That’s my father-in-law and his best friend. “Friends for 60 years!” they said today. They are each the godfather to the other’s kid(s). Bob and Clem’s wives went to nursing school together. Between the two families they had three daughters, and they essentially grew up together. This is about as close to family as you can get without the DNA, which just makes it better, really, because you’re choosing all of those people in your life.
And so it is fitting that this is the last Christmas party of the season. But it was the “Friends for 60 years!” comment that you really like. Especially if you are an in-law, as I am. They all have so many wonderful stories together, two generations and so many decades, and they are all fun to hear.
Then someone goes to the back and pulls out this photograph, because somewhere along the way they discussed it and realized that no one but Bob had ever seen Clem’s upper lip:
That was a photo he’d rescued from his father’s house, one of those thousands of items salvaged from the millions and millions of memories lost because of Hurricane Sandy. We heard Sandy stories, we had homemade lasagna that you wouldn’t believe. We unwrapped presents. We watched the two little kids play. They are the only two kids I’ve met my entire laugh that don’t want to play with me.
That’s OK. I played with their trains, invented a game (that they loved) and made a video:
Seen alone or with a friend, knowing the story or completely new to it, as a moviegoer or — as I did — with Broadway purists, Les Mis is good.
Russell Crowe, as Javert, is the weakest part of the performance. And he was reasonably acceptable.
The best part was this: Colm Wilkinson, the original Jean Valjean, plays the Bishop of Digne. It is a great part, and so obvious and well done, and everything is in good hands throughout.
Typically, the soundtrack for a movie musical is recorded several months in advance and the actors mime to playback during filming. However, on this film, every single song was recorded live on set to capture the spontaneity of the performances.
Saw that this evening. Beforehand I got a shave. The professional kind. The someone-else-has-sharp-implements-aimed-at-your-face kind.
This was a unique Christmas gift my father-in-law and I received. He made the appointment, we went down to the salon this morning and saw this sign:
I knew about this association of barbers and blood letting, but this was a good time to be reminded. Especially so soon after my fall haircut experience where my local barber almost took off my ear. It clearly got to him. He got me out of his chair quickly, without finishing the haircut, which was why I had a great feathered look for a few days as my hair got to a certain length.
Alas, there would be no hair cutting today, just face shaving. And this is how they do it, as my father-in-law went first, I could watch with detached cool from the sofa in front of SportsCenter.
Getting a professional shave (my first) as a Christmas gift. The door says “The experience brings you back.” So will “No nicked veins.” Heh.
If you have never been to Savannah — or if you’re only now planning a trip because you’ve read about it in this space or if you’ve never been to this particular place — do yourself a favor and go to lunch at Mrs. Wilkes. Go early in your trip, because you will want to go back.
Don’t even worry about Paula Deen’s place. This is better and you’re welcome.
Under our tree, where we always spend our last afternoon before leaving town. We spent a day under this tree on our first trip here in 2005. We got engaged under this tree a few years later. This is the view I had while working up the nerve:
A guy walked by, one of the panhandling welcome committee members, and offered to take our picture:
The Yankee composes a terrific photograph similar to the view I shared above:
On River Street, where few tourists are to be found even on this beautiful Friday, there was a busker:
Who doesn’t love a good busker? This guy sang a capella all weekend. Just him, his hands, his money bucket and a bottle of water. You could hear him a block away. Sounded great, too.
And back home we drove. We’d been reading all day about all of the terrible senselessness that had taken place in Newtown, just 20 miles from where The Yankee grew up.
Meanwhile, police found the bodies of a woman and two kids in a small apartment just a few miles from my campus. So there I am, middle of the night, driving through the countryside and calling media relations people, editors, police departments and the campus safety office, trying to make sure that this had no Samford ties. Seems it did not.
Covering that during the semester break would be a challenge. I’m sure our students would have done a respectful job. Wish you saw more of that from Connecticut out of cable television today. There’s been far too much misinformation and misidentification (problems originating with overwhelmed law enforcement agencies) alongside conjecture and quacks that have been shuffled in front of the cameras (strictly the media’s fault). But all of that belongs in a different rant.
As of this writing they are up to 26 fatalities there. It is hard to all of this, so sweeping and terrible in its scope and consequence. There’s precious little peace and even less understanding, I’m sure.
I think of the voids, the big hole in the community that stands out for years in a wide tragedy. I think of all of the little empty places found in all of those families when someone is so unexpectedly pulled away. That lasts for generations.
Found this on one of our local merchant’s Facebook page:
If you would like to mail sympathy cards or letters of support to the school, the address is:
I think we’re going to make this our online Christmas card. If you receive this in your inbox just know we ran out of stamps.
