Hangover

I woke up the morning after Christmas with a hangover. Ugh! I hadn't had one of those in a long time. Unlike past hangovers, this one was caused by too much food on Christmas Day. I'll need to work on the Santa-like hangover in the belt region caused by all the holiday fare. Think smaller portions, Bill.

I woke up early on Christmas morning; the alarm was set for 5am but I was awake before four o-clock. I went to the 6:45 meeting, and we had a smaller group than usual, although we did have a couple of visitors from Brooklyn. We had a nice discussion inspired by A Christmas Carol about our Christmases past and present (our adventures before and after). Since we only had about fifteen people, we went around the group so that everyone shared, which encouraged someone fairly new to talk. After the meeting I dropped a buttermilk pound cake with coconut & fresh cranberries off at Sheldon's so he could take that to the Christmas celebration at his brother's in North Carolina.

I went to a Christmas brunch at Robert's, and took a loaf of cranberry-orange bread. Here is where the trouble started. Robert & Jim had prepared Eggs Benedict, potatoes, bacon & sausage, cheese grits, fruit salad, asparagus, apple-currant cake, and a gingerbread trifle. I'd like to say that I took small portions and didn't go back for seconds, because that was my plan, but my taste buds conspired against me. There was a nice group of people assembled for the holiday gathering, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Later, I went to Sherry's for Christmas dinner with her family. This was another food extravanganza, and I took my mother's famous corn casserole. Sherry's husband's family was there in full force, and it was an ecumenical event since they are Jewish. I enjoyed hearing them talk about the Torah as the lights on the Christmas tree twinkled and gifts were exchanged. Everyone was proud of a toddler who had learned how to say & spell "Happy Hanukkah." I was slightly better with portion control at Sherry's, but it was diminished capacity rather than willpower that kept me away from extra portions.

Since Christmas, I've stayed home to recharge my batteries with solitude and baking. Today I'm going to venture out to the movies with John to see Milk. Afterward, we'll exchange gifts and enjoy dinner out. I hope your holidays have been filled with merriment and quiet time as well.

I'm posting a few photos below of Monument Avenue's Christmas Caddy. Each year this car is decorated inside and out with lights, toys, and ornaments at the corner of Monument and Strawberry Street.

Betty Helps Filthy Parents

The gestation period for this infant must have been three days. These parents seem completely unprepared for their new family member. Maybe they simply woke up one morning and found a newborn in bed with them.

While Daddy roots around in the basement for a forgotten baby carriage, Betty White is enlisted to sanitize the bathroom. She certainly has her work cut out; look at that sink! Perhaps Mommy forgot to wipe down the basin after her appointment with Lady Clairol.

Betty, though, has made a surreptitious call to Social Services, and stalls for time as she cleans the tile. The cannister of Fantastik is employed as a changeling, and the infant is whisked off to a home where cleanliness reigns, much like my own mother's home.

I found this 1960's commercial clip on a site with similar snippets. If you're interested in vintage marketing, I also highly recommend a trip to Lidian's blog; she unearths some of the most interesting moments in American print ads.

First Amendment

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

There. I said it.

A Lunchtime Stroll

I love my job, but sometimes I need to step out of the office to recharge my batteries. Fortunately, I have some nice options for varied scenery just a few steps away from my workplace. Behind the office building is an odd area known as Scott's Addition, named after General Winfield Scott because the land was originally a portion of the 600-acre estate he inherited named Hermitage. Originally planned as a residential section of Richmond, the rerouting of the RF&P Railroad led to its development into a commercial and industrial center, although scattered houses and apartment buildings still dot the streets.

Walking a few blocks across from the front doors of the office building will take you to Monument Avenue, and that's where I headed recently on a brisk, sunny day on a lunch break. Here are a few photographs from my midday meander.

Let's get out of this office building a take a little walk around the neighborhood.

This is a lovely home on an over-sized lot. In fact, everything about this house is on a grand scale. It's a shame I didn't catch someone outside the home so that you could get a sense of scale. The rooms inside would be massive.

This house, built in the English Cottage style, looks like it would be full of interesting nooks and crannies. This house rambles back quite a ways, and has a side entrance.

