Most of you know about Mardi Gras. You've heard the tales of debauchery and excess. But did you know that the original Mardi Gras started in Mobile, Alabama? Ok, there is a lot of southern speculation on this, but people in the state of Alabama swear by it. So travelling through, I had the opportunity to visit one of the many, many parades enjoyed by this state. Here are some well-known Wiki-pedia facts about Mardi Gras.
1. Mardi Gras in Mobile dates back to 1703, a full 15 years before New Orleans was founded. (1718)
2. It is the oldest annual Carnival celebration in America.
3. It began as a French Catholic tradition, celebrating until the start of Lent on Ash Wednesday, until midnight on Mardi Gras day (French for "Fat Tuesday."
4.Mardi Gras in Mobile now has evolved into a mainstream multi-week celebration across the spectrum of cultures in Mobile and is a day off school for the final Monday and Tuesday of the festival regardless of religious affiliation.
5.Mobile has traditions of exclusive societies, with formal masked balls and elegant costumes, the celebration has evolved over the past three centuries to become typified by public parades where members of societies, often masked, on floats or horseback toss gifts to the general public, as throws, including plastic beads, doubloon coins, decorated plastic cups, candy, wrapped Moon Pies, stuffed animals,small toys, footballs, frisbees, and whistles.
6. At the masked balls, where non-masked men wear white tie and tails full dress or costumes and women wear full length evening gowns, garnishing an invitation is akin to winning an Oscar!
7. Beyond the public parades, Mardi Gras in Mobile involves many various mystic societies, some having begun in 1704, or ending with the Civil War, while new societies were formed every century. Some mystic societies are never seen in public parades, but rather hold invitation-only events for their secret members, with private balls beginning in November, each year.
8. For visitors who want a family-friendly experience, attending a nightly parade is the way to go! Just be sure and duck as I was clobered several times by hoards of beads and Moon pies! The last couple of days of Mardi Gras tend to be the more raucheous celebrations, so stay away if your not into that! Otherwise enjoy next year!
9. There are so many mysteries in the South. "Underground" societies, social mannerisms, histories that continually reveal dark secrets. And mint juleps! Don't forget mint julips!
Hankering for a book that explores some of these kinds of secrets? Vicki Allen and The Search for Shannon is southern a novel set in Mississippi, Alabama and southeast Georgia, and is the story of four women, brought together by the birth and subsequent adoption of one child. Amazing how the history of one can affect so many other lives. Read on!
Buttons! Buttons! Everywhere!
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
A Wing and a Prayer
A couple of weeks ago, I was flying into Daytona Beach. Actually it was during the Daytona 500, which everyone knows is a crazy time in Florida. I had cozied down for a smooth landing when I felt the plane slow, a little too slow for the experiences I’ve had on the numerous planes I’ve been on. You could smell the sweat of the nervous passengers in the air as we lingered in the clouds. Much to everyone’s amazement, the pilot’s voice boomed over the intercom. “Folks, you might notice we’ve slowed down a bit. Well, it’s to give way to an old plane. The B29 to be exact. There is only one flying B29 left. This plane was assembled from several abandoned Navy planes that were found in a desert out west. The historical significance of this plane should be honored by every American. Note when we land, the big “A” on the tail of the plane. This was the plane that dropped the Atom bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.” Our plane went silent, all of us intent on the pilot’s words. “And folks, this plane holds a special meaning for me. My dad flew this plane.” A roar went up from the crowd on board, not unlike the roar of the crowd on the filled Daytona track below us when the winner rolls over the finish line. But this roar was all American. A plane full of strangers, faces pressed to the windows as the old plane rolled past , us as it taxied to a hanger, all of us feeling grateful for our nation’s military. Made it a pretty special flight.
On top of that, I was right in the middle of finishing a spectacular book by Kathryn Hildebrand called Unbroken. It is a story about World War II I would’ve never read had it not been for a recommendation from a friend. Thanks Randy!
I’m not a big war fan, but I will tell you this book was something! It was a riveting story based on the true story of Olympic track star Frank Zamperini. Very well written. Excellent use of prose and structure and a story that shows the resilience of man and the beauty of faith. I had just finished reading the section of how the prisoners of war looked to the sky to see the first ever B29 flying overheard, their hearts hoping against hope that they would be rescued, when our pilot came on to tell us about this historic plane.
It was a WoW moment that I will always remember. I hope you’ll join me in reading this very compelling story! You’ll be amazed and like me, might even come to love history!
On top of that, I was right in the middle of finishing a spectacular book by Kathryn Hildebrand called Unbroken. It is a story about World War II I would’ve never read had it not been for a recommendation from a friend. Thanks Randy!
