Twice a week I take part in a high-intensity exercise class at the Y that's challenging not only physically but mentally. Let me illustrate: at one point the other night we were doing crab-walks back and forth across the room, for four minutes straight, while the "Sponge Bob Square Pants" anthem was blaring. You look ridiculous, you're panting for breath and your muscles are screaming (it helps that the instructors are funny, loud and motivating).
So I was describing the class to friends the other day, trying to get some new recruits, and one woman commented, "It sounds like meditation."
Say what?! To me meditation means sitting quietly with your eyes closed, letting your distracting thoughts drift away, with perhaps some incense smoldering and a gong chiming. (More often than not, I nod off.)
But my perceptive friend was absolutely right. Talk about focus: in the midst of this class all you can think about is the next 30 seconds (that's how long a set lasts) and how you're going to get through it. You can't think about the hassles of your day, or the problems of the world, or your skyrocketing health insurance premium. There's no room for ego or "spin."
Plus it absolutely torches calories. A win-win situation.
Thursday, December 14, 2017
ENCORE: A store with a history
Apparently I am very late to the game in discovering the Encore consignment shop on Route 1 in Hamorton. I've been donating a lot of my late mother's household things to charity, but some things are just too "good" to give away. A few friends suggested that I try consigning them at the Encore, an upscale shop that benefits the Chester County Hospital.
So I did some online research to get ballpark prices, read through the shop's detailed and sensible rules, collected several "good" items (some artwork and silver) and headed over there on Monday morning. The consignment process operates on a number system, like at a bakery, and I waited in my car for about 15 minutes before my number was posted on their bulletin board.
The volunteers went through my stuff to see if it met their quality standards (all but an unexciting silverplate dish did), and we agreed how they should be priced. I found the volunteers to be friendly, organized and knowledgeable, and I'll be eager to see what prices I get (the shop, of course, keeps a certain percentage).
An interesting historical footnote, courtesy of my friend Joan: in the 19th century the Encore building housed a store that sold only "free" goods (those produced by free labor rather than by slaves). From R.C. Smedley's 1883 "History of the Underground Railroad in Chester and Neighboring Counties of Pennsylvania":
"Hamorton's activity against slavery included more than building a school and hall, and listening to speeches. The village also supported a long-running "free store" operated by Sarah Harvey Pearson. Pearson first opened a store which boycotted goods produced by slave labor in a stone house on the north side of Baltimore Pike. In 1844 she built a new store of brick on a lot across the road which she had recently purchased. The store originally was kept in the north room but was moved to a frame addition built by her husband George on the south. George Pearson also was an ardent abolitionist and active in the Free Soil Movement. Pearson operated her business as a free store through 1858."
So I did some online research to get ballpark prices, read through the shop's detailed and sensible rules, collected several "good" items (some artwork and silver) and headed over there on Monday morning. The consignment process operates on a number system, like at a bakery, and I waited in my car for about 15 minutes before my number was posted on their bulletin board.
The volunteers went through my stuff to see if it met their quality standards (all but an unexciting silverplate dish did), and we agreed how they should be priced. I found the volunteers to be friendly, organized and knowledgeable, and I'll be eager to see what prices I get (the shop, of course, keeps a certain percentage).
An interesting historical footnote, courtesy of my friend Joan: in the 19th century the Encore building housed a store that sold only "free" goods (those produced by free labor rather than by slaves). From R.C. Smedley's 1883 "History of the Underground Railroad in Chester and Neighboring Counties of Pennsylvania":
"Hamorton's activity against slavery included more than building a school and hall, and listening to speeches. The village also supported a long-running "free store" operated by Sarah Harvey Pearson. Pearson first opened a store which boycotted goods produced by slave labor in a stone house on the north side of Baltimore Pike. In 1844 she built a new store of brick on a lot across the road which she had recently purchased. The store originally was kept in the north room but was moved to a frame addition built by her husband George on the south. George Pearson also was an ardent abolitionist and active in the Free Soil Movement. Pearson operated her business as a free store through 1858."
GOOGLE: Twenty questions
One of the side effects of keeping the "location" function of my phone activated at all times is that it allows Google to keep track of my movements. Their algorithm even tries to predict my next destination and it's often spot on (not too tricky when it involves my fairly regular gym schedule).
Supposedly to provide helpful information to other users, Google often asks me a litany of questions about the places I've visited. When I have time, I answer them. Most of them are straightforward, asking about parking, takeout food, and wheelchair access, but others are judgment calls: How are my inquisitors defining "expensive"? What do they consider a "good" place for vegetarians? What does it take for a venue to be easily noticed from the street "in normal traffic"?
Other questions are just plain bizarre, like the one asking whether the Kennett Walmart sells borax.
