Derfing With Mrs. G and Debra

Yesterday morning at 11:30, I hopped into my little silver stickshift car and drove drove drove to the little town of Peninsula, Ohio.   It took about 5 hours (with traffic and whatnot).  I was meeting the esteemed Mrs. G of Derfwad Manor at Debra's gallery, Elements Gallery.

The town is right near a place I used to go for flute lessons, Oberlin.  My flute instructor, Michel Debost, lives in Elyria, which is just up the road a piece.

I found Debra's gallery right where she said it would be, across from the scenic railway station.  And scenic it was!

The moment I came around the corner of the building, I saw this:

Many years ago, a circus was passing through Peninsula and had a crash.  All the animals escaped!  In time, all were recovered except two pythons.  One was eventually found, dead.  The other was never located, and there were numerous python sightings in the area.  So to commemorate this auspicious event, the town hosts Python Fest, including a parade and many artistic renderings of pythons scattered throughout the town.

I love a town that gets handed pythons and makes pythonade.

Catching a quick snapshot of her handmade python was Debra, our hostess for the night, and owner of Elements Gallery.

She's pretty, isn't she?  Oh, wait a second....

There she is!

 We introduced ourselves, and just as we were about to go inside, along came MRS G!

Much laughter and hilarity ensued.  Mrs. G and I oohed and aaahed our way up the stairs and inside.  Debra and her darling husband Stephen have this fantastic gallery/shop/studio where he throws pots (that's where you put the clay on a wheel and spin it and magically it becomes a cup or urn or mug or whatever, not where you toss a pot into a wall and it crashes into smithereens).  

Debra etches her tiles.  I'm sure that's not the right term, but she puts these incredibly complex, detailed patterns and things onto flat tiles (and other things too), and glazes them and puts colors on them and all that fancy awesome art stuff.  And then they sell it.  

Debra explains her approach to art, running a gallery, and life.

Part of the back room of the gallery.  That is one big roll of bubble wrap!

 We hung around there at the gallery for a while, admiring the pots, dishes, metal work, wood work, glass, jewelry, and everything, and met Debra's sweet husband, Stephen, and her charming daughter.

Dad and daughter working on some mugs.

We were starting to get kind of hungry, so we walked over to The Seraglio, a shop/gallery owned by a totally sweet Turkish man named Muffit.  Pronounced "Moooo-FIT."  Not "moooo-FEET." I asked why the party was happening, I was told that Muffit and his lovely wife just wanted to have a party for the neighborhood artists, business owners, councilpeople, etc.  I was so taken by all these wonderful folks.  

One of THREE courtyards at La Seraglio

another one

Muffit made deeeelicious beef kabobs and chicken on the grill, there was fresh hummus, baba ganouj, pita, rice, cucumber/yogurt salad, cucumber/tomato/onion salad, and a wickedly awesome pasta with a very spicy garlic sauce.  Wine flowed freely, and for dessert?  HOMEMADE BAKLAVA.  It was decadent to an extreme I'm not sure I've experienced before.

Sadly, I did not remember to take any photos inside, but apparently the building used to house a bookstore with an upstairs reading loft.  The spiral staircase to the loft is enclosed by A TREE TRUNK.  With a door.  You open the door of the tree and walk up the spiral staircase inside the (faux) tree.  It's so cool, and I can't believe I can't show you. Sigh.

There are such stories to tell you!  I met a tall, gorgeous woman who not only was a Councilwoman, but makes Fairy Gardens!

I met an older man who owns a B&B by a waterfall with his wife.  He is the oldest vegan I've ever met.

Then there was this one elderly woman everyone deferred to was sitting near us who wore an "I <3 Peninsula" pin on her ball cap.  I found out later she was Peninsula's citizen of the year, and had been town librarian.  She said that since Peninsula was an old canal town, they used to have mules that would get roped to the barges in the river and they'd tow the boats through the locks.  Her grandfather had a barn which housed the mules. When she was a girl, she found a bunch of tiny little horseshoes, and thought they were for baby horses.  Her grandfather then told her the stories of the mules that had once lived there.

It was an explosion of amazingness.  Everybody had a story.  Everybody sparkled (in a non-stupid-vampire way).  There was music, laughter, hugs, food, drink, and more laughter.

Finally, Mrs. G was starting to wilt after a LONG day of driving (a long month, really), so we wended our way out.  Debra rode in Mrs. G's car with her (her husband wanted to check the kiln, so he drove their car separately), and I followed along.  Mrs. G is very law-abiding when it comes to driving.

We arrived at Debra's Palatial Country Estate a mere 15 minutes later.  (Can't you hear the capitals?)

It was getting to be dusk, and it looked very cozy.

