Spa Dentistry

Syracuse, New York – My recent trip to the dentist was absolutely exhilarating. Honestly!
I made my appointment with Dr. Mohr three weeks ago. He was booked solid. That’s a good sign.
Another good sign came in the mail: a folder filled with glossy brochures, a dentist bio, directions to his office and, my favorite, his business card that featured Arts & Crafts typography. It appeared I inadvertently had found a dentist who shared my love of this architecture/design movement started in the 1800s.
My trip to his office on a soggy day this week confirmed my suspicions. Dr. Mohr works in a gray and green, Adirondack-style building in Manlius, a charming village a few miles east of Syracuse. Walking inside, I couldn’t believe I was at the dentist. The interior was gorgeous. The well-appointed waiting room was filled with stained glass lamps, a fireplace with a stone surround that stretched to the ceiling, and posh Stickley furniture, including a wooden coffee table with ceramic tile inlay that Mohr told me was custom-made. There were several houseplants and on one wall, a lovely mural of a wooded landscape.
And the accoutrements! A spacious coat rack; books and magazines about historic architecture and design; a tea and coffee bar, with Green Mountain coffee from Vermont (my favorite), cereal bars, packages of string cheese and juice.
It was ten minutes before the dentist could see me. I wish I could have waited longer.
But the rest of his office proved to be equally luxurious. No detail had been overlooked.
As the dental assistant (wearing forest green scrubs) scraped plaque off my teeth, and the news played on the television screen attached to my reclined chair, I admired the windows with their asymmetrical, wooden panes and the textured, earthy walls. “Is that wallpaper?” I asked (it was). It looked as if a decorator had stamped leaves into a thick layer of tan paint.
The lighting was soothing – and I promise they hadn’t given me any drugs. Natural light streamed in through the windows, and two contemporary light fixtures hung overhead.
Getting x-rays was even pleasant. They use a digital system, which means I was able to relax in my chair while looking at images of my teeth and jaw on the screen. (When I told my roommate, Suzanne, about my experience, she described it as spa-style dentistry. Brilliant.)
Of course, I hammered Dr. Mohr with questions and praised his decorating tastes. Yes, he was an Arts & Crafts enthusiast, and when he opened his own practice in 2003, he was determined to create his dream office. He said it was nicer than his own home.
I’m a huge fan of the Arts & Crafts style because it’s natural and cozy and simple. I think those qualities lend themselves very well to a dental office, a place where one often feels a bit squeamish.
Why can’t every office be this fabulous? Sure, the fresh coffee and gift bag I was given on my way out (with lip balm and mint lotion; it was customer-appreciation day) are extravagant, but creating a warm, inviting ambiance isn’t that tough. Good lighting, simple wood furniture, plants – that’s all it takes.
Fortunately, I’ll get another dose of spa dentistry next month. No cavities, but I do have a gap between two of my back teeth (food trap!). Dr. Mohr will fill that in during my next appointment. I can’t wait! (JM)

Less Is More

East Aurora, New York – I’m in heaven.
Last night, my sister (visiting from Arizona) and I embarked on a weekend road trip. First stop: East Aurora, a quaint village 20 miles south of Buffalo. I’ve been eager to explore this area because it was an Arts & Crafts (A&C) hub in the late 1800s and early 1900s. There was an artists' colony here called the Roycroft Campus, started by Elbert Hubbard.
A&C is a design movement I’m infatuated with right now. It started in England in the mid-1800s (ever heard of William Morris?) and spread to America a few decades later. It was all about craftsmanship, beautiful materials, nature… moderation, simply your life, less is more.

Textile and wallpaper patterns had organic motifs. Furnishings were austere, with simple lines and little ornamentation; wood, stained glass and copper were common materials. The same sensibility was applied to structures. Here in America, A&C gave rise to the bungalow, cozy little houses with low-pitched roofs and wide, overhanging eaves. These modest homes were meant to work in harmony with nature.

American A&C architects/designers include Gustav Stickely (New York), Greene & Greene (Pasadena, Calif.) and the aforementioned Hubbard. Frank Lloyd Wright is connected with the A&C movement, although he certainly developed his own design language.
So, my sister and I are staying in the Roycroft Inn, built in 1905 and tediously restored in 1995. The rooms are gorgeous! We did a little dance when we entered our giant, cozy room.

There’s wood paneling on the walls and ceiling, with the exception of a few walls covered with brick-colored wallpaper with a muted floral motif (it looks very William Morris). The furniture is made of solid wood, mostly oak. The bathroom is enormous; there are two sinks, a jacuzzi tub and thick robes. The windows have wood shutters (and they are dust free!). The room feels so warm and soothing, yet spacious and immaculate.