I've bought some strange things in my day, but never borax. What is borax? What aisle would it be in? (Back in the day, wasn't there a cleaning product called 40 Mule Team borax?)
Perhaps they're just trick questions to make sure you don't answer "yes" to everything indiscriminately.
Supposedly to provide helpful information to other users, Google often asks me a litany of questions about the places I've visited. When I have time, I answer them. Most of them are straightforward, asking about parking, takeout food, and wheelchair access, but others are judgment calls: How are my inquisitors defining "expensive"? What do they consider a "good" place for vegetarians? What does it take for a venue to be easily noticed from the street "in normal traffic"?
Other questions are just plain bizarre, like the one asking whether the Kennett Walmart sells borax.
I've bought some strange things in my day, but never borax. What is borax? What aisle would it be in? (Back in the day, wasn't there a cleaning product called 40 Mule Team borax?)
Perhaps they're just trick questions to make sure you don't answer "yes" to everything indiscriminately.
BULBS: Paperwhite mania
I was tardy buying my bulbs for indoor forcing and managed to snag pretty much the last paperwhite bulbs in Kennett. And when I opened the box containing my amaryllis bulb, I discovered that it had already started growing inside its cardboard confines. It was sending up a ghostly white stalk and flowers. After being exposed to the light for a couple of days, the stalk has turned a light green and the flower is showing slight tinges of pink (it's supposed to be bright red). I supposed I could have returned it to the shop, but it's more interesting to conduct a natural history experiment.
Sunday, December 10, 2017
WILMINGTON: A seafood dinner
What a spectacular meal we had on Sunday evening at Harry's Seafood Grill, which is on the Christina River in Wilmington. We were celebrating a family member's 32nd birthday and let him choose the location. Happily for all of us, he picked Harry's.
We were a little late getting there. Not used to Wilmington's one-way roads, we ended up driving past the restaurant three times before discovering the parking lot. There's a nice big sign ... once you see it.
The menu is a lengthy one, so much so that the waiter had to give us some guidance. The fact that we hadn't seen our guests for a while and had lots to catch up on didn't expedite the ordering process.
The food was wonderful. I had three kinds of raw oysters, briny and delicious, followed by big-eye tuna with pea shoots, noodles, scallions and shiitake mushrooms. The others at the table also ordered seafood: crabcakes with arugula, garlic and tomatoes; the three-course lobster dinner; and seared Hawaiian opah with squash and kale. One member of our party avoids eating gluten and was happy to see that there was a variety of gluten-free choices.
For dessert I had stunningly delicious home-made chocolate and cherry gelato, possibly one of the best desserts I've ever eaten. The woman next to me ordered a dessert coffee flight, which turned out to be three small glasses of coffee, assorted liqueurs and whipped cream. She shared some for tasting, and by the time they returned to her she couldn't figure out which one it was that she preferred (salted caramel, maybe?).
By the time we left, the restaurant was full, including a rowdy group of ladies next to us and a family party all dressed up in sparkly holiday clothes.
After dinner we visited our guests' high-rise apartment, which is only a five-minute walk across the river. We had to get off the elevator at the floor below and sneak upstairs so as not to frighten their anxious dog, who actually seemed very happy at the return of her minders.
We were a little late getting there. Not used to Wilmington's one-way roads, we ended up driving past the restaurant three times before discovering the parking lot. There's a nice big sign ... once you see it.
The menu is a lengthy one, so much so that the waiter had to give us some guidance. The fact that we hadn't seen our guests for a while and had lots to catch up on didn't expedite the ordering process.
The food was wonderful. I had three kinds of raw oysters, briny and delicious, followed by big-eye tuna with pea shoots, noodles, scallions and shiitake mushrooms. The others at the table also ordered seafood: crabcakes with arugula, garlic and tomatoes; the three-course lobster dinner; and seared Hawaiian opah with squash and kale. One member of our party avoids eating gluten and was happy to see that there was a variety of gluten-free choices.
For dessert I had stunningly delicious home-made chocolate and cherry gelato, possibly one of the best desserts I've ever eaten. The woman next to me ordered a dessert coffee flight, which turned out to be three small glasses of coffee, assorted liqueurs and whipped cream. She shared some for tasting, and by the time they returned to her she couldn't figure out which one it was that she preferred (salted caramel, maybe?).
By the time we left, the restaurant was full, including a rowdy group of ladies next to us and a family party all dressed up in sparkly holiday clothes.
After dinner we visited our guests' high-rise apartment, which is only a five-minute walk across the river. We had to get off the elevator at the floor below and sneak upstairs so as not to frighten their anxious dog, who actually seemed very happy at the return of her minders.
