Paradise is a book shop

Books. They're just words printed on paper bound between a cover, right? If you've ever read a book, you know they're so much more than that. But what about the bookstores where these treasures are first discovered? There must be something to say for these special places that house endless spines piled, stacked, wedged along every open shelf, into every free corner. A leather armchair to lounge in, a ladder to reach high shelves, and a thousand titles to be leafed through in search of that perfect summer read.

 

backyard of The Annapolis Bookstore

At The Annapolis Bookstore, there is not a surface in sight without a stack of books to decorate it, each one with its own story - and history - to tell. Books sold at this charming establishment are in line with the shop's motto:

Used, new, rare, and always remarkable

Remarkable is the key word. Each book is remarkable in it's own right, waiting for a reader to happen upon it and fall in love, as every avid reader hopes to do with their next literary endeavor. At The Annapolis Bookstore, owners Janice Holmes and Mary Adams guide each person who passes through the door on their journey to find their perfect book, whatever that may be. Or for the solitare-seeking patron, they're happy for people to browse the rows for hours on their own quest.

An upright piano is nestled under the front window of the shop, its keys ready for any passerby so inclined to play. A cafe in the back serves organic coffee and sweet treats. And the backyard provides a quiet retreat, tucked away from the city happenings, complete with a miniature house made entirely of books. 

NS' and my participation in The Annapolis Bookstore's 24-hour read-a-thon

There is literally nowhere in the world quite like The Annapolis Bookstore. The books, the people, the ambiance - they're all so special and create a place that I hope can continue for many years to come. It's the You've Got Mail story, but this time instead of Meg Ryan battling (and falling in love with) Tom Hanks over big bully Fox bookstore luring her clients, there are real people whose lives are invested in giving the community a gathering place, a quiet place, a place of discussion and ideas, a place for the young and the old, a place which we should support for Annapolis and its people. 

Shop local is the catch-phrase of today, but it needs to be more than that. We must act on it. Instead of clicking that "Add to shopping bag" button, visit The Annapolis Bookstore on Maryland Avenue. Leaf through their books. Interact with people. You never know what you'll discover when you venture out from behind your computer screen. 


PS - they'll be showing the film To Kill a Mockingbird tomorrow evening in the garden to celebrate Harper Lee's 2nd book being published, so even more reason to get over there!

Annapolis 10 Mile Race

On Sunday morning, I ran my first 10 mile race. Before I say anymore, I'd like to share a quote that was typed on a piece of paper taped to one of the orange cones marking the course:

There are no failures, only experiences and our reactions to them

I don't know who said it or when, but that is my mantra for this race.

But I regress. So my first 10-mile race. I signed up in early June, and have been training semi-seriously since mid-July. Almost 2 months of 7am Sunday runs with Annapolis Striders... and most... errr some of the runs on our suggested daily schedule.

I spent all day Saturday busy with a family crab feast (so much fun). But kept well hydrated with water. Went to bed but couldn't fall asleep for awhile (as my training leader warned us would probably happen). Woke up with butterflies in my stomach. Arrived to the race in plenty of time.

The start line was small, and it took awhile for 4,600 people to pass over it, but I was probably about 3 minutes back and toward the front of the group. Which is roughly where I stayed for the first few miles. This is me around 1.5 miles, happily trotting along:

I look like I'm enjoying myself, don't I? And I was. I continue down Main Street, then up King George to the Naval Academy bridge, which is around where I suddenly feel weird, dizzy, queasy, sick. I stop. I drink water. I walk. I jog. And at the top of the bridge, I throw up, just a little, for the first time. This is the start of mile 4, which just happens to be the moment when the number one runner is sprinting back over the bridge on mile 8.5. Just fabulous. How do these people run so fast?!

I continue slowly, and weave through beautiful, leafy neighborhoods where sprinklers arch over the road to keep runners cool and families blast motivating music from their lovely homes, waving and cheering as we pass. THANK YOU TO ALL OF YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE!!

And I continue. And I drink a bit more at another water stop. And I feel sick again and throw up for the 2nd time, just a little. But I've come so far, I can't stop now!

So I go onward (and upward) along Route 2. I overhear another runner say this is her favorite part, when the people protest our race because they can't pull into their church parking lot. It is Sunday morning after all. But no one is protesting, or at least I didn't hear them.

The route brings us back down to the bridge, and on my way across I throw up for the 3rd time - it's becoming a cycle, it seems. This time is more than before and a kind athletic trainer (she tells me that's what she is as I hunch over) comes and rubs my back.

