SAVANNAH, GEORGIA

We're coming up on that time of year when my sister and I begin to discuss where we will go for our Almost-Annual-Sisters-Weekend-Getaway.  We began this tradition a few years ago in Chicago, and have visited Charleston, SC, and Savannah, GA, since then.  Whereas, I always feel badly leaving BC at home by himself, I love my time with Mary.  We sleep in every morning, talk until late, late every night and, simply put, enjoy each other and our time together.  I know our poor mother in heaven is watching the two of us with some semblance of disbelief.  Our childhood years were difficult, involving a fair amount of screaming, crying, and tattling, all of which we later paid for while raising our own sweet children.

Mary and I have taken to reserving Historic B&B's for the great breakfasts, of course; but also for the genteel atmosphere and the blessed late afternoon wine and hors d'oeurves hour(s).  The Eliza Thompson House in Savannah completely fit the bill for us, and I recommend it.  It's built around a lovely courtyard in which both breakfast and wine-time are centered.

Rather late on our first morning in Savannah, a couple of years ago, we gathered up a map of their Historic District and began checking out our neighborhood.  Just a few blocks south of Eliza Thompson, we wandered into Forsyth Park.  This beautiful fountain is obviously a gathering spot and why not... Our brochure mentioned the fountain had been built in 1858 based on the design of a Paris fountain near the Place de la Concorde.  I'm not sure what that one may look like, but this one is good enough for me.

We visited Savannah very late in October; I think the date of this photo was the 23rd.  Our weather was gorgeous.  We enjoyed sunshine every day, nary a drop of rain, no wind, and a light sweater was perfect for evening or an outdoor lunch in the shade. Apparently, Halloween is a really big thing and many of the doorsteps were decorated similarly to this one located just a few doors down from our B&B. As soon as I returned to Phoenix, I bought a couple of pumpkins and a pot of posies, but the effect just wasn't the same.

I love my sister, Mary.  You can take her anywhere and she immediately looks like she is "To the Manor Born."  I, by contrast, am often mistaken for the servant girl, but thus is life.

If you've read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. this is the Mercer-Williams House where the evil deed occurred.  Just behind the windows on the lower left if you're wondering.  It's a beautiful house--our group gathered and then entered from the courtyard in the rear.  I've read reviews in which people are quite unhappy because the tour is limited to the first floor, and I understand wanting to see it all, but I'm OK just being inside where all of the wild parties and etc...went on. Imagination is a great thing.  It generally serves me quite well.  It's really a large house when you realize the square footage, but my guess is it's proportioned so well you don't feel the massiveness...which makes it seem more real and livable.

After our day of wandering through the historic neighborhood, which included a typical leisurely lunch, we climbed the stairs of the entry to Eliza Thompson just in time for the late afternoon wine and appetizer spread.  Great timing!  One feels a bit elegant sipping perfectly chilled white wine in this drawing room.  It's beautiful and cushy, but we quickly escaped to the courtyard, where we put our feet up and enjoyed the cool breeze under the massive trees.  We had definitely found our spot.

"THE GOLDFINCH"

Oops!  I'm afraid I have been found out.  Busted.  Exposed to the world.  It appears that BC, my sweet caregiver, after nearly three weeks of cooking, cleaning and miscellaneous laundry duty, suspects that I have been malingering.  Moi? Malingering?

My defense--and, frankly, I would submit that you might be doing the exact same thing if you, like me, had both the excuse (training a new hip, for example) and a really great, and very long book at your side all hours of the day and night.  Those two circumstances call for a little "lay down" every once in awhile in a comfortable bed with some intellectual entertainment, which, God knows, daytime TV is not going to provide.  The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt fit the bill to perfection.

I think The Goldfinch is categorized as Literary Fiction and I'm learning I like Literary Fiction.  I'm not going to pretend I understand everything I've read in this book, but I do enjoy a meaty story.  And, for me, The Goldfinch has been meaty, plus neat and tidy, and most expertly written.  I've been thinking about the flow of life over the past week or two (it's the Life Coach, you know) and Tartt's book, populated by her unique characters, flows.  Sometimes, that flow is tortuous and twisting, turning and winding around on itself.  But occasionally, we can lean back and enjoy blessed stretches of smooth water even if, ever so subtly, we perceive the muted roar of deadly rapids just ahead. 

As for those characters?  They are legion.  And, as far as describing them I'm at a loss because, silly as it sounds, they are so realistic they become indescribable. They are by turn generous and selfish; lovable but disappointing; kind and conniving; mysterious and nefarious with occasional glimpses of a soul.  Actually though, I loved that they were complex.  For me, that makes a good book...although I so wanted to interrupt Theo from time to time and ask him to please rethink that latest really bad decision.  I don't believe there was a single "flat" character in this book, with the possible exception of Theo's father who, in my opinion, had no redeeming values.  None.         

Because I'm in love with New York City, and much of the book takes place there, I fell into it immediately.  I could easily imagine the street scenes that Theo described, the buildings he walked past, the park with its memories of his mother, and the characters hanging out on nearly every corner.  It was as if I were there beside him smelling the flowers, speaking above the din, and watching the trees slowly fade into winter.

The book turns darker when Theo's father makes an unexpected (and unwelcome) appearance in order to re-connect with Theo and take him back to Las Vegas where he is currently hanging out.  I'm not a Las Vegas fan.  I live about four hours from Sin City and, in all honesty, I'll probably never visit there.  But, Tartt's descriptions of Las Vegas were spot on.  She nailed the abandoned housing development (3,000 square foot stucco behemoths in all stages of construction; dirt lots scraped bare; trash flying in the unrelenting wind.)  We saw that here in the west valley of Phoenix and it's as depressing as Theo's life during the long months before he was able to grab the dog and escape back to New York.  Tartt can set the scene and create atmosphere.  No doubt about it.

No, I haven't forgotten the Goldfinch...although as I read I would sometimes turn page after page and not think of him at all.  But, he is an insidious little creature and always manages to come to the forefront again and again creating yet another round of lust or anger or hate or lies or...murder. Obviously, that makes for a good read.  A really good read.  I'm eager to see what the rest of the Book Club thinks.  We're a close-knit but diverse group.  It will be interesting.

Love to All--
Margie