Celebration in Savannah

by Gail Balentine

Before the trip to Savannah I was apprehensive. Why? Well, start with flying, continue with the arthritis pain when I walk, add wondering how being that close with family for days would work out, and end with going to a city we’d never been to before with people and food we didn’t know. Put it all together and the anticipation was exciting and nerve-wracking all at once.

Logan airport is not my friend. I find it too big and confusing, but we got through it and onto the plane on time. The captain who we watched enter the cockpit was an older gentleman. My daughter leaned over and said, “Not his first rodeo”, and we both smiled. Right after that, one of our flight attendants came to the front of the plane. She, the captain, and another flight attendant were discussing a passenger (he joined them) who had apparently been quite rude to her. I thought he was going to be leaving the plane immediately, but they straightened it out after he apologized profusely. I admired her self-confidence. It seemed that we were in good hands and with my nerves a bit less frayed, the flight went well.

Getting settled in the hotel was a smooth process and the evening went well. Our first dinner in Savannah – at Paula Deen’s restaurant – was unexpectedly delicious. All the warnings about heavy southern food may be true but we chose the buffet where we could select what we wanted, and it was a perfect introduction to southern hospitality and dining. True southern fried chicken – my mouth waters just thinking about it.

The next morning, I was up and ready early and went downstairs to get a cup of coffee. In one of the restaurants I met a waitress who obviously needed the coffee more than I – she had left her charm somewhere else. Funny thing was, later that day and each time we ate there, she was wonderful. That’s when I remembered that some days I would win no awards for sweetness when I first get up. Just ask my husband.

Savannah is a walking city with many parks, statues, and old trees draped with Spanish Moss. If the city in October was a color, it would be green. Fortunately, along with the charming streets and parks come many benches along the way. The arthritis that had haunted me before going receded into the background. No wonder Forrest Gump looked so comfortable sitting on that park bench talking about his chocolates.

From tour guides to waitresses and waiters to a terrific bartender to bookstore owners (and their two beautiful cats) to the wonderful woman who sang to us at our anniversary celebration dinner, the people we met in Savannah were the kind of people you hope to meet when you’re away from home. Helpful, thoughtful, efficient and able to answer questions and give directions patiently, as if they don’t have to say the same thing a hundred times a day.

On the last day, we went to a museum to pass the time until our return flight. We had no idea we were in for such a treat. Our guide brought Savannah’s role in the American Revolution to life. He had us following him outside, carrying flags, mounting a small hill and taking mock aim at the enemy. He had such a way of bringing you into what he was doing that it would have been no surprise to have a horse and buggy arrive to take us back to the hotel rather than the taxi that did come.

And last, but most emphatically not least, there was family. We have traveled together a lot and mostly it has been great. But, now and then, some not-for-prime-time moments show up – the kind that can throw a wet blanket on things for a while. Not this trip. Our children set out to make this a trip of a lifetime and they succeeded, in style. We had a wonderful time together and so many precious memories.

Of all the wonderful things we saw and did on our trip, the time we spent together was the best of all. It was such a lovely way to celebrate 50 years married.

*****

Serengeti

by Terri McFadden

When we arrived on the Serengeti, it struck me that the word fit what my high school poetry teacher termed onomatopoeia – the formation of words in imitation of natural sounds. It is the most serene place I’ve ever visited – at least at first view. The sound of the wind through the grass is nearly the only noise. Enormous animals, elephants, giraffes, leopards and lions move almost silently through the landscape. Even the herds of wildebeest and zebras chomp silently, their hooves only thundering when frightened by a movement of the occasional predator.

On our visit there in 2016 we were lucky enough to witness the great spring migration of animals through Tanzania. It wasn’t quite what I expected. Certainly, there were large numbers of animals all over the enormous plain, but they didn’t seem to be migrating. Not a purposeful, determined movement, but instead there was a slow and gradual drift of the mixed herds as they ate and walked, ate and walked. It was fascinating to see all these different types of herbivores mingled together. At night, we were told, they would sort themselves into herds of their fellows – zebras with zebras, wildebeest with wildebeest, but in the daytime, this wasn’t so. A peaceable kingdom – at least for the lucky ones.