But now I'm really almost done, so I keep going, so close. And finally, the finish line at the Navy Stadium is in sight. It's up a hill, though and I need to sprint to the end but I j u s  t  c  a   n  '   t   d  o    i     t

I practically stagger across the finish and am handed a soaking cold towel - just like bikram yoga - and this is how I lay for about 20 minutes in my own savasana:

And then I throw up again. Sorry to keep bringing it up, but it's what happened. At this point, it seems my body is not allowing me to keep any liquids down, which can lead to big problems. So I hook up to an IV. 2 liters later, I feel almost normal again. I truly hate needles, or anything being stuck into my skin period. But I am so thankful to the medics there. And to my family of supporters

who cheered me on and worried when they didn't see me at my goal time and then worried more when I was waaaaaay past my goal time.

I don't exactly know what happened, but I've now learned what not to do when running a 10-mile race.

The New Guys in Town

There's a new band in town, they've got a retro sound
Nothing close to lame, the band is called The Names
5 guys, 2 managers, and some good rock 'n roll
Check them out in my article here
And see their show next Sunday @ The Federal House

Sewage in Spa Creek!

Warning! Beware to all who dare to swim in these waters!

A sewage line has broken, and the entire creek is contaminated - and may have been for the last month. Swimming in the area may lead to severe sickness, growing of new appendages, or worst of all - Chesapeake Bay disease

                   ooooooooops..... if anything happens to me, this might be an explanation - but how could I pass when the water is the perfect temperature and the jellyfish have yet to come?

4th of July

The 4th of July is my all-time-favorite holiday. Hot weather, bbq's, parades, red-white-blue, sparklers, watermelon, celebrating our country - what's not to like? But beyond this is an event I dream of all year long: the Market Street Block Party.

Since I was 7 years old, I have loved the holiday for this very reason. I don't know what it was exactly - the party has a simple premise: bring together neighbors to celebrate together in the street. But I always remembered it as the day when all the kids in the neighborhood could run around in the street with no cars, free to throw water balloons and raw eggs at each other with the only consequence being another thrown back in your own face. I always ended up looking like I'd been through a food war by the evening's end.

This year was the 33rd year, so it's become a long-standing tradition. The agenda includes bike decorating in the morning; parade in the afternoon; reading of parts of the Declaration of Independence; cook-out with hotdogs, hamburgers, and a plethora of red-white-and-blue colored foods; and finally the GAMES! - water balloon toss, egg toss, watermelon eating contest, and whatever else people think of, usually involving messy foods and liquids.

This year yours truly, along with Lizzie and Amanda, took on the task of organizing the party. This meant getting the permit, making the posters, and organizing the entire neighborhood so that a) we didn't have to buy all the food and supplies ourselves and b) we wouldn't be the only ones there, forced to get rid of 200+ hamburgers and hotdogs ourselves. Which probably wouldn't have ended well.

So we invited some people - lots of people - delivering letters seeking volunteers to help and then flyers to probably more than 300 houses in the neighborhood. We ended up with over 100 people this year, which we considered quite a success. Without many kids around, the parade was small - and followed by an impatient white pick-up truck that was not happy to be delayed by what must have looked like a discombobulated stroll through the street blasting Sg Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Regardless, everything went according to plan. And I got second in the watermelon eating contest for 18 and up. 

When everyone had gone home, Lizzie and I took a well-earned dip in the creek before the fireworks started. I won't say organizing the block party was easy - the ache in my feet the next morning was like none I've ever felt before - but it was well worth the effort.

Oliver's on Maryland Avenue

It's the cutest little shop

right on Maryland Avenue

full of gorgeous, unique clothes

all sorts of things - tops shoes dresses hats bags

and the best part - sooo affordable

because it's all used, but very gently so

I'd say it's my new favorite place to shop for myself downtown

Secret Supper of Annapolis

Secret Supper: sharing a passion for good food and good conversation. A sort of sociological experiment, bringing a group of strangers together for a meal in an unfamiliar place, whether it is a private home, an alley way, an open field. The idea is to create a unique alternative to eating out in a restaurant, where you are isolated from meeting others and chefs are restricted to making only what's on the menu.

For most of these secret meals, the master mind(s) of the evening remains a mystery. In this case, so do the hosts. There is one name, however, behind this meal - a woman who attendees correspond with by email beforehand. Her name is Edith Foodie and she's got an agenda to bring the community together through Annapolis' Secret Supper Club.

Our town's Secret Suppers kicked off in January - or at least as far as I know - with a Russian-themed meal. Maybe they've been going on here for years and I've only just heard of them. Regardless, I participated in one on Saturday night, a Greek Equinox Dinner. I was a server, which comes with the benefit of nibbling on all the food in the kitchen before... er... I mean after it goes out. The cook, Judy, created a fantastic meal, leaving fourteen diners and seven behind-the-scenes helpers fully satisfied.

