ANNVILLE, LITITZ, AND HERSHEY, PENNSYLVANIA

Main Street in "the coolest small town in America."

We just can't seem to help ourselves. When we want to go somewhere charming and fun, we head for Lititz, Lancaster County, recently named "the coolest small town in America" by Budget Travel. It's pretty, bustling with activity, and has nice shops and eateries in the downtown section.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Susanne is interested in a "re-do" of our house, which has not changed much (except a little for the better, I think) in the last few years. She has already ordered a long dining room table made from reclaimed barn wood. (You may remember our trip to Intercourse to order it.)

So last Saturday, she wanted to visit some shops in Lititz to look for cupboards or book shelves for the living room.

On our way through the Annville area, we came across a furniture store that we have been visiting since we were first married. Horning's has always had nice furniture at reasonable prices. We bought our first couch here. We bought the hutch that stores our collection of Breininger pottery, and at least one other thing I recall, a ladder-back chair that little Matthew broke when he pushed it off a trunk where it was placed for a second -- a nano-second, actually -- while Susanne vacuumed in our apartment living room. It still bears the marks of repair, and I still think I should have spanked the little bugger.

The pretty blue chair.

So, we turned into Horning's parking lot (did you hear the one about the magician who drove down the street and turned into an alley? -- think about it)) and entered the store. There we came across a sales associate who sits near me in the Market Square Church choir!  John was a designer of liturgical goods after being a public school art teacher. He is excellent at design of all types, including interior design. I was hoping we might encounter him.

John B. welcomed us and answered Susanne's questions about the company that had made the aforementioned hutch. Alas, it was no longer in business and could not supply matching bookshelves. He showed us others, and a lovely little chair caught our collective eye. It was in one of the colors we are anticipating in our new color scheme, and it fit Susanne well. (Of course, it did not fit me. It was like a doll chair for this big dood.) She anticipated many evenings of falling asleep in that chair before tumbling into bed for the night.

We thanked John and promised to see him soon. Actually, we hope to have him come up and look at our living room and dining room (if you have been here, you know it's a large space divided by a "knee" wall) and make some recommendations for color and furniture placement.

Back on the road, we discovered that it was lunch time and stopped at the Quentin Haus, a small

The pretty little burger.

restaurant on Rt. 72, on a section that runs past Cornwall and Quentin on its way from Lebanon to Lancaster. Susanne had quesadilla and some sort of chowder while I had a simple little burger, not the best I have ever had. It was a pleasant enough stop, but we were soon back in the car and charging through the forest along Rt. 322 toward Lititz.

First stop was the Shaker Shoppe, which you have encountered before on this blog. It's located on a ridge just south of town. We were greeted warmly by Tom Rossman, shop owner, who was just removing a loaf of bread from his bread machine. The Shaker Shoppe produces high quality stained and painted furniture, faithfully recreated from original Shaker patterns or adapted for modern use. And they have wonderful sales! One was underway last weekend, and we were there to look at their bookshelves and cupboards. They had a stained bookshelf and a painted one. Susanne wants a pair, so the timing was just not right.

Bread from Tom's bread maker

We had a nice time talking to Tom and his wife, looking around the store, and dreaming of throwing out everything we own and replacing it for a complete Shaker look. It was soon time to head into town, but there will no doubt be many future visits to this world-class workshop.

Our favorite antiques shop on Main Street in Lititz is called The Moravian House, operated by a pleasant and knowledgeable couple, Mark and Linda Johnson. They have a mixture of true antiques and other home accessories of more recent vintage -- like yesterday. All of the goods are nicely presented in their shop, and they're very helpful.

Susanne honed in on a bluish beat up wooden cupboard that we learned had been found in a cabin in the Catksills. It had a nice patina of age on the exterior, and the interior of the doors showed a nice original intact paint. Susanne and Mark did some serious talking and measuring.

"What is the width?" Susanne asks of Mark.

Each time we visit The Moravian House, I salivate over a great big wonderful step-back hutch, big enough to hold a lot more of our Breininger pottery collection. I looked at paint color samples and dream of having it someday in our house. The problem is that I will need to play the horses -- and win!

Finished window-shopping, we took a quick drive down Main Street, past the beautiful Moravian Church and Linden Hall, the oldest girls school in America, enjoying individual house decorations and the vintage star decorations on the street lamps.

We passed Wilbur Chocolate Company's retail outlet on our way out of town but did not give in to temptation, as you can see in this little video.

