Roseate Beach Peeps, Easter 2012

Anna Maria on Dwellable

A Handbag’s Tale

As any woman (or fashionable man) will tell you, it’s a sad day when your favorite purse wears out.  Chances are you and your purse have been through a lot together and when the day comes that a strap rips off, or a vital zipper breaks, or a mysterious odor arises, then a number of difficult decisions have to be made.

I’ve been lucky.  My old messenger bag, bought off the sale rack at TJ Maxx at the Arboretum in Austin, hasn’t had a major malfunction.  It’s just that her pseudo-leather skin is seriously thinning and stretching in places, not unlike my own. It’s only a matter of time before there are ruptures and tears and quite frankly, I can’t put her through that.  We’ve had many an adventure together. Trips to England to see Jamie.  Beach days in Maine, Texas, Florida and Yorkshire.  She was there when I got married and when I buried my dad.  She’s held notebooks and drawings. Cameras and croissants.  She deserves a quiet and happy retirement.  Donating her to Goodwill is out of the question. I’ll keep her full of scarves and sweet-smelling soaps and we’ll continue to grow old together.

But her rapid decline put me up against the herculean task of finding another to take up the cause.  It’s been quite a learning experience.

I’ll admit that I have never really put much thought into buying purses.  Usually I see something on sale and find a way to make it do.  This time, however, I knew I needed to go into this with clear objectives.

1.     Must be leather and sturdy.

2.     Must be able to hold 35mm camera, eye glass case, sketchbook, sub-purses of varying content and if possible, a rotisserie chicken.

3.     Must have a strap long enough to wear the bag cross-body style.

4.     Must be within my less than modest price range.

Those didn’t seem like big demands.  Handbags are everywhere, how hard could this be?  Pretty hard. 

 As we were out and about, I would do quick searches of the purses nearby.  Here on the Gulf Coast it’s a strange mixture of massive, ugly, short-handled bags in the shops.  It’s pretty clear that a girl on the go in Sarasota is looking for fashion accessories shaped like purses, not shoulder companions.  I quickly became disenchanted with retail offerings.  The prices were outrageous and the styles were so dictated by the flavor of the day that everything was looking the same.  Visits to charity shops were little comfort, full of designer knock-offs and the sad remains of Walmart and Target purses.  Where were all the affordable, utilitarian and non-abusive handbags hiding?  And then it occurred to me:  they might be on eBay.

I had never been to eBay and in some ways I wish I’d never gone.  Like Craigslist and Uncle Henry’s, it sucks you in.  The more you look, the more you find. One minute it’s 7 o’clock on a Friday morning and the next thing you know it’s 2pm and you’ve not had breakfast, bathed nor even brushed your teeth.  Everything you can possibly imagine, and few things you don’t want to, can be found on eBay. The only thing I remembered about the website was a story that at some point eBay stopped allowing people to sell dirty underwear.  I know…gross in so many ways.

Right now, at 11:41am on this 29^th of March, if you type ‘Handbags’ into the search bar on eBay, you will get 638,407 results, which is down 100 results from when I did the search just five minutes earlier and is now up to 638,414 in the past couple of seconds.  Things here are constantly on the move. After the initial giddiness subsided, I dove into my bag search with great determination.  The perfect bag was out there and I was going to find it.

That was weeks and a couple hundred thousand bags ago.

It quickly became clear that if I was going to have a life outside of eBay and keep my marriage intact, I needed to be ruthless with my searches.  I used the price, color, material and brand filters. But eBay is clever--use one brand criteria and ten more show up for you to check as well. Is the style a tote or a shoulder bag? What is the desired strap drop? Is the bag NWOT (new without tags) or perhaps in EUC (excellent used condition)? eBay is truly its own universe with its own language but it is quite fabulously human and once I stopped being concerned with finding the perfect bag, the real fun began.