Cocktail hour started with the pink tangy Acropolis, a drink of grenadine, Italian soda, fresh lemon juice and the Greek liquor Ouzo. Hor d'oeuvres included grape-leaf dolmas, olives, hummus and tyropita. Then the guests were seated and served salad, bread, wine. The main course followed: a chicken version of spanakopita aka chicken stuffed with spinach and feta cheese in an incredible sauce over rice. Guests' seats were switched after the main dish so that everyone would have a chance to talk to each other, and then came dessert: yogurt with strawberries and baklava. The perfect ending to an incredible culinary experience. Did I mention there was wine?

Conversation flowed, more than flowed - everyone was so engaged in whatever they were talking about, it was hard to believe they'd only just met earlier that night. And also difficult to interrupt and announce the toast: to the Foodie Society, of course.

On the way out four hours after arriving, people were satisfied by food and drink, but still had unanswered questions.

Really, do you live here? a woman asked one last time.

We don't know who lives here... but they're probably coming home soon! was our response.

And with that, the guests were gone, the feast finished - but the mystery continues.


To get on the guest list of Annapolis' Secret Supper, send an email to Edith at secretsuppers29@gmail.com. If you're interested in learning more about Secret Suppers, check out these links
a traveling supper  Outstanding in the Field
Washington Post article Dinner is Served, but We Can't Tell You Where
CNN article Underground Supper Clubs a Delicious Discovery

Bed-a-Thon on Maryland Avenue

Every year, The Annapolis Bookstore runs a 24-hour Bed-a-Thon in the window of their cozy shop.

Beat the recession blues, read a good book in bed

they write on a chalkboard outside, urging people on the street to wander in and find a book of their own to take home. It's hard to deny the bliss of sitting in your bed, nestled under the covers, engrossed in whatever book you're reading at the moment. I read books very slowly - largely due to the little time I give myself to read - and often have trouble really getting into a story. But when I do get lost in the story, there's nothing else I want to do but finish it. And when it's done, all I want is for it to continue.

Reading in a window on Maryland Avenue from 2-3pm has its share of distractions. Friends coming in, dropping their dogs off in your lap for you to keep an eye on as they browse the Valentine's Day card selections and then collecting the pups on their way out (I of course welcome the canine company anytime); passer-bys pointing and waving at the novelty of a person lying in a bed in a window that's not in Amsterdam; and the general chatter that takes place in any place of business, but is especially interesting in this bookstore, as it serves as a sort of center of community life in Annapolis that comes so naturally to the welcoming, enthusiastic owners.

I finished 8 pages in Middlesex during my hour in the window. Nik read about 6 in one of Clancy's novels. Despite being unable to immerse myself in my book, I enjoyed the experience - distractions and all. Still, it might be a good idea to sign up for the 4am shift next year - although I'd probably read even less zzzzzzzzzzzz 

Oh, Christmas Tree

The Annapolis City Dock Christmas tree, in all it's splendor, all but a stripe of unlit lights circling the top.  This year the city chose to decorate the tree with musical instruments and ribbons; saxaphones and trumpets are scattered amidst it's branches, adorned with small red bows and scrolls of notes.  A few years ago I remember the theme was gardening tools, the tree littered with rakes and shovels.  That was quite a tree.  It's always a surprise what will show up on the City Dock tree - I wonder who's job it is to decide this?  I can imagine a man behind his desk in City Hall call out to his secretary "What should the theme of the tree be this year?" and she yells back "hmmmm... my daughter just started violin lessons - let's make it music!"  And so it is.  This year the tree is certainly a sight to see, whether or not it's fully lit.

Only in Annapolis

There are quite a few Irish pubs in downtown Annapolis, each one claiming to be 'authentic,' hanging their white, orange and green flags on their walls and serving pints of thick Guiness to prove it.  My parents have always joked they're going to open another one.  I doubt they ever will, but if they did, I always wondered what it's chances would be, especially up against Galway Bay on Maryland Avenue.  I would say of all downtown's Irish-themed places, Galway is the best: the most authentic, serving the most delicious food in a cozy, yet lively atmosphere. 