I’m not a big war fan, but I will tell you this book was something! It was a riveting story based on the true story of Olympic track star Frank Zamperini. Very well written. Excellent use of prose and structure and a story that shows the resilience of man and the beauty of faith. I had just finished reading the section of how the prisoners of war looked to the sky to see the first ever B29 flying overheard, their hearts hoping against hope that they would be rescued, when our pilot came on to tell us about this historic plane.
It was a WoW moment that I will always remember. I hope you’ll join me in reading this very compelling story! You’ll be amazed and like me, might even come to love history!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Wild, Wonderful...Puerto Rico
There's something very mysterious about Puerto Rico. I've never been able to fully put my finger on it, but something lingers just below the surface that is exciting! I ventured there recently, taking my off time to breathe in the warm sunshine and vibrant life that surrounds those visiting this nearby paradise.
I'd had some experience here before, as a travel escort for large groups that often sought out the history and beaches of San Juan. I'd even cruised into her port a time or two. But nothing fills the senses as when you can
walk the cobbled streets of Old San Juan seeking the rich history of this tiny nation.
A short cab ride from the Old San Juan hotel ($21) drops you into the heart of Old Town, where old men face off on giant domino tables and old women are not afraid to smoke a Cuban cigar. A short shuttle ride (free) takes you up the daunting hill to Castillo Dan Filipe del Morro, fondly known as El Morro, a structure built to protect the city of San Juan in 1539. Views from this area are spectacular!
Strolling through the streets of the old city one is apt to see trolley buses winding through the tiny avenues, motor scooters squeezing into the tiniest parking spots, nightclubs, and taverns that have been part of the city for hundreds of years. The people are friendly and warm, and the youth smile when you cannot understand their Spanish, although they speak English quite well. Shopping is everywhere, from trendy boutiques to stores clearly recognizable by any tourist.
But the pulse of the city is music. Salsa, in particular. You'll have a very pleasurable experience at the El San Juan Hotel, one of Puerto Rico's most beautiful old hotels. The night was steamy and you can hear the high-pitched squeals of tree frogs in the courtyard as you walk to the hotel. Strains of salsa already emerges from the doors when you arrive. Just inside the door, smells of heavy perfume and cologne covered you like a warm blanket. Bodies are moving to a rich sound of bongo drums, guitar, and steel trumpets slice through the dark like a newly sharpened bread knife. Women and men of all ages gyrate across the floor, their smiles wide and happy.
You'll could hear the chinking sounds of the casino to your right, but it is the music and the dancers that keeps your attention. Stand quietly out of sight taking in the joy in the lobby of that gracious hotel and when its was time to go, you'll leave unwillingly. They say the dances go on until the wee hours in Puerto Rico, each dancer enjoying life to the fullest.
If you love the charm of Puerto Rico or want to read a more historical piece of fiction, you'll love,"Conquistadora" by Esmeralda Santiago. It's an epic novel of love, discovery, and adventure by the author of the best-selling memoir When I Was Puerto Rican.(striaght from the book review.)
This is a riveting tale, set in a place where human passions and cruelties collide: thrilling history that has never before been brought so vividly and unforgettably to life.
Adios' Amigo.
I'd had some experience here before, as a travel escort for large groups that often sought out the history and beaches of San Juan. I'd even cruised into her port a time or two. But nothing fills the senses as when you can
walk the cobbled streets of Old San Juan seeking the rich history of this tiny nation.
A short cab ride from the Old San Juan hotel ($21) drops you into the heart of Old Town, where old men face off on giant domino tables and old women are not afraid to smoke a Cuban cigar. A short shuttle ride (free) takes you up the daunting hill to Castillo Dan Filipe del Morro, fondly known as El Morro, a structure built to protect the city of San Juan in 1539. Views from this area are spectacular!
Strolling through the streets of the old city one is apt to see trolley buses winding through the tiny avenues, motor scooters squeezing into the tiniest parking spots, nightclubs, and taverns that have been part of the city for hundreds of years. The people are friendly and warm, and the youth smile when you cannot understand their Spanish, although they speak English quite well. Shopping is everywhere, from trendy boutiques to stores clearly recognizable by any tourist.
But the pulse of the city is music. Salsa, in particular. You'll have a very pleasurable experience at the El San Juan Hotel, one of Puerto Rico's most beautiful old hotels. The night was steamy and you can hear the high-pitched squeals of tree frogs in the courtyard as you walk to the hotel. Strains of salsa already emerges from the doors when you arrive. Just inside the door, smells of heavy perfume and cologne covered you like a warm blanket. Bodies are moving to a rich sound of bongo drums, guitar, and steel trumpets slice through the dark like a newly sharpened bread knife. Women and men of all ages gyrate across the floor, their smiles wide and happy.
