Too sad

Here I am with one of the worst cases of writer's block I've had in years, and then comes news that our friend John Bradley has died.

It is too sad.

Sun-shower

The arbor over the outdoor shower is finally starting to fill in beautifully -- and shower us with little violet blossoms every time the wind blows.

And, also finally, the winter winds have fled with spring, and we're having the kind of days outdoor showers were made for.

It took a while.

Wouldn't you know it: The perfect weather arrives just as we're getting ready to head out of it.

Unzipped

The foxtail palms out back had all put up frond spikes when Carolyn was here two weeks ago, and she of course looked up at those big, bold lances and wondered how something so slim and tall turned into something so delicately arched and fluffy.

I tried to explain it to her, and pointed out the subtle little changes in the damned things every day -- but do you think they'd oblige by going much further? Of course not.

Only now have they started unzipping in earnest, turning into Giacometti maquettes of the Chrysler Building.

Small worlds

Just before he was stricken, Robert invited some people from his bridge group over for nibbles and drinks -- his dreadful "student" Adelaide and her lover Edy, and Hope and her husband Lynn from Nashville, and a couple from South Carolina who I thought would turn out to be total sticks but were actually quite sweet. They live on a boat in the old seaport, with all the grimy feet that entails.

After they were gone and I was washing up the bowls and glasses, it struck me what a small place this really is.

Elizabeth, who threw our china, grew up with our electrician's son, Dennis. And Hope is the sister of Shirley Freeman, who used to be mayor of Monroe County and gave her name to the justice center where I was so briefly called to jury duty.

As for Adelaide: Any world in which you need to encounter her is far too small indeed.

Golden moment

The mussaenda in front of the porch has been getting yellower late in the day. Lovely.

But actually, yellower and browner and blacker: The leaves have been drying up and falling -- admittedly a better outcome, since more gradual, than last year's sudden denuding in a cold snap.

But the end-of-season-clearance is undeniable. And it means that time is drawing near for the return to Tennessee, which I increasingly think of as my sentence to the Big House.
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I apologize for my absence. In the last week, we had a great bunch of people move in across the street: a mom from Virginia, Teresa, and her sweet daughter, Alex, and Alex's boyfriend, Dom. We had them here for drinks one day and the pool another. And then Robert got the flu and was housebound for a week, with fevers up to 102-plus. This was the first day he really got out of bed.

If you know me, you know that I started a fever chart, with times, readings, dosages. I am the kind who remembers, when Robert doesn't, that he had pneumonia a few years ago, and how much we both dread hospitals.

Crimps my writing a bit, as does the knowledge that I'm going north sooner than I'd like.

But like seasons and leaves, it happens. The fever breaks, and here's life again.
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And if there were some way I could share the New York Voices' version of "Golden Moments" with you, you'd know why I can look past summer in a sociopolitical fistula. But the song isn't on the web, only in my heart. Click on their link up there in the first sentence of this paragraph and see why they make life in exile worth living.

At ease, Marine

Sullins, Chris and Mary Belle asked, and writing it was the least I could do:

Joe Stuart loved her country first. Her family was a closer second than a photo finish could capture.

Third place? Choose among her community, her friends, flowers, her farm, bridge, her employees, tennis, travel, education, women’s and children’s issues, the library, general philanthropy. . . .

But never forget Nos. 1 and 2, especially every July 4, when she opened her home at Hardwick Farms, on North Lee Hwy. just north of Stuart Road (named for her), for star-spangled food, fireworks and music that sprung straight from a heart forged in World War II. That’s when she signed up with the U.S. Marines and found herself the only woman on a troop train bound for basic training at Camp Lejeune.

Years later she told the story in a rasping drawl: “Since my name is Joe – I was named for my great-grandfather, and that’s how he spelled his name – there I was in a train full of other Marine recruits, all of them men. They were wonderful gentlemen. They rigged blankets up so I could have a private place to sleep.” She included the story, with pride, in the archives of the Women in Military Service to America Memorial, at Arlington, and she always stood with squared shoulders to receive the many service honors she earned.

Her beloved husband, D.S. Stuart II, was on a different wartime train, in a different direction, but duty had called. They both answered. And she wore the Marine Corps emblem around her neck for the rest of her life.

In many ways that life, which began on Nov. 22, 1922, was charmed. She was the descendant of prominent Cleveland families – Hardwicks, Jarnigans, Knoxes – and her charities were made possible because she was involved in Hardwick Woolen Mills, Hardwick Stove, real estate, banking and other interests. But in many ways Joe’s was a life as simple as growing, weeding, cooking and canning.

