The Road to Savannah

Last month, four of us went to the Savannah Tour of Homes. It wasn't our first time, but it's been a while. We've also done the Charleston Tour of Homes, but not only is it farther away (which we didn't want to deal with car-wise) but in Charleston, they pretty much lock you in each room and bombard you with information you already know, or really don't give a damn about, while you stand totally bored for 15 minutes. But in Savannah, you just walk in, look at everything in each room, taking all the time you want, ask questions if you like and walk out. Besides, there's a difference in the ambiance of these two cities. Charleston is traditional and rather snobby. Savannah is eccentric and friendly. No choice, in my mind.

So we drove off in a cloud of hen dirt (as my grandmother used to say) at 7 AM, one of us armed with a cane, another with a thyroid disorder, the third with macular degeneration and me, with my gimpy knee, which proved to be stellar what with the cortisone shot the week before. After some stops at various Cracker Barrels (What? Doesn't everyone?), we got to Savannah late afternoon and checked in, dithered about our room locations, unpacked, changed and made our way to Elizabeth's On 37th for dinner. And a stiff drink. Or two. I was pleased I wasn't the driver not only for that reason, but another: parking. If you've been to Savannah, you know what I'm talking about. Elizabeth's is always good low country food, but this night, unexceptional.

We had signed up for a home tour in the morning and much to our dismay, discovered Savannah has turned into Charleston. Doors slam shut behind your group while guides give the most tedious lecture ever in each and every room, upstairs and down. And in the event you haven't figured it out, this results in long lines outside the homes. We waited 45 minutes at the first one, only slightly less at the second and so forth through 7 homes, with lengthy walks in between. The tour only lasts three hours...do the math, people in charge, it's not possible. So, I personally complained to everyone in authority I could find, compared this unfavorably to Charleston and informed them I'd never return. I'm sure they were all shaking in their boots. And we paid $40 pp for the privilege. (But oh! Would you look at these porch steps!)

We also signed up for a couple side events (always chancy...the failure of a ghost tour in Santa Fe comes to mind), both a waste of time and the one on General Lafayette was so ridiculous and amateurish that I could barely keep a straight face. It appears he gave a speech to the citizens of Savannah in 1825 and much was being made of it. They shouldn't have bothered.

Lunch the first day was another of the side tour events which proved to be mistake...Lady and Sons. Aside from Mrs.Wilkes Boarding House lunch, an experience too funny to be missed, this was the only other lunch event we signed on for. Not in their restaurant (which was disappointing in appearance, but then, I've never cared for Paula's food anyway), but stuck off in a brick walled room with a buffet table set up in the rear, steaming away and turning decent vegetables into a mass of overcooked green stuff and truly the most pitiful salad bar I've ever been exposed to. Turns out Lady and Sons restaurant itself is much the same. (No wonder I never went.) You'll not be surprised to read who walked in during lunch:  Jamie Deen. He was there to plug, sell and sign his new cookbook. Every table was doing selfies with him, except ours. I give us high marks for good sense...as there were 6 other fun women at our table...and we were the only ones eating (the chicken wasn't all that bad, but there was a hoe cake on the side I thought inedible and gauging from the leftovers at our table, everyone agreed) and not fawning. I also was aware he ignored our table, deservedly. Here's a photo of  Jamie. Yes, I admit it, I couldn't resist, but at least it wasn't a selfie.
Anyway, another $40 down the drain.

Dinner that night was at 700 Drayton. Yum. I must say, our dinners were the highlights of the trip. But hardly worth the drive from South Florida just to eat great dinners and pay the fare at our Inn, one we've always chosen, but which I won't go into as it's gone downhill since we were last there. One other little thing I must mention: I can no longer hoist myself up onto their four poster beds. Lordy, I've shrunk since I was last here. I used to be tall, really. If I took a running leap...perhaps, but not with this knee. So used their little step stools. Huh. I've come down in the world, literally.

Still, we were all holding up pretty darn well for grannies and we made note of the fact we were among the oldest on the tours, kudos to us. But I am encouraged to find this kind of event is appealing to the younger set..we saw lots of couples in their 20's and 30's.
Shopping is fun and funky, which we mixed in with various events of the tour. I think my griping paid off (along with everyone else's) as the next day, there were no lines outside the homes on tour and nobody gave any speeches. That day, I praised everyone I met and told them what a pleasure it was to self guide through the homes. Never say I don't praise when deserved.

Our final dinner was a comparatively new restaurant, Local 11 Ten. The best I've been to in ages...a farm to table type, unusual menu and the food was divine. You must go if you're in the area.

