Jokers Left, Clowns Right

Wow! As the Hippie era song goes: "Jokers to the left of me, clowns to the right, here I sit in the middle with you." On the left of my desk is my US 2005 IRS tax form to be completed. On the right, summons for US court jury duty this month. What better time to escape all that and write a blog. So much is happening lately my material is endless. Savannah is a busy place this time of year.
International seems to be the theme of events flooding over me. Savannah's annual Tour of Homes just occurred and was a smashing success. All the money goes to fund grants for the needy of the city and we have a plethora of those. Residents in grand and historic homes open them to the public for the price of a ticket. As a result I STOOD Saturday from 9:30 a.m. until 5 p.m. in a home as head host, greeting 1500 of my closest brand new best friends and explaining the virtues of the house they were seeing. As usual I was amazed at the number of people from California, Europe and all parts of the nation and world who make the annual pilgrimage to visit our city for this event. Each year a different selection of homes is on the tour for that reason and it's when our gardens are in full bloom.
Heard from a friend I haven't seen since 1980 today. He's like family (have actual relatives I see about that often) so it was good to know he's well. We began our association in about 1964 as Graduate School classmates. We became closer when he and his wife became my next door neighbor. When my family left Durham for Atlanta, my friend and his followed by coincidence a few years later. After I became a divorcee I changed jobs from one department to another and ended up with my old classmate as my boss. We worked together for the 80s. I often feel like a vagabond but was really impressed to learn he's refined it to an art form. He closed his research lab a year ago now at a mid-western American med school and only teaches. He's bought a place near a sailing mecca and plans to move there soon. He's always struck me as a born lifetime bachelor which he reverted to after taking cues from another old song, "Fifty Ways to Leave a Lover". He left Atlanta for the north which he prefers. I knew his reputation as a world class sailor but wasn't prepared to learn that he's sailed yachts ( for other people who were rich enough to afford the grandest but needed someone to "reposition them" globally) from Iceland to the Caribbean and Atlantic to the Mediterranean in his spare time. Nice gigs.
Got it together for a passport with the thought I'd take a nice relaxing international fling in April. Bad time for taxes but usually a good time for travel. Climate is at its best and rates are good then. The day I went to the Post Office to renew my well-expired passport the line was out the front door. It made me ask of those around me if there was something happening that I should know about that was causing the obvious mass migration. They smiled but shrugged. I mentioned to the lady taking application and she admitted she'd never seen the line so long. I still don't understand it. I planned to leave for my trip as soon after tax deadline on the 15th as possible but didn't actually part with money as I awaited arrival of my passport. Had my eye on a jaunt that took off on the 27th. Then the mail came. I report for jury duty April 18th with a reminder that if I serve long enough to earn $600.00, they'll be forced to report it to the IRS. At the rate they pay jurors that would take long enough for my heirs, not ME, to be concerned. I figure roughly mid May will be my first chance to hop the next freighter!!!!

In all three shots of the new addition you can see the beauty of the city reflected on the glass wall. An added, serendipity effect. Upper left is Telfair Square in front of the new addition.

When not sneaking about gardens taking pictures of and writing about blooms, I've had several other interesting days lately. Most recently the opening of the new addition to Savannah's Telfair Art Museum. The architect and the other man it was named "for" were in town for the much hyped event. The architecture was controversial from the beginning as it was conceived as and is an ultra modern structure in the midst of our Historic District. The architect was Moshe Safdie whom we were assured we were fortunate to have stoop to do anything for our undeserving city. And so the design made it by a hair's breadth through the various committees that exist to keep us Historic. The building is quite beautiful and impressive but two comparisons came immediately to mind: Margaret Mitchell and Guilford Dudley (...not THAT Guilford Dudley).
The Mitchell influence was obvious in the overall image of a gigantic white staircase that the building mimics, intentionally or not. It was not unlike the grandeur of the fine stairway in Scarlet O'Hara's new, Atlanta, post-war mansion that Rhet Butler built for her in Gone With the Wind. Safdie's rendering though, of course, is ultra modern. The second reference mentioned was that often said by male Vanderbilt University students about the president of Life and Casualty regarding Nashville's L & C tower in the mid 50s. It was his greatest erection (as a "mature southern lady" now I keep the same stoic expression that indicates I couldn't possibly understand what they mean just as I did as a coed then.) Aside from those observations I found the Museum to be the neutral, non-intrusive building that should display works of Art. The show featured many electronic screens interactive with the viewer yielding interesting time and movement concepts. Nationally and internationally known, more traditional art was also on display. My use of the word traditional should not be interpreted as pre 1990, however.
The centerpiece of sculpture that the visitor ascending the grand stairway is greeted with is a large mother and son. (I almost never read titles or artists when in a Museum unless I come upon one I really like but am not familiar with. It's more serendipitous that way. Sometimes I'll know the work or artist just by sight, however.) The nude pair were somewhat heavy, weighted, dark but with rapt affection. They were not unlike Rodin in their coloring and media but more primitive in style. The mother's foot tucked under her buttock I found particularly Picasso like. Overall it had a Gauguin primitive sophistication. In retrospect I would have titled it Native Nativity. As a woman I found the piece offensive since the prime attraction, in spite of (or because) the son being front and center to the mother, was an unattractive crotch the visitor was forced to face for half the distance of the stairs. It was obviously disproportionate with an illusion of suction within. The boy was too large signifying this to be more than a mere mother-son moment. Any "such ases" escape me. No doubt an analyst (or gynecologist) could propose numerous possibilities but the message, if one other than a suitably shocking piece for a grand opening meant to cause chatter, was lost on me. The thought that it might be an excellent birth control device for viewers did occur to me.
The collection of Savannah Art was disappointing. The Ray Ellis piece was typical and impressive. The works of an unfamiliar artist, Clark, I found warm and commendable. Since Ann Osteen, the city's most talented artist, had nothing on exhibit I was disappointed and afterwards to the present, puzzled.
Descending the stairs I came face to face through the all-glass front with the beauty of Savannah bursting with all the signs of Spring, flora and fauna included. Telfair Square with its flowers and trees was displayed beautifully…more so than the new edifice or anything in it.