For two nights, we stayed at a safari camp, many miles into the national park. We were greeted by a staff member with glasses of orange juice, refreshing after the bouncing, dusty ride. An open fire and a glass of wine before dinner while watching the sun set were memorable, as was the best dinner we had in Africa (except at our daughter’s house!), several delicious courses all cooked on a two-burner hotplate. Afterward we were escorted to our tents by the staff and warned not to leave them; night time on the Serengeti is a dangerous place. Not so serene when the sun goes down. In fact, we were given whistles to blow in case of an emergency and told more than once not to leave our tents. A staff person would come if needed, but we were told not to whistle for anything but a serious situation, as the savanah is dangerous for them as well.

              After a short peek at the most astounding sky of stars that I’ve ever seen, we entered our tent. There were trillions of lights in that African sky and I could have gazed for hours, but I was too frightened by the warnings about dangerous animals. It was my biggest disappointment of the trip, not watching that sky. Obediently we heeded our guides and retired to our king-size bed. The tent had a shower and toilet, so we were safe for the night. The profound silence and the long day of travel made it easy to fall asleep.

              A few hours later I was awakened by a loud scratching noise at the back of the tent near the bucket shower. I lay there for quite a while, my husband sleeping peacefully beside me. The scratching continued. I’m not a normally a nervous person, but I started worrying. Naturally, I woke Ed. He heard it too, but couldn’t think what to do and reassured me that the canvas was thick and urged me to go back to sleep. Ignoring him, I finally leapt out of bed and dashed to the heavy-duty zippers of the toilet and shower areas. Frantically, I pulled them down, reasoning (sort of) that the critter would have to scratch through two layers of heavy canvas to get at us.

              Neither of us slept for a long time. Finally, I suggested we blow the whistle and reluctantly he agreed. I placed it in my mouth and blew…and nothing. The whistle sounded, but no one came, no one shouted to ask what was wrong. I didn’t have the nerve to do it again, so we took Ed’s advice and finally fell asleep again. By this time too tired to mind the scratching.

              In the morning, I checked the back of the tent and there was no evidence of an animal – at least to my uneducated eyes. No scratch marks on the tent, no scat. The soil was scuffed, but I couldn’t see any footprints. The head of the safari company looked at us uncomprehendingly and shrugged – no idea what it could have been. I was too embarrassed to mention the night-time whistle.

              The great undulating plains of Africa greeted us again that morning, with a pink sunrise and indigo blue sky. On our journey that day we watched a lioness stalking a zebra, which she missed, scattering the herd. We saw a family of cheetahs sitting on a termite hill scanning the horizon for a meal. A sleepy (sated?) hyena lay in the shade of an acacia tree, mouth open, showing her teeth and panting in the heat.

              Not far from the great park’s entrance our driver and guide stopped the truck and pointed. He’d spotted two young cheetahs making their gliding way to what looked like a little family of wildebeests – mother, father and young calf. There was no sign of the herd. In fact, no sign of any other animals at all. The three of them had somehow drifted away while grazing, and now they were alone and hunted.

              We watched, holding our breath, not sure if we should root for the grazers or the cats. It didn’t take long. In silence, the beautiful cheetahs circled the prey, one in one direction the other opposite. The wildebeests finally sensed their peril and bolted. In a flash, the cheetahs attacked. It is hard, even when you see it, to believe flesh and blood and muscle can move that fast; the two acting as one.

The calf was down. The parents stopped running and turned to watch for a moment. And then, with no sound, they turned and trotted off.

True serenity, is I think, an illusion. In this life, we have moments of peace, times of silence, but mostly like the great Serengeti the tumult is there, waiting. And, like the darkness and the light, the tumult will return. Perhaps the only remedy is to sometimes take a chance and gaze on the stars. They are there, waiting.

             

                                                                                

 

 

With the Best of Intentions

We try to avoid

The mistakes of our mothers

Still, we make our own

Then scratch our heads,

Wondering, what now?

 

(Ciampa, Liz.  What is Left.  Boston, MA: Big Table Publishing Co., 2009. p. 15. Print.)

Dream Shadow

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

A Shadow at the window peering in.

Man or woman? Mystical jinn?

There's movement when I stare, I think,

Then gone in a moment when I blink.

Is there a parallel to what is in my mind,

When it cannot tell me what it finds?

As it looks - what it may seem...

Maybe, possibly, a dream?