You'll could hear the chinking sounds of the casino to your right, but it is the music and the dancers that keeps your attention. Stand quietly out of sight taking in the joy in the lobby of that gracious hotel and when its was time to go, you'll leave unwillingly. They say the dances go on until the wee hours in Puerto Rico, each dancer enjoying life to the fullest.
If you love the charm of Puerto Rico or want to read a more historical piece of fiction, you'll love,"Conquistadora" by Esmeralda Santiago. It's an epic novel of love, discovery, and adventure by the author of the best-selling memoir When I Was Puerto Rican.(striaght from the book review.)
This is a riveting tale, set in a place where human passions and cruelties collide: thrilling history that has never before been brought so vividly and unforgettably to life.
Adios' Amigo.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
The Edgefield Manor Hautings
Sometimes when I travel I'm amazed by the history that's found in the most odd places. I'd finished my work for the day and opted to not eat my dinner on property, instead deciding to take a quiet drive along the historic Route 30 to Multnomah Falls. While driving, I saw off to my left a small sign almost obscured by bushes that said, "Edgefield Manor." With a quick jerk to the right, (those who know my driving know this is easy for me,) I found a winding driveway up to a large building that bore the name Edgefield Manor. I wandered throughout the grounds, slowly discovering the beauty and history contained on the property.At least ten or twelve outbuildings had all been restored and housed things outside of the main lodge, like a movie theatre and pub, Jerry Garcia's bar which sat only 10 people, the Black Rabbit gourmet restaurant, a distillery, gift shop, tea house and vineyards.
Seems this property had a rich past, most notably as an Oregon "poor house." The dark hallways and doors just inside Edgefield were painted with some of the prior residents, their faces long and sad. Black and white photographs intermingled with faded walpaper and gave this explorer the chance to think about who they were, what lives and circumstances brought them to this place. The smell was not musty as one might expect, but savorful and rich, most notable because of the Black Rabbit Restaurant.
After talking with a few staff I discovered that the place was supposedly haunted, or at least a few of the rooms are and that guests can request to stay in a haunted room. Old women and several young children (the place had once been an orphanage,) had been seen in various rooms and on the grounds throughout the years. Poorhouses or Poor Farms as they were called were homes people were required to go to if they could not support themselves. They were tax-supported and used as a system of what would be known today as "welfare." They requested assistance, or someone might do it for them,from a town official. If the "help" was deemed to be long term, they'd be sent to the poor farm. They might also be sent there if they were found begging.
I actually have a memory of a poor farm in Indiana that was situated between Elkhart and Goshen. It was next to a county park. The structure was large, white with a huge garden in front of it. I can remember drving past the old place, it's 14 residents sitting on the front porch on those hot and humid summer days waving at the passing cars. Every old man and woman was smiling. I never saw a car turn in and often wondered what happened to those people the day they shut it down.
It was quite a journey this trip and with it I learned about a book that might be of interest to those who go to Portland or enjoy the history of the poor house. It's written by Michael B Katz and it's called In the Shadow of the Poor House:A Social History of WelfareEnjoy!
www.poorhousehistory.com
Seems this property had a rich past, most notably as an Oregon "poor house." The dark hallways and doors just inside Edgefield were painted with some of the prior residents, their faces long and sad. Black and white photographs intermingled with faded walpaper and gave this explorer the chance to think about who they were, what lives and circumstances brought them to this place. The smell was not musty as one might expect, but savorful and rich, most notable because of the Black Rabbit Restaurant.
After talking with a few staff I discovered that the place was supposedly haunted, or at least a few of the rooms are and that guests can request to stay in a haunted room. Old women and several young children (the place had once been an orphanage,) had been seen in various rooms and on the grounds throughout the years. Poorhouses or Poor Farms as they were called were homes people were required to go to if they could not support themselves. They were tax-supported and used as a system of what would be known today as "welfare." They requested assistance, or someone might do it for them,from a town official. If the "help" was deemed to be long term, they'd be sent to the poor farm. They might also be sent there if they were found begging.
I actually have a memory of a poor farm in Indiana that was situated between Elkhart and Goshen. It was next to a county park. The structure was large, white with a huge garden in front of it. I can remember drving past the old place, it's 14 residents sitting on the front porch on those hot and humid summer days waving at the passing cars. Every old man and woman was smiling. I never saw a car turn in and often wondered what happened to those people the day they shut it down.