People trying to sell things, especially things they no longer want, are the most upbeat and positive life forms on the planet.  What’s more, they have great faith that you are going to want their stuff  even if they don’t put a photo or a description, or in spite of the fact that they have.  To keep my sanity, I ultimately limited my searches to Coach and Cole Haan bags as I knew the quality of even their older bags would be good, plus there were enough women my age getting rid of out-of-style bags that I was finding things that would actually work for camera bags and travel.  I have to say that the sellers of Coach bags have really won me over, bless their neurotic, fashion-savvy, altruistic minds.  Here’s a sampling of some of the ads.

The coach purse you are bidding on is pre-owned and is in very good condition except torward the bottom of the purse as you can see in the picture it had laid on something wet and made it a different color on the bottom and if you washed it , it might come out  & the one hook on the strap does not work the spring broke so i put tape on it as you can see in the picture other than that its in good condition and there is nothing wrong with the inside of the purse the strap is adjustable or you can remove it. it has a zippered pocket in the front and a pocket inside. i have only had it for 2 months and still needed my bigger bag so iam giving someone else a chance to have a coach bag at a lower price.

Nice authentic coach purse pre owned. 13" wide 11" tall 3" deep with a 6" strap drop. The fact it is swade it has certain stains and blemishes but it does come with a genuine swade brush. Please see all photos because I am selling as is. 

You are bidding on a used in good condition Coach Purse.

 Slightly Used Authentic Coach Black Leather Handbag!!!

 Used only about 7-8 times, I bought it at a authentic Coach store in Columbia Mall, Maryland

 Dimensions - Length 13" x Width 3" x Height 7"

 ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL LEATHER

 For daily use, special occasions, friendly meetings, etc!

 Sadly, I do not have any space in my closet anymore so I must get rid of this beautiful bag I am truly sorry to let it go and wish the winner a happy use with this bag!

 MSRP: $299.99

Coach Pop Seq Wrslt, SV/OPAL, new with tag but price cut off, I will give a free lipgloss I will pick color and brand. Smoke Free Home. Shipping 5.95 Cont USA others ask
















Selling a pre-owned brown Coach hobo style handbag, with inside zip pocket, fabric lining.
Condition is fair, with some normal wear and tear to the outside of the bag, inside lining is well used, and there are some pen markings that are not that noticeable except up close.  The strap is broken as shown in the picture, but can easily be repaired at a leather shop or sending in to Coach for repair.

There are thousands of ads like these and the gusto, or lack thereof, with which they present their product has been the source of hours of entertainment.  Truly, if you have a bout of insomnia, log in to eBay.  It’s better than the tele.

In the end, I ended up with two bags: one for the camera and wallet, the other for days when the kitchen sink needs to come with us. An inter-changeable strap, also found on eBay lets both bags fill their complete destiny in the Pearson universe so I’m happy as Larry.

In fact, it was the quest for the strap that led me to the happiest discovery of this whole handbag adventure.  At PurseBlog.com I came across a discussion thread among Coach handbag owners that had me in tears.  At first, they were tears of mocking laughter.  Who on earth refers to their purses by their model names? Why does someone’s world simply not work if the metal on the strap doesn’t match the metal on bag?  But the more I read, the more I had to smile.  We are passionate beings, we humans, and while a closet full of Coach handbags might not be as important as curing cancer or feeding the hungry, it’s still about being  devoted to something that matters to us.  If we’re capable of having an abiding love for a handbag, then we are, as a race, capable of the most extraordinary things.  In the long run, that's got to be a good thing.  And even when we have peace on earth, we’ll still need a place to keep our keys.

(All photos from Google images.  And yes, I did end up with a Cole Haan bag, a dream come true for a Freeport girl who always felt terribly under-dressed when she followed Holly into the store on Main Street.)