Last night I sat perched on a stool at Galway Bay's bar for a couple hours, nursing two glasses of house Cabernet, snacking on corned beef poppers from my friend's plate.  It was a typical quiet November mid-week night, and the bar was half-full until around 9pm.  All of a sudden, a surge of midshipmen arrived, as boisterous as forty 22-year olds are when they've just received their assignments for the next 4 years of their lives.  But they didn't act like the stereotypical crazy college seniors on a wild night out.  They were excited, but polite, and listened with respect as the leader (commander? captain?) gave a toast to their futures.  We spoke with a few of the mids, who shared their assigned positions with us.  Each was so enthusiastic, not only to have a guaranteed job for the next four years, but to be helping our country in a time of need.  Talking to them gave me a sense of pride... I'm not really sure why- I hadn't done anything.  I guess I was just proud of these people, all strangers to me, on the brink of their futures, getting ready to go out into the world.  It's similar to the position I'm in myself.  I only hope we will all find our ways and accomplish great things, wherever our paths may lead us.

Zumba Zumba

What could be better than starting the weekend bright and early with a Saturday morning zumba dance class? For me, the thought is a bit intimidating given my lack of co-ordination and rhythm (hence my frequent running). Maybe I'm being harsh on myself, but if you know me, you probably understand the extent to which I've never been good at dancing, no matter what type. Still, I am always up for experiencing new things, so I decided to test myself with the zumba challenge.

On Pointe dance studio, in the heart of downtown Annapolis on the corner of Maryland Avenue, opened its doors last March. It's run by a young, lively woman, who seems to be one of those people always laughing or smiling about something. She makes anyone who walks through the door of her cozy studio feel truly welcome.

My friend Jennie and I arrived early for the 9:30am class, and took our places in front of the wall-sized mirrors. As more dancers lined up, we were somehow scooted to the first row, not by choice, I can assure you. And being next to Jennie, who's practically a professional, didn't make me look any better.

The music started, immediately igniting the room with a contagious energy. The steps were fast, and I struggled to follow the teacher's lead. Feet, hips, arms in sychronized motion. I just didn't have it. Zumba is described as a dance "set to Latin rhythms" and incorporates the salsa and chacha. There's a lot of hip swaying and intricate foot tapping, nothing like the three years of plies and pirouettes I did so long ago in ballet class (I can still recall the day I quit ballet because I was too hot to put on the tights). As soon as I got the hang of a certain zumba step, we'd be moving on to the next, and so it went for an hour.

Despite my ungainly lumbering, which likely threw off the people behind me, I actually enjoyed myself. And was really sweating by the end. Maybe next time I'll actually be able to follow the steps. Or at least do a better job of making it look like I know what I'm doing.

Brio!

The restaurant chain Brio recently opened here in Annapolis, and I guess the hype over it hasn't died down yet.  Or perhaps the long list of happy hour 'Tuscan Tasters' for $2.95 has something to do with it.  Last night I met two of my favorite people there, and arrived to find every seat in the bar and patio taken.  While weaving between tables in hopes something would open up, a man in a smart red sweater approached us.

"What the hell is going on here?" he joked of our hunt before rushing off to find us somewhere to sit.  It turns out he - I'm pretty sure his name is Dave - works there and for some reason, sympathized with our wait.  Next thing you know, we were perched on three enormous leather armchairs in Brio's lobby area with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and appetizers galore.  It was a wonderful evening, complete with savory Italian food (the spicy shrimp and eggplant was amaaaaazing - who would have thought?) and true VIP treatment.  Thank you Dave in the red sweater!

Home Again

Being back in the US after over a year abroad has brought forth a wide range of emotions for me.  For the last 12 months, I've essentially been living in a dorm, London style.  The dorm, i.e. tall, narrow row house in a posh neighborhood a few blocks from Abbey Road, was packed with American interns, two in every room, basement to 4th floor.  Ants invaded, our heating broke, the boiler shrieked, the stove fell apart (on Thanksgiving, of course) - I'll admit the situation had its ups and downs for sure.  But overall, I had a great time, met some amazing people, and saw things I'd never otherwise know even existed.

Which brings me to the present moment: living at home with my parents.  The contrasts are stark.  I get my own bathroom.  My own bedroom.  My own bed that is not the size of a 10-year old's.  And the joy of re-discovering all those things I forgot I'd left behind.  I also don't fall asleep laughing over a ridiculous story my roommate just told.  Or come home to 15 people hanging out on the back patio.  Or stroll a block down the road to The Prince Alfred pub for a pint on Tuesday Quiz Night. 

Being back reminds me that what I once took for granted is not necessarily the norm outside of the US.  Those enormous tubs of butter-like spreads now seem big enough for a city, not a family.  A Sunday night at the grocery store is possible.  And when I cross the street these days, I have to conciously think to myself "look left!" so as not to get run over.  It will take me some time to get a handle on that one...

Being home is wonderful- reuniting with friends and family, going to my old favorite places.  And the foods I craved - Chick-fil-A, P.F.Changs, soft shell crabs- are no longer an ocean away.  So now I just have to figure out what's next.  More easily said than done.