Soon we were on our way up Pa. 501, west on US 322, and then onto Pa. 39 towards Linglestown. We stopped at the Giant supermarket to purchase some artisan bread to take to Market Square Church the next day for Bistro, a fundraiser our congregation organizes each year to help folks who are down on their luck. Church members and others prepare somewhat "exotic" soups, artisan breads, and desserts. Musicians provide a nice atmosphere, and the whole thing is a jolly affair. This effort has raised more than $100,000 since its inception.

Bread bought, Susanne and I headed home to put up our feet and exhale. But not before attending our own annual outdoor Christmas tree lighting. It was spectacular!

And now some additional pictures for those of you who are foolish enough, er, I mean care enough to read further!

Welcome to Quentin Haus.

Like all smart phone users, Susanne rudely ignores her lunch partner.

The charming entrance to the Shaker Shoppe in Lititz.

Now I call this fresh merchandise!

Furniture and pottery: what's not to like?

There's one of the bookcases on the left wall.

This is the 1796 John Phillips House on East Main Street.

These fanciful paper trees adorned the window sill.

The Moravian House glittered with holiday decorations for sale.

I like any representation of a house (or other structure), 
in no matter what medium.

Here's the big hutch I need to display more pottery.

A  hummingbird for the tree.

 Pilger Haus condos across the street from the shop
 beckon, "Buy one, buy one, you'd be home already!"
 

A simple but elegant 18th century doorway on Main Street.

Young people stroll near Linden Hall under the starlight.

When we were shopping for bread in the Giant at Hershey,
I came across this odd little cake.

I think it was hollow in the middle.
I must examine one more closely. Mmmm.

HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

Today I was a 'greeter' at a model home in one of the developments of a prominent central Pennsylvania builder.

"What does a greeter do?" you ask.

Well, most of the time it is quite simple. When the development sales manager is not able to be present, he or she hires a greeter from a temp service. The greeter comes and opens the house so that potential buyers can look it over. As a greeter, I pass out literature, collect names, and just use my charm and good looks to make the visit a pleasant one.

Today I enjoyed greeting in a $300,000 single-family home in suburban Harrisburg. I warmed up the Box and zipped over there (about 10 minutes) in time to get settled before the crowd started to gather out front, demanding admission.

I always check out the powder room in case a guest asks to use it. Then I walk through the house, straightening pictures, smoothing out the bed covers, and checking that there are no spiders in the bathtubs.

Sometimes, the instructions left for me include blowing up helium balloons and affixing them to various posts and signs at the model and at the entrance to the development. There is nothing I hate more than balloons, so I was always horrified when doing it. Fortunately for me, I have developed a latex allergy (heh heh) and can no longer do that job.

My day started at 11:00 a.m. By 11:10, I sat waiting for the first visitor. At 6:00 p.m., I was still waiting.

"What," you are now asking, "did you do all day!?"

Well, believe it or not, I was able to fill the time. Here are some of the things I did:

I arrived around 10:50 a.m. and peeked in to see that there were no monsters in there!

I knocked to scare them off. You know, like turning on the lights to get rid of cock roaches.

I checked out the house to make sure all was ready. Here are the living room and kitchen.

Upstairs, I checked out the bathroom for spiders.

Then I looked into the master bedroom. I saw the Box waiting patiently for me outside.

I built a fire in the fireplace. Well, ok, I flipped a switch. The result was the same!

The solarium is quite pleasant, but there is no remote for the TV. 
Boo hoo.

I made sure the chairs in the dining room were properly arranged.

Then I listened to public radio on my snazzy new transistor radio. I have not had one -- or seen one -- since I was a kid. I got it for ten bucks on Amazon.com. I think it goes nicely with the Box.

 
I made cookies for the potential buyers. The Keurig on the counter stood at the ready.

 I read at the dining room table.

 From the solarium windows, I watched the cars go by.

I had tea in the little princess room.

I took a bath.

I napped on the divan in the master bedroom.

I read TIME magazine by the fire.

Before I knew it, it was time to turn out some of the lights, lock the door, and head home for dinner, content in finally mastering the timer on my camera. Say, do you see anything creepy in this picture? I thought I saw something moving upstairs as I floored the Box and got the heck out of there!

LANCASTER COUNTY, HARRISBURG, AND CAMP HILL, PENNSYLVANIA

On Tuesday, November 12, the Box and I took a trip to Manheim and West Earl in Lancaster, about 50 miles south of Harrisburg. Naturally, the scenic beauty factor was high along route 283, where open fields lie on both sides of the highway, sprinkled with scattered farm buildings and old houses.