No detail has been overlooked here. Our key even has style: it’s attached to a leather keychain stamped with our room number, 211.
More later. It’s check-out time!
(JM)

Watching the Grass, I Mean Mold, Grow

Syracuse, New York – Friends and I checked out the new exhibit at The Warehouse Gallery this evening, the fourth and final in a series about the environment.
This one is a winner!
The multimedia show, “Networked Nature,” features seven installations that explore the meaning of nature in our hyper-connected, techno world. The exhibit is sparse, but thought provoking and distinct, particularly given the humdrum artwork that abounds in this city.
In one piece featuring three LCD screens mounted to a wall, we watch mold growing in slow motion. In a dark side room, we are hypnotized by a trio of beeping, clicking robots with flashing lights. In another piece, we hear sounds from a secretly recorded conversation between President George W. Bush and Prime Minister Tony Blair; the sounds play through speakers embedded in vines that climb a column in the gallery.
My favorite was “Perfect View,” by C5, an art collective based in San Jose, Calif. This installation features three pieces. Each piece includes a panoramic photograph of a gorgeous location, along with a satellite image of the location and a computer rendering of its typography. It’s very National Geographic.
The story behind the installation really makes it interesting. The artists put a call out to GPS users, known as geo-cachers, asking for the latitude and longitudes of “sublime locations.” One of the C5 members grabbed a camera, hopped on a motorcycle and traveled 13,000 miles, through 33 states, to find and photograph the recommended spots.
In the local show, we see tranquil images from Oregon, Mississippi and The Adirondacks.
If you decide to see “Networked Nature,” be sure to read the placards that accompany each piece. They are essential to understanding, and being wowed by, this show.
Many might not know that The Warehouse Gallery opened less than a year ago. I haven’t loved every exhibit – those creepy pink squirrels from the “Faux Naturel” show still haunt me and the photographs of the guy in the brown bear costume in “Embracing Winter” were silly – but Astria Suparak, the gallery director, deserves hearty applause for presenting work that is stimulating and unusual. (JM)

Steam and Spice

Montclair, New Jersey -- This was no ordinary feast.
On Sunday afternoon, my friends Kristina and Brandon threw a crawfish boil at their gorgeous Colonial home in Montclair. Brandon hails from Louisiana, where these sorts of parties are a treasured tradition.
My dear friends lugged home 60 pounds of live crawfish (more than $300 worth!) from the Chelsea fish market in Manhattan.
The cooking process went like this: Brandon fired up a burner in their detached garage and filled a giant steel pot with water, spices, potatoes, lemons and cobs of corn. The crawfish wiggled around in a large cardboard box, awaiting their doom.
Outside, it was cold and soggy. A half-dozen children and adults huddled around the steamy pot in the garage.
Once the water was boiling, Brandon, with the help of two guys, carefully poured the dark red crustaceans into the pot. There was no whimpering, no leaping out of the cauldron. The crawfish went silently to their death.
(Side note: I didn’t know how I would react to this. While I eat fish, I don’t eat other meat and I’m not a fan of boiling things alive. But this was a cultural experience I didn’t want to miss.)
After 15 minutes of boiling, Brandon turned down the burner and let the critters soak for awhile. Next, they were put into a cooler, carried inside and dumped onto the kitchen counter covered with pages from The New York Times. After a dusting with seasoning salt, the party guests dug in with gusto, using only their hands.
Crawfish aren’t meaty critters. You’ll find edible bits in the tail and in the claws, but you have to maneuver around a not-so-appetizing anatomy. Keep in mind: these guys hang around in swamps and bear the nickname “mudbug.” Yum!
The native Southerners at the party had no problem extracting the flesh. But I’m not so skilled at ripping through exoskeletons and sucking meat out of claws. It’s a lot of work with little payoff. I ate the crawfish, but I found that stuffing my face with Cajun-spiked corn and potatoes was more gratifying. My friend Erin agreed (She's the blonde chomping on a crawfish).
After we call cleaned up – this is a messy affair, after all – we were served the best homemade carrot cake I’ve ever had.
And as it turns out, two crawfish miraculously escaped death, thanks to two little girls who adopted them as pets.
The final verdict: What an experience! I won’t be boiling my own live crawfish anytime soon, if ever, but it was great feeling the spirit of the bayou on a cold, rainy Sunday afternoon in Jersey. Thanks Kris and Brandon! (JM)