We were greeted by a flying pig (of which I also have no picture), and her three delightful dogs.

This is Lily, the dog that liked me.  The others were not so sure.

Her home was the home of artists.  Sculpture, paintings, books, funky furniture, many mysterious doors, cool odds and ends.  There was a beautiful mural on the stairway walls and ceiling, done by one of her daughters.  One of my favorites was a door painted by a daughter.

Isn't that lovely?

We sat on the couch with the dog, chatting, laughing, pausing, pondering.  We talked about kids, husbands, life, death, the Universe, books, art, education, wine, and Kitty Gigantica.

One thing I noticed about Mrs. G. that I didn't expect:  her voice.  Have you ever watched Sex and the City?  You know Samantha, the sex-crazed one?  If you've ever heard the actress speak (when she's not being Samantha), you'll marvel at her soft, gentle voice, as opposed to the pushy, aggressive, tough-girl voice on the show.  With Mrs. G, it's kind of like that.  Her online voice is so spunky and witty and edgy that her sweet, gentle voice was a real surprise.  I've even heard her online videos, and in person?  It's like her voice is made of that loopy, scrunchy yarn that some scarves are knitted from.  It wraps around you ... like a cuddle from a favorite aunt. She was so fun, insightful, and open to new experiences. 

Debra is a marvel.  She's raised two daughters, homeschooled both, and is a prolific artist.  She talked about "the art of business" and the beautiful community they have there. Oh, and she's wickedly funny.

I don't know what they thought of me, but I was pretty honored to be there with those two ladies.
We all went to bed (including the three dogs and all the chickens), dreaming out-in-the-woods dreams. 

The next morning, I woke to the sound of her puppies clattering on the old wooden floors, and followed my nose to the coffee.  My mug was one of their handmade ones, and Debra also made me "a glass o' pink," which was a smoothie (in a Vitamix blender, no less) made from strawberries, blueberries, banana, yogurt, and fresh pineapple. There were also muffins, but I wasn't quite ready for food.

Soon, it was time for Mrs. G to hit the road, so we gave hugs all around, and drove off (Stop Sign, LEFT, Stop Sign, RIGHT), and I drove home, my head full of new people, ideas, art, community, and stories.

KateLibs: Harlequin Edition

For some reason, I've taken to writing mini-Harlequin romances about women I know, trying to incorporate lots of little details of their lives (facts AND fantasies).  Thought you'd like to read a few.

First is about a blogger, Mrs. G, who is a middle-aged author who entertains fantasies about Johnny Depp.  She accidentally posted just a title on her blog recently, with no text.  Here is what I imagined was the cause:

Mrs. G, wearing a seductive terrycloth dressing gown, made her way to the computer. She began to type; first quietly, gently, then with growing passion and abandon.
Johnny eyed her from the darkness of the sofa. He rose, earring glinting in the light of the monitor. Walking towards her, he was a graceful as a cat.
Mrs. G had gotten no further than the title of the post, when he could stand it no more, and whisked her into his arms with a hungry growl, and his elbow hit the "Publish" button.
Her bathrobe was tossed over the computer moments later, so the pair never knew.

Second, another blogger named Ashley gave me a set of details to choose from (fantasy boyfriends, occupations, cars, locations, and so on). Here's hers:

It was high noon as Ashley and her pea--green Nova pulled up in front of the county courthouse that day. Austin was hot, and so was she. “Today! Today I will get justice for MaryBeth and her family!” she repeated as she gathered her files, ready to assume her Advocate Ashley persona.
No sooner did she step into the searing Texas sun than did she raise her eyebrows at the vintage Mustang that screeched to a halt behind her car. “Ma’am?” a husky voice called. A voice weathered like a good pair of boots, with a faint hint of single-malt scotch in the rasp of it. “I do believe your car is on fire.”
She, horrified, gaped attractively at her now-engulfed-in-flames Nova. “Oh, fer Pete’s sake…” her accent intensified in her moment of shock.
The man unfolded his lanky frame from his seat, and leapt into action, rumbling past her like a tall, attractive tank. He reached his brawny arms into the conflagration and gathered her baskets of crafting supplies, and snagging her purse from the floor of the back seat. “I don’t figure y’all would want your gorgeous crafts to go up with this ol’ Nova.” He faced her, trying to free a sooty hand, “Adam, ma’am. Adam Levine. I think we’d better call the fire department. And in the meantime, why don’t you come on and sit with me in my car? I have some time before I have to catch my flight over to Kansas City for my VolunteerAmerica conference.”
The next thing she knew, she was being tucked into the black leather bucket seat of a Mustang that smelled like dust, band aids, and sexy man.