Yeah, we did pretty darn well for our ages and infirmities, had fun together, ate well and shopped til we dropped. My feet hurt, but not my knee. How weird is that?

Petty Injuries

Really, I do hate to complain. As you age and get together with friends, the conversation invariably turns to health. Such a bore. I have a friend who announces: five minutes on health issues and we're done for the evening. Impressive, as she has more problems than most. Anyway, we stick to her edict, pretty much.

So that leaves me with this blog. Who else am I going to complain to? My kids? They are aware and certainly loving, but busy, busy. My ex? Well, he's a good guy and called when he heard, but still. It's such a minor thing and as I look around at my friends, there are so many serious problems...cancer, heart...the list goes on. So I'll dump my petty injury complaints right here. On you.

It all started in December on St. Lucia. We've been going for 20 years or more and have become friends with the owners of Anse Chastanet. I've written about it several times, but the post most pertinent is HERE, if you care to read it. You won't be surprised to hear I am now the owner of a torn meniscus and if you've read the above, you'll understand. When my youngest son (now 54, ye Gods) suggested he would worry about me on those steps, I was insulted. Me? The workout queen?
I tell you, it's not the going up, it's the going down. I commented to my daughter: I think I'm getting arthritis in my knee. And then thought not another thing about it, proud of myself for going up and down that damn mountain several times a day without having to notify St. Lucian EMS...even if there was such a thing.

So a couple months pass. I'm back on schedule. The knee is annoying, but tolerable. Still thinking arthritis, I ignore it with an Advil or two. Then one day at the gym...pain strikes. Can't walk kind of pain.

I think it's a torn meniscus, says the doctor, nothing is showing in the xray. Let's try the conservative method first. (Which is no more aerobic workouts, no long walks, ice and elevate.) During this time, I suffered painfully through a trip with grandkids to Atlantis. If you've ever been there, you'll know....walk, slide and swim...ouch. Couldn't do it. My DIL actually said: how about a wheelchair? What?! What did she say???? Uh, uh. No way.
So when they left for Michigan, back to the doctor. My life is over, I said. I'm aging just sitting here. I feel it creeping up on me...my DIL suggested a wheelchair. He laughed. Let's try a cortisone shot, he said.
Well, that struck fear in my memory, of an old tennis elbow problem and the shot that followed. Agonizing. A couple close friends had also warned me: cortisone is next for your knee, be prepared. I broke out in a sweat just thinking about it.
I'd worked myself up into such a fervor about the stupid shot that I was amazed how simple it was and damn near painless. It was over before I knew it.
So here I am, a week later. Some improvement, but any kind of torque on that knee is not good. There's a trip to Savannah next week. Lots of walking. On cobblestones. Please, just let me get through that, then I'll face the eventual music: an MRI and some outpatient surgery. Not too bad as I understand it, but I'll keep you apprised.
You won't mind my petty complaining.
Right?

Gym Rant

If I don't hit the gym first thing in the morning, it isn't going to happen. No...I don't like going. Yes, I'm proud of myself after it's all over, but I really hate it and I'm a clock-watcher while I'm there. One thing though....I've never thought it had a damn thing to do with weight. Weight is simply calories in, calories out, period. But hitting the gym makes you feel better, stronger, younger, prouder and no doubt keeps your body in decent shape, muscle-wise, perhaps firmer, but don't expect to lose weight if you continue eating the way you always have. It just doesn't work that way. I'm not self motivated, so I always take classes. Misery wants company. LOL

Gym rats always intrigue me. I leave immediately after class, no hanging about. Some girls spend half their lives there...class after class. Spin, weights, yoga. Perfectly toned bodies. Abs like rocks. I didn't look like that when I was 16 and I was pretty athletic, too. Don't they have lives? Perfection is so boring.

Why is it some instructors actually have followers? I mean they hang around the teacher like lemmings. I'm not talking about just liking the way a teacher handles a spin class, so you take all her/his classes, I'm talking about actual cliques. Do you think they hang with each other outside the gym?

And gym costumes. I'm always suspicious about things that match perfectly. If you're going to work out...just some Danskins and a tee. When we have a sub or a new instructor, I can tell how things are going to go just by what they're wearing.
Makeup at the gym? Whatever for? In case you meet someone? Well, I guess anything's possible. More so at night I should think. So why at 8:30 in the morning would you wear eye liner?! I always wonder if the gym is their social club. Well, forget it....I'm never going to get hit on as I'm way too old for nine tenths of them, let alone I'm always a sweaty mess. Besides, my daughter says I don't throw off any pheromones. (Don't you love it?)

But by God, I go, work out and finish the classes, too. No matter how hard. Step, weights, Zumba. Pretty good for an old broad.