My first stop was at Root's Market near Manheim. My mission: buy at least one cherry donut. My friend and former PennDOT crony Bob had been in the hospital and rehab for about three weeks, and, of course, under extreme conditions your mind begins to wander and seek out pleasant thoughts. For Bob, the thought was of a cherry donut upon which he had feasted (if you can all 30 seconds 'feasting') on a previous trip to Root's.

When visiting him, I kept hearing references to this legendary donut. Sometimes, Bob said, he even dreamed about it. I even got a call from him one Monday night to remind me that Root's was open only on Tuesdays.

In the summer, this area is crammed with shoppers and outdoor vendors.

I parked as close as I could to the door of the main building and roared in, pushing aside the old ladies and gents clogging the aisles, and soon arrived before the promised land of cherry donuts. The gods were with me. There was one -- but only one -- cherry donut in the case. I claimed it instantly.

The more I thought of it, being the sole cherry donut at Root's made this one pretty darned special. How special would the Hope Diamond be if you could buy a bagful?

I also purchased a berry-filled sugar-covered donut for our church secretary, who must remain nameless, because she is in a donut-addict recovery half-way house. I was going to be seeing her later in the day.

Next stop was up the aisle, where I contracted for the next Moravian Sugar Cake to come out of the oven. I had to keep myself busy for about half an hour. I watched hot sticky buns being harvested and took pictures of donuts and other stuff as I walked the aisles of the market.

Sugar cake in hand, I was soon back on the road, heading back down 283 to route 30 and then route 23 east toward Bareville, Leola, and West Earl Township.

The first thing I noticed as I turned onto route 23 was the Lancaster Country Club on the right, with its three golf courses, beautiful greens, and stately trees. On the opposite side of the road was an eclectic collection of older homes, of varying styles, each attractive, if not pristine. On the way back I crawled along the berm and took pictures of several of them.

Following route 23 for several miles, I came to Achenbach's Pastries, where I had been on October 26, my birthday, as you may recall from a previous post. I had spoken by phone with the baker about the special buns used by the Lititz Moravian Congregation during their centuries-old Love Feasts. Our church had decided to replicate this unique service in December (more on that in a later post), and I was coming to pick up a dozen buns for a surprise sampling by the planning committee at its meeting that evening.

Pulling up to the store, I saw what surely must be the last roses of summer. These faded beauties hung on long enough to rival the colorful Indian corn used to decorate the posts behind them.

I paid for the buns (not cheap!) and treated myself to one of the long johns for which the bakery is rightly famous.

I was surprised to see all the cinnamon and sugar on top. I thought they'd be more plain.

Below is the love feast bun and the coffee that was served to me in Home Moravian Church, located in Old Salem, North Carolina. I am holding the bun and the cup as the love feast begins. My sister-in-law Robin and her partner Ellen had taken me to this church one Sunday because they knew I would be interested in experiencing a love feast.

After scarfing down that little long john, I was in need of coffee, so stopped (ironically) at Dunkin' Donuts, where I spied this beautiful little MG in the lot.

Approaching Harrisburg again, I noticed this road sign and wondered it if was an invitation to become a more liberal-thinking region.

Later that evening, when the committee met at 5:00 p.m., I whipped out the box of buns and passed them around to great acclaim. The committee loved them! And then rejected them in favor of something that comes in a cellophane wrapper from Philadelphia. Of course, they did not reject them until they had had a second tasting. I licked my wounds by enjoying the leftovers at home.

A second committee met at 6:00 p.m., and around 8:00 p.m. I was pulling up to Bob's rehab center, where he was spending his next-to-last night. Of course, I encountered a locked front door and no receptionist in sight. Instead, a phone hanging on the wall instructed me to call ext. 204, 206, 209, 213, 215, 220 in that order until someone answered. I got lucky. On the second call someone named Phyllis said she'd be right out.

Bob's room was darkened as I entered, and I feared he was asleep. Instead, he was watching an old film on a movie channel. His eyes locked on the white paper bag that is the universal symbol for pastry. As he salivated like Pavlov's dogs, I brought forth the cherry donut and presented it to him. Heaven only knows how I managed to retract my fingers fast enough to keep them. I saw a flash of red cherry filling as the powdered sugar exploded into a cloud.