It was quite a journey this trip and with it I learned about a book that might be of interest to those who go to Portland or enjoy the history of the poor house. It's written by Michael B Katz and it's called In the Shadow of the Poor House:A Social History of WelfareEnjoy!
www.poorhousehistory.com
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
John Grisham and Mary Mahoney's
I love discovering connections between authors and historical places when I travel. I travled to Biloxi, Mississippi last weekend where I happened onto a fine dining restaurant called Mary Mahoney's Old French House. I took a few photos on the outside then wandered in the place for a bite of lunch. The small stone bar was empty and the bartender was eager to serve, as it was the middle of the day and the lunch crowd had long gone. For me, it's rarely about the food or beverages, it's about what one finds when you get off the beaten track and rummage a bit around these old cities. It passes times and gives me the area's "sense of place," something all writers end up using at one time or another.
It was odd, but something here triggered a memory. A city. Bioloxi. A name. Mahoney's. A book. The Runaway Jury. I tapped my fork on the bar top and got the attention of the waitress.
"Was this the restaurant featured in John Grisham's book, The Runaway Jury?" I asked.
"Yup," she replied, and The Confession as well! Joh comes in here all of the time. Sits right where you are sometimes."
Then I remembered the passage from a Grisham's book....
"He turned left and was soon entering a large, old white building that houses Mary Mahoney's, a locally famous restuarant where most of the town's legal community usually gathered for lunch when court was in session.
Nicholas enetered the restaurant and asked the first waitress he saw if Judge Harkin was eating. Yes. And where might he be? She pointed and Nicholas walked quickly through the bar, through a small foyer and into a large dining room with windows and sunshine and lots of fresh flowers."
And here I was, munching on a bowl of Mary Mahoney's famous gumbo, and sipping a sweet tea on a chair where a fellow writer soaked in the atmosphere of a building almost as old as the country itself.
I jotted down a few observations and walked through the old place, taking the same route as Grisham described, to the large dining room befit with large greenhouse-like windows and white table's bedecked with sweet smelling flowers.
Nothing like discovering truth in fiction. For those readers who love a good "sense of place,finding a "real" place that's been used in fiction is like finding buried treasure. Gold, all around. Imagine what heaven will be like?
Any place from a book you've ever found to be real? Share it with us, won't you?
It was odd, but something here triggered a memory. A city. Bioloxi. A name. Mahoney's. A book. The Runaway Jury. I tapped my fork on the bar top and got the attention of the waitress.
"Was this the restaurant featured in John Grisham's book, The Runaway Jury?" I asked.
"Yup," she replied, and The Confession as well! Joh comes in here all of the time. Sits right where you are sometimes."
Then I remembered the passage from a Grisham's book....
"He turned left and was soon entering a large, old white building that houses Mary Mahoney's, a locally famous restuarant where most of the town's legal community usually gathered for lunch when court was in session.
Nicholas enetered the restaurant and asked the first waitress he saw if Judge Harkin was eating. Yes. And where might he be? She pointed and Nicholas walked quickly through the bar, through a small foyer and into a large dining room with windows and sunshine and lots of fresh flowers."
And here I was, munching on a bowl of Mary Mahoney's famous gumbo, and sipping a sweet tea on a chair where a fellow writer soaked in the atmosphere of a building almost as old as the country itself.
I jotted down a few observations and walked through the old place, taking the same route as Grisham described, to the large dining room befit with large greenhouse-like windows and white table's bedecked with sweet smelling flowers.
Nothing like discovering truth in fiction. For those readers who love a good "sense of place,finding a "real" place that's been used in fiction is like finding buried treasure. Gold, all around. Imagine what heaven will be like?
Any place from a book you've ever found to be real? Share it with us, won't you?
Friday, January 27, 2012
New York, New York!
Last week, I finished a long work day on Friday, and boarded a red-eye flight for Newark, NJ. Now why, you might ask, did I do something like that? I know, it's like going from a slum to a ghetto, but it was not without purpose. Being a 1K (100,000) mile flier, you'd think I'd had the best seat on the plane. Continental saw differently. I was given the "little people" treatment.You've all been there. Back of the plane where I swear they put eight seats across the back not the regular six. My seatmates were three little Asian women squished into the two seats next to me and they giggled the entire way to New Jersey.
After arriving into New Jersey at 6:15am, I had a car pick me up for the drive to Manhattan. Of course, I hadn't checked the weather, and no surprise,found myself slepping through ankle deep slush and snow to the awaiting car. The driver was an old man in a big Town Car that evidently had bald tires. For the next hour we careened down the highway barely able to stay on the pavement for most of the ride. All of that doing less miles per hour than I can walk to the mailbox.