...And did I mention the vulgar

...beauty and variety of our camellias?

A nameless bush appearing all over town. Property owners planted but had no idea it would be such a show stopper

Japanes magnolia or tulip tree is one of Savannah's first blooms of Spring. This one, having been exposed to March winds is past prime

A few ahead-of-time azaleas saying, "It's my turn."

Our Valentine's Day Camellia bush in bloom


Savannah Spring

Savannah’s Winter show flower is the Camellia, of which there must be a couple of hundred varieties. One, the susanqua, begins blooming in late October and the last to bloom have names like pink perfection, debutante, white empress, methonianna rubra, pirates gold and on and on ad infinitum. They continue blooming until Spring. We have one that is usually in full bloom on Valentine’s Day but this year it was a bit late. I snapped a photo for your enjoyment. It was late this year waiting, I guess, on the cooler weather which never fully arrived. Spring blooming here begins with the Japanese magnolias/ tulip trees followed quickly by azaleas and wisteria. All very beautiful from beginning to end. Our azaleas are impatient, trying to bloom ahead of their Easter season peak. I snapped a picture of one of ours that seems to be saying, “It’s my turn! It’s my turn.”

I had an interesting experience this week that points out that flowers aren’t the only things that bloom in the Spring in Savannah. If you read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil you know we’re well known for our eccentrics as well. As a business woman I had the duty of meeting clients at a Condo development. Since they were arriving from Florida, I arrived early to accommodate their uncertain arrival time. I had met with some of their associates earlier so I’d been to this spot on several occasions. As I waited in the sunshine of a beautiful sunny day with perfect temperature, a woman from the next door approached my car. I rolled down the window and smiled as she approached.

“What are you doing here. Dr. Spienchgdvfichenclast?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” I responded reaching for my business card.

“I know who you are and I want this to stop,” she declared angrily.

“I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else,” I tried to explain and continued to reassure her why I was waiting there. I pushed up my sunglasses so she could get a thorough look at my face. She did not change her mind or tone. “As you see from my card I’m Nan Peacocke. May I ask who you are?” (Business people must be SO polite that it’s disgusting and hard to explain why I didn’t reach for my cell phone and dial 911. Later I noted my cellular wasn’t even working so it would have done no good.)

She rattled off a first name that had no vowels but all sorts of extraneous consonants (not that it matters but it is disconcerting to be accosted by a thickly accented foreigner on your own turf. Not that that mattered either. Americans are used to freaky encounters with oddballs ranting). The last name was Villk. She spelled both for me as if I were an imbecile but I didn’t bother to try to remember the first. “What are you doing here?” I asked, meaning at my car window.

“I have been with the International United States-Polish …”blah, blah, blah she continued with some official sounding alliance except for the ridiculously long, involved name of the affiliation. “And I know you. The last time I saw you, you were the doctor. And I know you when I see you,” she continued.

Certain she was a nut tree in full bloom but unsure of her variety, I tried several humoring tacks. From “I come from a large family and we are often mistaken for each other” to “You need help, my dear,” but nothing seemed to convince her. She returned to her Condo but left the door open to monitor me, I guess.

Well, at least all the nuts in Savannah aren’t home grown.

Have I told you how lovely our forsythia has been?