Signs of the Times

I love a good sign, it's true.  Whether it's pathetic or clever, I simply can't resist a good, long look at something designed to catch my eye and Florida has offered up its fair share of beauts.  It's rare that the car doesn't turn around for a photo but when that's the case, well, I do mourn the loss for the next few miles. Sadly, we were quite lost when we drove past "Curl Up and Dye" so it would take a bit of investigating to track it down again.  It's a beauty parlor as you might have guessed.  Then there was the Salvation Army Donation drop box that had the additional words "Rescque Me" stencilled on the front.  And it's a sure bet we won't ever be in Lakeland again on purpose to snap a picture of "Shake-N-Go Beauty", a beauty supply store.  Oddly, it's right across the street from "Steak and Shake" which is a fast food chain. That particular restaurant should be called Steak, Shake and Regurgitate. We only stopped for a bathroom break but bought a shake and a small fry because it seemed rude to just use the loo. Everything there was scary, but I digress.

So here's a sampling of favorite signs from the past 10 months.  Some are self-explanatory.  Some are very clever.  And some, well, we'll let you decide.

Farm Stand outside Wauchula



Really hope the illness  wasn't the cause for the missing "s"




Sodding typical cowpen sod. 




Pastor Rick seemed to think Sunday might be iffy




Pastor Mike always has a great sign at Bethany Baptist



You kids knock it off down there....



Do you suppose there's a website for pastor inspiration?




You have to look close but someone has added two 'nots' to the tailgate comment to soften the emotional blow for the owner. 




A cold day in hell (aka Sebring at the time)



A sure sign you are in the south



 
In fairness, I haven't stopped in at The House of Style to find out if this is meant to be a joke or a catchy ad campaign, though there is a message scrawled on the neck that if you steal the model, numerous things will be inserted up your backside.  My favorite comment on this picture was from a friend of Jamie's in Yorkshire:  Even the head looks sad!



I'd always had my suspicions.




It is, of all things, a freight company that hauls citrus.




Slightly frightening




And here's me spending money on  moisturizer when apparently all I need is a smoke!




Absolutely no idea....



Amish Surprise

When Jamie and I had decided to look in the Bradenton/Sarasota area for housing and work, we spent a day driving through neighborhoods to get a feel for what the area was like.  At one point in the journey we passed what seemed to be an Amish-themed shopping area but it was pushed to the backs of our minds as we traversed the city boundaries. That was back in July.

A few weeks ago, with the happy discovery of O’Brien Family Farms ten miles east of home, we bought butter and kettle corn that came from Troyer’s, a business in an Amish community in Ohio according to the label.  Then one evening Jamie and I had an Amish collision.  I had seen an ad on Craigslist for a baker’s assistant at Yoder’s Fresh Market and Jamie had a recommendation from locals for Troyer’s Restaurant, both of which are Amish-run operations in the little settlement of Pinecraft, an Amish village in Sarasota on Bahia Vista. It was the very area we had discovered eight months ago. We never need an excuse for an adventure but it just so happened our two-year wedding anniversary was that Saturday. Prepared to celebrate, we hit the highway south .

According to an article in The Amish Country News and The History of Pinecraft 1925-1960: A Historical Album of the Amish and Mennonites in Pinecraft, Florida, by Noah Gingerich,  what is now Pinecraft began as a the Sarasota National Tourist Camp in the 1920’s. Amish and Mennonite visitors came to camp in tents not only as a respite from northern winters in Ohio, Pennsylvania and Indiana, but also to farm during their southern stay.  One particular crop farmed was celery, which is a vegetable that has a place of honor in Amish wedding feasts.  Celery makes its way to the table in a traditional stuffing with chicken, as creamed celery and as a table decoration in vases.

Over time, the camp area was developed into small homes and today remains a close community of little lots.  Some members of the community live in Florida year-round, owning their homes as well as additional rental properties.  A large portion of the Amish and Mennonites arrive from the north via chartered buses.  Homes in the settlement are a very sought after commodity with the price per square foot higher than in other neighborhoods of Sarasota.

To be honest, the whole thing has blown my mind a bit.

