local who did her hair.  "Juanita, at Split Endz."  I'd forgotten about that when, at the risk of being accused of stalking, last week I tracked a different (gee, or maybe the same...) woman into the locker room at our health club to ask her who'd styled her well-layered bob.  "Juanita, at Split Endz."  When I walked in, it was like the greenhorn walking into a saloon in an old Western, when the tinkling piano quiets, conversation ends, the poker players pause in mid-deal, and all the cowboys' heads swivel to squint at the stranger blocking the sun at the swinging door.  It was a small, square room, with ladies in smocks and Medusa-like locks with foil on them perched all around.  A long pause, and then "May I help you?" "I'm looking for Juanita," I said, a la Clint Eastwood.  "That's me," she said. "Could I make an appointment for tomorrow, or the day after?"  "Honey, I'm booked then and for the next week," she said. Juanita must have quite the reputation indeed. "Want to go with one of the other girls?"--very saloon-like. So young Amy, who grew up in New Bern and likes cats, gave me a good haircut.  It's not from the hand of Juanita herself, but it's Juanita Certified.

This was a better experience than at another salon where I went to get a manicure for my moving-box-battered hands. There was a resident chihuahua, in a sportscar-themed doggie bed at the owner's (one presumes) station. So, the sign asking customers to not bring pets inside was probably more out of consideration for Spike than for sanitation. I waited 20 minutes past my appointment time. My assigned manicurist was aflutter because her next client (after her mother) would be the first drag queen she'd ever provided with acrylic tips.  Unfortunately, even with many delays in service, I didn't get to see the performer himself to judge whether he would rival the pros I've seen in P-town and Key West.

Yesterday, we had rain in the morning but it cleared up beautifully and the thermometer hit 70 degrees. I was inside most of the day, though, sorting and stowing. Finally got out late afternoon and saw the movie "It's Complicated" which was great. Only $5, too.

This morning took a walk first thing -- temps were 20 degrees higher here than in South Hadley. It is sinking in that ordinarily at that hour I would've been going through the routine of getting ready for work, probably running late, precoccupied with pending appointments and deadlines. Today, instead, I passed ducks on the pond across the street sounding like annoyed Brooklyn guys saying, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah." A single Canada goose flew overhead and landed there.

When I got back, Maggie was by the front door intensely interested in something behind a lantern on the floor.  Eeeww, this is not a good sign.  But, it was only a cockroach as big as my thumb. Disposed of offending vermin.  "Good girl! Mighty Hunter!"  Rationale for having a cat in The Swamp.

Another is that cats are good interior decorators. Maggie helped lay down the rug.

Tim should've brought her with him to High Point, furniture capital of the world, where he is doing some scouting on his way back from Atlanta. When you visit, we may have dining room chairs.

"Flop that Sucker Open"

“We’re going to do everything we can to flop that sucker open, to have the band there and to have the planes fly over on [February] 26th."
 -- Hugh Overholt, a New Bern attorney and retired Army general who represents this district on the state Board of Transportation.

Link to Sun Journal story about new bridge that will help ScribeGirl and Tim get to Captain Ratty's and SkySail

Docked

I spent all afternoon writing a book review for the Historical Journal of Massachusetts, which is published by Westfield State College. I enjoyed reading the book -- a biography of photographer F. Holland Day -- and once I made myself start, I enjoyed writing the piece, book reviews being a new experience for me.

Meanwhile, because we're looking to refinance, an appraiser stopped by the house, and spent a long time wandering around outside measuring and taking pictures.  The schnauzer from down the street, Cinder, barked and barked and barked at the guy. Cinder runs free and thinks he owns the whole neighborhood.  So then the guy comes inside, and says curtly, "Is that your dog?"  I thought he wanted me to put a muzzle on the mutt, who's harmless but perhaps intimidating. So, I started to explain, but then the appraiser began jotting notes. I realized he'd actually asked, "Is that your DOCK?"  No difference in accents -- just misheard.  Which could've detracted from the value of our home -- he could've docked us for no dock.  Although perhaps Cinder did that for us anyway:  "Folks, we knocked 50 grand off the worth of your place cuzza that darn dog always carryin' on."
Tonight I'm off, solo, to a meeting of the Twin Rivers Paddle Club.  As in canoe and kayak paddling. 

But the chilly weather won't allow for any paddling for some time yet, no doubt.

From NoHo to NoCo: one visitor's introduction to Eastern North Carolina

From NoHo to NoCo

New Bern

Marinas, Mums, a Mansion....

In October, I went to New Bern as a visitor for the last time -- and, for the first time, my pal Trailer ventured to "The Swamp," as she so eloquently describes our Southern estate.  I spent the first day getting new tires for the truck. But if you have to hang out at an automotive place, it might as well be Family Tire, where there's free soda, popcorn, wifi, and a living room set-up with flat screen TV. See why people like New Bern?  M.J. arrived late that night, and the next day we set off for Mum Fest on a bright, hot morning, taking the little ferry across the river. Unfortunately, the recent fish kill made the scenic marina pretty stinky.

Gotta love the carnival atmosphere of Mum Fest right in the center of downtown. We strolled the grounds of Tryon Palace and had lunch at the Pollock Street Deli, a perennial favorite.

Tryon Palace

...Mystery...

We indulged our Gothic interest in cemeteries with a tour of atmospheric Cedar Grove, with its "Weeping Wall," ghostly Spanish moss, finely crafted monuments, and tombs of local worthies.  A native New Bernian on the tour brightly pointed out that she would be laid to rest there someday.  Later in the month, the grounds would be more lively, so to speak, staged with lighting and spooky characters  as one of the settings for the city's annual Ghost Walk.

Cedar Grove Cemetery

...and History...

Foiled in an attempt to see the Estuarium in Historic (Little) Washington, it being closed on Sunday (most things are closed, at least on Sunday morning, in Eastern North Carolina -- even Chick-Fil-A!), we opted for breakfast, a stroll around the town which felt like a combination of 1899 and 1959, and a visit to Historic Bath (all the towns in Eastern North Carolina are officially Historic). Our tour included--you guessed it--history, plus tranquil waterscapes, odd shops (Christmas ornaments made from tobacco twine, anyone?), and of course, them old cotton fields.

We ended our truck tour in Historic Oriental, as The Sun Sank Slowly in The West.

Every visitor to our Brices Creek home is encouraged to have the Total Swamp Experience by venturing out onto the sweet-tea-colored water in a kayak.  Intrepid Trailer was no exception, and despite the cloud and chill of October, we paddled to the quarry, where some developer envisions an enclave of luxury villas with yachts moored in the deep "Stillwater."  But for now, it's still a haven for herons and bass boats.

We hope this is just the first of many visits from our photophile friend, and that her example will serve to encourage others likewise to consider undertaking their own New Bern adventure when we are permanently settled in our spacious New England-style Cape on the cusp of the Croatan National Forest.  (Remodeling by Stroud Custom Homes!)

And remember, if cemeteries and estuaries aren't your thing, there's always the superb wine list at Captain Ratty's!