That’s in Savannah’s City Market. I saw some pictures of this area in a museum earlier in the day. The modern place looks a bit different than the 19th and turn-of-the-20th century market. There is less cotton and other crops and far more tourists now.
Still have horses, though they now are part of the tourist trade, carrying around people in carriages. And also eating ducks. Who knew?
Savannah, it seems to us, feels less festively decorated this year. We’ve been walking through the historic districts under overcast skies and in several layers of clothing wondering where all of the extra lights and garland are. My guess is that they cut back on the manpower budget to hang it all.
Still a lovely city. Always is. At least in our experience. For a place that sells so much of itself on ghosts and deaths and the more sordid parts of its history you can’t find a much more charming place, even if the Christmas atmosphere is down.
There are less people here right now, too, it seems. We mind this less than most of the local merchants, I’m sure. We’ve walked in to every restaurant with no wait. We haven’t had to dodge people, even on the tourist trap River Street. Part of that is the weather, the mid-week visit and probably the economy. Maybe everyone has been here and is off exploring a new place.
Here is the monument to the Chasseurs Volontaires, the Haitians who fought in Savannah during the Revolutionary War:
It is apparently the first such monument in the U.S. It was installed in Franklin Square in 2009. And because this happened in the modern age, there was outrage and money and indignation:
Here’s the Mercer House. We’ve been in this square before. I don’t recall actually noticing the house, though:
The Mercer House was designed by New York architect John S. Norris for General Hugh W. Mercer, great grandfather of Johnny Mercer. Construction of the house began in 1860, was interrupted by the Civil War and was later completed, circa 1868, by the new owner, John Wilder.
In 1969, Jim Williams, one of Savannah’s earliest and most dedicated private restorationists, bought the then vacant house and began a two-year restoration.
You have your origin story and your Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil story. There is a 100-year blank space in between. Makes you wonder what you’re missing out on, doesn’t it?
So we wandered around. We took shots in Forsyth Park as the sun went down. Here’s the big fountain:
We had dinner at 700 Drayton, which was where we had our dinner reception the night we got married. Delicious.
On those rare occasions when we order a dessert we split one between us. Our waiter brought us a second dessert because, he said, in his estimation the chef took too long to prepare our cake.
We walked next door to the Mansion, where we got married.
As we noted it was much cooler today than it was on that steamy, sunny June day in 2009:
About 80 degrees cooler once you consider the heat index.
By the time we walked back to our hotel, though, I’d have taken anything in between.
We made it to Savannah just in time to change clothes and walk over from our hotel to the restaurant. The Yankee had the almond encrusted tilapia. I had the crispy duck. Also, try the she crab soup, and definitely enjoy the praline basket with vanilla bean ice cream, berries and chocolate sauce for dessert.
We did not see Mr. Habersham. James Habersham Jr., an important financial player during the Revolutionary War, built the house in the late-1700s. He’s said to be one of the spirits in the house, straightening things up, helping people to tables (according to the ghost tour folklore) and so on.
There are videos on YouTube. There are always videos on YouTube.
On the subject of food, we had a late breakfast at Clary’s, which we always visit:
For the first time in all of our visits here over the years Ms. Maggie wasn’t working.
I don’t take pictures every visit, but I do this one when I remember:
This is our first visit to Clary’s, more than seven years ago.
Here’s another visit, just five years ago. You’ll notice the paintings change, but the paint doesn’t. And that green orb lamp is still in the background.
We’ll go back again tomorrow.
It has rained on us most of the day. And it has been cold. I left my camera behind, so all of my shots from the day were on my phone. We visited the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, where we saw the most involved nativity scene ever — rabbits, ducks, sheep, lambs, Optimus a pink turtle, floating angels from central casting, dogs and cats. You had to look hard to find the Optimus Prime. We shopped. We enjoyed the day without any plan whatsoever, which is an unusually rare experience, but altogether lovely.
We took the ferry across the channel of the Savannah River to see the gingerbread houses on display at the Westin. There were almost 100 there, including some amazing work.
Here are a few of them, many floating in an ethereal cotton cloud city. The winner is in here, as are most of the houses that will take home ribbons. At the end you’ll find my favorite, The Yankee’s favorite and the hotel general manager’s favorite. Of course it was a giant replica of their hotel, so it was a ringer:
For dinner we drove through the rain out to Tybee Island and ate at a sleepy little crab shack called The Crab Shack, which we’ve never seen sleepy before. We watched the wind blow on the windows and stared at the giant Christmas tree lights floating out in the water. It was topped by a tremendous yellow light crab, who no doubt was incensed by our eating his delicious actual crab brethren.
Tomorrow the rain will be gone. It’ll just be a bit colder. We’ll have no plan and a great time, same as today.