As we waited at a stoplight a few blocks from the Bahia Vista and Beneva intersection that is the stepping off point for Pinecraft, I could not believe my eyes as three ladies in white kapps and traditional blue and purple dresses, zoomed over the crosswalk on their large three-wheeled bikes at breakneck speed.  The baskets on the rear of the bikes were full of grocery bags from SweetBay, a chain supermarket in the mall further up the street.  One gal had a large fashionable handbag on her shoulder and was pedaling in flip-flops.

It turns out that bicycles are the primary mode of transport for the citizens of Pinecraft and as it is primarily an older population, the tricycles abound. No room for horses and carriages here.  We were dumbstruck and kept trying not to stare as we searched for our destination, Yoder’s Restaurant.  When we found it, there was no parking nearby and the line of customers was snaking through the carpark.  Yoder’s also offers a green grocers, a gift shop and a bakery/deli in separate buildings.  We were determined to have a nose about even if lunch was now postponed so I pulled down a side street in search of a place to leave the car.  That in itself was a visit to the twilight zone.  The small streets were clogged with tricycles and people visiting their neighbors. Men in hats with long beards, long pants and suspenders stood in groups chatting.  Women in dresses, aprons and kapps sat in lawn chairs and on steps.  There were good natured waves and smiles as we slowly navigated our way through the melee but the Taurus seemed immense.  It was like driving through someone’s living room and we couldn’t get over the feeling we were trespassing and invading many privacies. 

We parked at strip mall several blocks away and entered the daily lives of the Amish of Pinecraft.  They were everywhere.  Outside the health food store, an older lady in a  cornflower blue dress was looking at a model of a human spine being shown to her by an instructor from Palmer College of Chiropractic Medicine who was offering free spine checks. A couple in their early 70s waited at the crosswalk with us.  Jamie spied the telltale label of a bottle of Pepsi in the plastic bag the gent was carrying.  On the sidewalk and in the bike lanes, women on tricycles navigated the cars and pedestrians.  I say navigated but it was more that they dictated the flow of traffic.  You don’t mess with a lady in a white kapp on a trike!  There was good business at Big Olaf’s Creamery for ice cream and a steady stream of traffic to the small post office.

In the market we found jams, jellies and all manner of canned goods, including the fabulous Jake and Amos Pickled Brussel Sprouts that Dave’s  Aunt Jean always brought back on her trips to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. There were breads and pies, coffee and ice cream and a deli full of meats, cheeses and salads.  Everything looked and tasted fabulous.  The green grocer area was much the same.  Beautiful produce and great prices. We lined up with teenagers in their short and baggy shorts, ladies from Siesta Key dripping with gold and money, retired farmers from Iowa and Amish and Mennonite folk out doing their daily shop.



Peanut Butter Pie



Given the continued length of the line to get into Yoder’s we decided to head for home with our booty, content in the knowledge we would come back during the week at an off hour for a meal of their famous fried chicken and a piece of peanut butter pie in celebration of my upcoming birthday. Doing anything on the Gulf Coast in winter is an exercise in patience.  Doing it on a Saturday prepares you for sainthood…or anger management classes.  It never occurred to us that everyone else in Sarasota would be going to Yoder’s for pie.

As we drove the highway back to our little gaff we reflected on the experience of Pinecraft.  Despite having the camera, we took only one photo and that was from afar of the gal on the trike. Why had we been so quiet and extra courteous moving among the shoppers and villagers?  Why had it felt so wrong to be driving a car through the tiny streets of the village?  Why had we found ourselves staring at people and then feeling guilty about staring?  Why did it seem somehow naughty to find Pepsi and flip flops there?  Why didn’t it seem polite to take pictures?  All it took was a conformity of dress, appearance and belief among other people to make us acutely aware of our own actions.  That’s really kind of strange and powerful when you think about it.  

I stumbled upon this Pinecraft Blog while looking for photos to include.  Have a peek.  It's quite interesting!

        

(All photos from Google Images except for the last three and the earlier photo of the lady in blue on the tricycle crossing traffic.)