HANS HERR: Candlelight tour in the snow
Some of you may have spent a cozy Saturday evening in front of the fireplace, hanging ornaments on the Christmas tree while the snow fell steadily outside.
Not us.
We had tickets for the sold-out Christmas Candlelight Tour at the Hans Herr House in Lancaster County, and we were determined to get there. We left early, stuck to the main roads and got there only a few minutes late. We were amazed at the amount of traffic we encountered, including Amish buggies.
We thought the tour would be something simple, perhaps just a costumed guide showing us around the house, which was built in 1719 by immigrants from Germany who came to this country seeking religious freedom. But it turned out to be a fascinating tour of the entire property, including demonstrations by a weaver, a flax spinner, a blacksmith, and a basketmaker. We rode through the snow in a Conestoga wagon.
One of the highlights for me was the Native American longhouse, which we had seen before, but only from the outside. Our guide, actually the museum director, explained that it was an accurate recreation of the way that the Eastern Woodlands Indians lived in pre-European Contact times in the 1500s and 1600s. Two layers of wooden racks lined the walls, the lower one for sleeping and the upper one for storage. There was a small fire burning in the middle of the longhouse, offering some welcome warmth despite the ample smoke.
In the kitchen of the Hans Herr House, a guide explained how linen was made. I had no idea that it was such a painstaking process. The flax needs to be carefully grown so that the stalks are straight and long. Then it needs to be pulled up by the root, soaked, crushed in a brake and then run through a hackle to separate out the desired fiber. Only then can it be spun into yarn and woven.
As always when I visit historical places, I'm reminded of how tough our ancestors were and how easy we have it in comparison. The basketmaker, for instance, was telling us that baskets were not a decorative art form; they were a vital part of life. You couldn't just go out and buy some Rubbermaid, he quipped. (He also told us how they preserved eggs during the winter: they poured lard over them.)
The evening ended in the candlelit dining room-slash-chapel of the main house, where the guide, with the help of a German guest who happened to be on hand, read the Christmas Story aloud in German. Then we all sang "Silent Night," also in German, with the help of lyric sheets.
It was a magical evening -- and fortunately the drive back home was much easier.
Not us.
We had tickets for the sold-out Christmas Candlelight Tour at the Hans Herr House in Lancaster County, and we were determined to get there. We left early, stuck to the main roads and got there only a few minutes late. We were amazed at the amount of traffic we encountered, including Amish buggies.
We thought the tour would be something simple, perhaps just a costumed guide showing us around the house, which was built in 1719 by immigrants from Germany who came to this country seeking religious freedom. But it turned out to be a fascinating tour of the entire property, including demonstrations by a weaver, a flax spinner, a blacksmith, and a basketmaker. We rode through the snow in a Conestoga wagon.
One of the highlights for me was the Native American longhouse, which we had seen before, but only from the outside. Our guide, actually the museum director, explained that it was an accurate recreation of the way that the Eastern Woodlands Indians lived in pre-European Contact times in the 1500s and 1600s. Two layers of wooden racks lined the walls, the lower one for sleeping and the upper one for storage. There was a small fire burning in the middle of the longhouse, offering some welcome warmth despite the ample smoke.
In the kitchen of the Hans Herr House, a guide explained how linen was made. I had no idea that it was such a painstaking process. The flax needs to be carefully grown so that the stalks are straight and long. Then it needs to be pulled up by the root, soaked, crushed in a brake and then run through a hackle to separate out the desired fiber. Only then can it be spun into yarn and woven.
As always when I visit historical places, I'm reminded of how tough our ancestors were and how easy we have it in comparison. The basketmaker, for instance, was telling us that baskets were not a decorative art form; they were a vital part of life. You couldn't just go out and buy some Rubbermaid, he quipped. (He also told us how they preserved eggs during the winter: they poured lard over them.)
The evening ended in the candlelit dining room-slash-chapel of the main house, where the guide, with the help of a German guest who happened to be on hand, read the Christmas Story aloud in German. Then we all sang "Silent Night," also in German, with the help of lyric sheets.
It was a magical evening -- and fortunately the drive back home was much easier.
WEST MARLBOROUGH: Rokeby Road
It looks like work on the long-delayed Rokeby Road project will actually begin in January 2018. At the West Marlborough Township meeting on Dec. 5, Supervisor Hugh Lofting said the Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection has decided that the work must be done between January 1 and March 30 so as not to disturb the bog turtles that live in the area. Bids have been solicited for the project, and a meeting of contractors was set for Dec. 11.
The goal of the project is to shore up a steep slope that has been collapsing into the Buck Run. Residents have been complaining about the worsening situation for years.
The goal of the project is to shore up a steep slope that has been collapsing into the Buck Run. Residents have been complaining about the worsening situation for years.
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