I arrived at the hotel in one piece. It was near 8 o'clock. The Writer's Digest Conference I'd decided to attend at the last minute was to start around 9am. True to my luck as of late, my room was no where near ready, and I was relegated to take a shower in the tiny "health club" in the basement of the high rise. So here I am, trying my darndest to make myself presentable in the dingy basement of a sweat-smelling gym whose "amenities" included a well used bar of soap, complete with the long dark hairs of a stranger, and a one watt bulb in which to see my shadow as I tried to apply makeup.
I sat through three decent classes before the 3 hour "pitch" session, whereby all of the 600 wanna-be-best-selling writers stood in line just to have a chance to share an abridged version of their manuscript with an agent, editor or publisher. There were about 60 agents, etc. in attendance, so you can see what a chaotic event it was. Four rooms, 60 agents, 600 writers. Do the math. We stood outside the four rooms with a list of the agents we hoped would request our manuscripts. At exactly two p.m., the doors opened and we all ran toward the first ahent we hoped to see like cattle drive with each of scouring the room as we ran, ent on our list. Sort of looked like a The cost, a whopping almost $400 for the day, proved to be money well spent. Out of eight agent visits, all eight agents asked for more of the manuscript, a good showing for any writer!
With that said, I send my kudos to The Writers Digest Conference, and all of the agents who sat at those tables throughout those grueling three hours. A special shout-out to Rachel Dugas from Talcott Notch Literary Agency. That young woman kept the biggest smile on her face and every writer who left her booth felt like a million bucks!
A thorn goes to the writer who shouted at an agent that "It's not fair! You said you took children's stories! I waited in line for over 25 minutes!" The agent, whom I will not name, tried to explain she looks for children's series (more than one book.) The writer stormed off leaving that poor agent a little soured, but who could blame her? A lesson to new writers....be polite, no matter what. You don't have the knowledge base to do anything but listen.
And finally, to all of the writers in attendance....Wow! Way to go! You and I are living our dream! Now get out there, polish those manuscripts and get them off to the agents that requested your stuff!
After arriving into New Jersey at 6:15am, I had a car pick me up for the drive to Manhattan. Of course, I hadn't checked the weather, and no surprise,found myself slepping through ankle deep slush and snow to the awaiting car. The driver was an old man in a big Town Car that evidently had bald tires. For the next hour we careened down the highway barely able to stay on the pavement for most of the ride. All of that doing less miles per hour than I can walk to the mailbox.
I arrived at the hotel in one piece. It was near 8 o'clock. The Writer's Digest Conference I'd decided to attend at the last minute was to start around 9am. True to my luck as of late, my room was no where near ready, and I was relegated to take a shower in the tiny "health club" in the basement of the high rise. So here I am, trying my darndest to make myself presentable in the dingy basement of a sweat-smelling gym whose "amenities" included a well used bar of soap, complete with the long dark hairs of a stranger, and a one watt bulb in which to see my shadow as I tried to apply makeup.
I sat through three decent classes before the 3 hour "pitch" session, whereby all of the 600 wanna-be-best-selling writers stood in line just to have a chance to share an abridged version of their manuscript with an agent, editor or publisher. There were about 60 agents, etc. in attendance, so you can see what a chaotic event it was. Four rooms, 60 agents, 600 writers. Do the math. We stood outside the four rooms with a list of the agents we hoped would request our manuscripts. At exactly two p.m., the doors opened and we all ran toward the first ahent we hoped to see like cattle drive with each of scouring the room as we ran, ent on our list. Sort of looked like a The cost, a whopping almost $400 for the day, proved to be money well spent. Out of eight agent visits, all eight agents asked for more of the manuscript, a good showing for any writer!
With that said, I send my kudos to The Writers Digest Conference, and all of the agents who sat at those tables throughout those grueling three hours. A special shout-out to Rachel Dugas from Talcott Notch Literary Agency. That young woman kept the biggest smile on her face and every writer who left her booth felt like a million bucks!
A thorn goes to the writer who shouted at an agent that "It's not fair! You said you took children's stories! I waited in line for over 25 minutes!" The agent, whom I will not name, tried to explain she looks for children's series (more than one book.) The writer stormed off leaving that poor agent a little soured, but who could blame her? A lesson to new writers....be polite, no matter what. You don't have the knowledge base to do anything but listen.
And finally, to all of the writers in attendance....Wow! Way to go! You and I are living our dream! Now get out there, polish those manuscripts and get them off to the agents that requested your stuff!
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