Palmer Ranch on Dwellable

For Whom the Bell Tolls



Photo from Google Images

 On my way to find portabella mushrooms and a bottle of wine for a surprise dinner for Mr. Pearson, I found myself at an intersection waiting for the light to change when the sound of church bells drifted over the car.  It was 3pm and the bells of a nearby church were announcing the hour. (click on these links throughout the blog to hear some lovely bells)  The sound caught me by surprise and made me wonder how many actual church bells and clock chimes were still ringing across the world these days. Many, I hope.

Photo from Google Images

I have only a handful of memories of bells.  We had a bell  at the farm that Mum had unearthed from who knows where, perhaps from the hulking ark of the barn where so many moldy treasures lived out their last forgotten days.  It hung from a bracket outside the door to the ell.  I think only my Uncle Miles and my friend Brent ever rang it and that was mostly as an introduction to something quite silly that they would then say or do.



Winchester Cathedral  (Photo from Google Images)



My months in Winchester, England, as an exchange student at King Alfred’s College came and went with the ringing of the bells at Winchester Cathedral.  The first time I heard them from our rooms just a block from the cathedral I was filled with that sort of joy that erupts when something you have read about or seen in movies actually happens to you.  I was in England, I was in Winchester and the cathedral bells  were ringing on a Sunday morning in August. A few months later I was in London in a red phone box, looking up at Big Ben while excitedly dialing the long international number to the farm back in Maine.  No one was home to take the call and hear the famous sound around me.

Gram Mallory, my mother’s mum, had a grandmother clock that rang Westminster Chimes on the quarter hour.  The clock had to be wound every few days.  Gram kept the keys on a piece of string in a tiny drawer in the kitchen.  When she went into the nursing home, Uncle Miles, who lived with her, couldn’t find the keys anywhere. The clock sat silent near Gram’s little library no longer ticking down the days of its mistress’s life. 



Harold Sutherland of Sutherland Auctions

 The clock was given to me but as we had no way to wind it, I didn’t hurry to get it moved from Scarborough to Pownal.  Sadly, when Uncle Miles died suddenly, the contents of the house were put up for auction according to the will for the estate.  In an odd twist of fate, the clock and everything else in the house that had not been squirreled away by relatives with keys to Gram’s ended up in an auction hall in North Yarmouth just miles from my home.  I would often go for an hour or two of deals and laughter on those Thursday nights and it wasn’t until I picked up an odd lots box and found a grade school photograph of my brother that I realized what filled the hall.  For the next few hours I watched item after item of my childhood bid on and taken away.  I had enough cash on me to buy a little chest of drawers but the clock went for far over my funds.  The next day I called my Mum in Florida and told her what had happened. As far as we could tell, no one in the family had been told where and when the auction would be held.



Jamie ringing the bell for us

 

To be sure the happiest bells of my life reside at Chapel Dulcinea, in Driftwood, Texas, where Jamie and I were married.  It was one bell, actually, and it is a request from the benefactor of the chapel that all who marry there ring the chapel bell at the end of their ceremony. Our wedding was at sunset with a nearly full moon looking down upon us. Jamie reached high for the rope-thank goodness he is tall! The peal of the bell spread over the  

cedars and stony soil of the hill country valley below us.  What a beautiful night.

 Without a doubt the saddest bell thus far in my life was the mournful toll of the chapel bell at the Maine Veterans Cemetery at the conclusion of Dad’s funeral service.  It was the final sound after the lonesome notes of “Taps” from the bugler’s horn.  A solemn reverberation.  We drove to Belfast after the service looking for some food and distraction.  Stepping out of the car, I could hear a buoy bell on the Penobscot tolling through the fog.


Belfast Harbor   (Photo from Google Images)



(It seems no small feat in these days of constant, plugged-in noise that something as simple as a bell or a chime can still capture our attention. If you find yourself wanting a beautiful bell of your own, I highly recommend US Bells, in Prospect Harbor, Maine. They are exquisite works of art and sound. All videos in this post come from YouTube and various websites and contain sounds similar to the bells mentioned.)