Home with the armadillos

A recent style section of the "Wall Street Journal" featured a pewter armadillo belt buckle that, it suggested, should be "worn by a man who works on the land, or at least has at one point in his life. Match the critter with a weather-worn leather belt, beat-up Carhartt workmen pants and a chambray shirt."

Who knows? With the return of those Santa Gertrudis cattle from Texas to Unionville, it might be just the thing for the "rancher dude" on your Christmas list.
Yeah. Right.
I mentioned this fashion suggestion to a well-dressed fellow who traded in his work gloves for a laptop many moons ago, and he started getting all nostalgic.
"Aww . . . I still have my Carhartt overalls," he said.

On a gyro jag

Last week it was Mexican food, this week it's Greek.
On Friday, Veterans Day, I went to the Whip for lunch. At least, I tried to: when I got there at 11:30 there was not a single parking space left. My lunch-mate and I had deliberately agreed to meet early so we could get a spot, but apparently everyone was thinking the same thing.
What to do? We headed north on Route 82 to the Big Apple Deli, a terrific, casual Greek place at the Strasburg Road intersection. There, we had no problem parking, although they were doing a good business, mostly people on their lunch break.
I had a really tasty gyro on excellent warm pita bread, with raw chopped onions and tomatoes and that tangy tzatziki sauce. And their iced tea was really good.
(Other good spots for gyros that I can personally vouch for: Longwood Family Restaurant and Hank's.)

Birds of Hockessin

My lengthy quest for simple, unadorned, sturdy wind chimes took me to Wild Birds Unlimited, a delightful nature store in the heart of Hockessin. And not only did I find exactly what I was looking for, but I also got a chunk of my Christmas shopping done. They are WAY more than just bird feeders and food -- although they've got plenty of them. They also sell beautiful decorations for your house and Christmas tree, books about nature, jewelry, clothes, towels, cards, and tasteful crafts. There's nothing tacky in the store: the owner, Charles Shattuck, told me he tries to buy hand-made, unique items whenever he can. He showed me some absolutely charming Christmas ornaments that are hand-painted by a woman in Dover, and some traditional Ukranian eggs with nature scenes etched into them.
While I was there testing out the wind chimes, one of the helpful staffers was helping a customer decide which bird feeder was right for her back yard. She clearly knew her stuff: she listed the pros and cons of the feeders, mentioned which birds might visit and advised the woman on proper placement. And when another customer came in and told the staff that he'd spotted two immature red-headed woodpeckers, everyone was excited.
I loved this store and had a great time shopping there. And I feel good about buying quality products from a local merchant.

An Old-Fashioned Girl

Tilda was on her high horse at a family dinner at Carrabba's Italian Grill this evening, complaining that it's impossible to find new songs with both (a) a good beat to exercise to and (b) no offensive lyrics.
The youngest member of the family gave his patented world-weary sigh and told me that obviously I don't belong in the 21st century.
"Oh yeah? So what century DO I belong in, Mr. Smarty-Pants?" I asked.
"The 16th or 17th," he replied without missing a beat. "Maybe."
His grandmother jumped to my defense, asking if he knew what it was really like to live back then.
"Mimi," he explained patiently to her. "She runs Microsoft Word 2003."
Game, set and match, Master Tally-ho.

Intersectionality

Well, my ace in the hole is no more.
If there's ever a slow week, I thought, I can always write about this weathered stop sign in Chatham that's completely hidden behind a tall bush (at 841 and London Grove Road). Pull over, snap a photo, write some amusing copy and bingo: another item ready to go!
Nope. On my way home from Perkins the other morning, I noticed that somebody cut down the bush and installed a gleaming new stop sign.
Good for traffic control. Not so good for your blogger!
Speaking of signs, one Kennett church is, I suppose, trying to boost attendance and has posted signs at the Jennersville and Willowdale intersections. The sign probably looked good close up, but when you're approaching in a car the word "Church" is shaded so oddly, and is in such a weird font, that it looks like "Dump Oil." For the longest time I thought it was posted by some environmental group.

Stuff and nonsense

On Monday I got a very nice e-mail from a taxidermist who said how much she enjoyed meeting me at the Pennsylvania Hunt Cup, and she described her outfit in case I'd forgotten who she was.
The appearance didn't ring a bell at all.
"I don't think I met her," I told one of my Hunt Cup companions.
"Are you sure?" she said. "We talked to a LOT of people that day."
I had to agree with her there. But I think even I would've remembered "the vintage-clad gal with the black rooster on my head."

Another garden

I spent yesterday afternoon putting the vegetable/flower garden to bed for the winter. Usually it's cold and nasty when I finally get around to this autumnal chore, but yesterday it was warm and sunny. I always marvel at how the zinnias, salvia, cosmos and snapdragons, which started out as tiny plants, grow into such big bushes of flowers, and how my massive, towering sunflowers started as just seeds. There's a motivational poster there, somewhere.
I "lifted" the Peruvian daffodil bulbs -- they're not hardy here -- and was amazed to see how big they've gotten (time to divide), and how solidly they had grown into the earth. Picture four big Vidalia onions, joined at the top, with ridged rat's tails as roots. I got a very good workout digging them out.
I'm editing an academic book on how people define themselves, and one of the more interesting chapters is an essay about how one woman sees her different identities all on display in her garden: artist, creator, nurturer, teacher, perfectionist, hard worker, peacemaker with others in the communal garden. Wish I'd thought of that.