Until it ended on Feb. 27, 2009, it was a life full of children: their son, David Sullins Stuart III, of Ft. Myers and Key West, Fl.; and daughters Harris Knox Stuart, who died in 2002; Chris Stuart Jenkins, of Cleveland; and Mary Stuart Browder, of Asheville, N.C.

And that generation begat and begat, with more offspring to cluck about, while Joe – “Jodie” to her nearest and dearest – was skeet-shooting, and organizing Cleveland’s first garden club, and
tarpon-fishing in Florida, and winning country club tennis tournaments, and opening a florist shop with a swear-like-a-sailor parrot, and underwriting the Day School (with its marvelous
fundraising dinner-dances – who else would invite Benny Goodman and Duke Ellington to Cleveland?), and donating downtown land for the library, and founding the child shelter, and staging marvelous barn parties to highlight the Hardwick Players, and launching summertime bridge tournaments that drew friendly contestants from Dallas to D.C. She earned Life Master at bridge, and was proud of it.

During all that, you got the feeling that she was planning for every December, when she turned Hardwick Farms into a Christmas fairyland, with thousands of blown-glass balls decking her 1920s-vintage halls, to provide millions of courtesies that her friends would never forget.

Still and ever, important as friends were, there was family. She treasured the memories of those who died before her: Joe’s husband, D.S.; her father, Lt. Col. James F. Corn, and mother, Irene Knox Corn; her dear Aunt Adella Knox Jarnigan; and her brother, Jimmy; along with her beloved daughter Harris and granddaughter Emily Irene Jenkins.

And she doted on those who survive: the children mentioned earlier, along with grandchildren Sullins Stuart IV and his Sarah, Amy Langlo and her Roger, Allister Littell and her Mike, Elizabeth Ferguson and her Scott, Lollie Bekkevold and her Raymond, John Jenkins, Sarah
Jenkins, Will Jenkins, Laura Jenkins, Julia Browder, Joe Browder, Michael Hall and his Amy, and Chris Hall. And in the next generation: great-grandchildren Tristan Stuart, Emily Stuart, Kirsten Langlo, Zachary Littell, Kaitlin Littell, Jacob Littell, Knox Foss, Holland Foss and Colton Browder.

Count also the nieces and nephews, among them James F. Corn III, Donna Corn Ziebell, Laura Corn Bishop, Hardwick Stuart Jr. and Cynthia Stuart Mock.

Joe’s extended family will receive friends on Thursday, March 12, 2009, from noon to 3 p.m. at the Museum Center at 5ive Points, on Inman Street. There will be a graveside service, with full military honors, on July 4 at Fort Hill Cemetery.

She would consider your duty done if you played “Taps” in your heart in her memory, but if you would care to make a donation, you could consider the Make-A-Wish Foundation of Chattanooga, 510 Willow Street, Chattanooga, TN 37404; or the charity of your choice.

Serene at last

Gary, the flower angel, dropped some cherry blossoms and stargazer lilies off last week-- just in time for Carolyn to help Robert arrange them in a pitcher (the vase was still busy with orchids).

They provided a welcome note of calm:

On Wednesday, Carolyn arrived, and we had dinner out at 915.

Also on Wednesday, Jack and Scott arrived, but they stayed at Big Ruby's, so we didn't see them until drinks on Thursday (after Robert and Carolyn got back from bridge), and then out to La Te Da for Chris's show (I'd forgotten the wig trick that turns Marilyn into Carol Channing) and Debra and Patrick in the lounge.

We had planned to pick up Michael and Terry at the airport on Friday, but Delta screwed up their connection, so they ended up driving down from Miami for their stay at the Coral Tree Inn. We ended up listening to Baby T and Robert Albury over dinner at Croissants de France, and then out on the town at The Keys.

Saturday was brunch at Blue Heaven, with Jack and Scott flying out for their cruise. Sunday was bridge, and then bingo (which Carolyn won), and then Porsche at Bourbon Street (whom Carolyn hated; I knew she would), and then dinner at Mangoes. And Monday Carolyn and Michael and Terry had the same flight out to Atlanta, so we bundled them all off to the airport. . . .

And went home and napped, smelling lilies.

Party-ready

Around here, on a typical night, you never know who you're going to see on the street. These could be . . .

A former king of Fantasy Fest?

A former Queen Mother?

Two past presidents of the local chapter of the Sons of Italy?

Yes. All of the above.

Where the world starts

Broken light

Re-centered

Immersed