I've heard that this home was built by the owners of a local stone quarry. Another large home built with a cottage-like front elevation, most of this house is not visible from the street. This is one of my favorite dwellings on this part of Monument Avenue.

Here's another nice home. This street is lined with them. Most of the houses on this stretch of Monument Avenue were built in the 1920's. The economy was booming, maids and gardeners were readily available, and who gave a heck about heating costs?

It's almost time to get back to work, and there's always plenty to do in the office. I'm refreshed after my walk, and I'm glad you came along.

Cold Weather = Baking

Baby, it's cold outside. Last night when I scampered to the grocery store for Half & Half (must have that for my coffee) it was snowing. Today I stayed inside at home, relaxing, and catching up on laundry. Reading about Amy in New Zealand enjoying a hot day at the seaside made me want to avoid going outside on a cold, windy day like today.

I think I just had a narrow escape from several hundred unwelcome roommates. This may sound familiar to any of you who were reading this blog last year. Several weeks ago, before the first hard frost hit, I moved my ficus tree back indoors. It's been dropping leaves, its usual behavior when I move it back inside, so I started picking off the leaves that were turning yellow. There, hidden in the foliage, cleverly disguised as wood, was another little package. I quickly clipped it loose and threw it outside. I don't want to relive last year's horror. Maybe they're still dormant, and they'll start appearing next spring. Outdoors. Where they belong. I've been putting my little tree out on my deck for years in the summer, and last December was the only time I ran into trouble when I brought it back inside. Danged if they didn't try it again this year.

This weekend I did a little baking. Staying warm & cozy during cold weather makes me think of baking, so I'll share a few recipes. I modified the first one using a recipe I found on the web last year. The cranberries stay bright red, which looks cheery and Yuletidey.

Orange-Cranberry Bread
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
1-½ teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ cup cold butter
1 egg
¾ cup orange juice¹
1 tablespoon grated orange zest¹
1 teaspoon orange extract (optional)
1-½ cups fresh cranberries
½ cup chopped walnuts (optional)
I don't even use the electric mixer to make this, so you really don't need special equipment. Throw the sugar in a large mixing bowl, sift in the flour, baking powder, salt & soda. Cut in the cold butter; I simply used a knife to do this. Just keep cutting it in until there aren't any large butter pieces.
Add the egg, and mix. It will be dry. Add the cranberries and toss. Add the orange juice and grated orange zest. Add the orange extract if desired. Fold in the nuts if you want them.
Preheat your oven to 325° while you grease & flour a loaf pan. You can also sprinkle additional sugar on top of the batter after you put it in the loaf pan if you want your bread to have a sparkly look. Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until the bread tests done in the center. Your baking time will depend on the type of pan you use, and the idiosyncracies of your oven. Cool loaf before removing from the pan.

You can do this next one by hand or with a modern mixer; your choice. This recipe makes two loaves; one for you, and one for the dog. Or your neighbor.

Date-Cherry Bread
1-½ cups chopped, pitted dates
2-¼ cups boiling water
3 teaspoons baking soda
1 cup chopped nuts
1 cup dried cherries
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup brown sugar
4 tablespoons butter, softened
2 eggs
1 teaspoon salt
4-½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
Put the dates in the hot water. Add the baking soda. Soak for 30 minutes. If you are a bad person, the mixture will foam up when you add the baking soda. Actually, it will foam up anyway. You can pretend that you're a mad scientist. Do not drain the dates! You will use the dates + liquid in the batter.
Cream the butter and sugars. Beat in the eggs thoroughly. Add the salt, vanilla, and the foam-rimed you're-a-bad-person mixture, and mix well. Toss the nuts with the flour, and gently mix the dry ingredients into the date mixture. Evenly divide the batter between your greased & floured loaf pans. Bake @ 300° for 60 minutes, or until each loaf tests done in the center. Cool before removing from pans.

Okay, the last recipe I'll share today is one that I got from Sheldon. He's a good cook. This is a good old-fashioned spoonbread, and it's great comfort food. It's easy to make, and it goes well with pork. Sometimes I nuke the leftovers, add some butter, and have it for lunch.

Sheldon's Spoonbread
1 cup self-rising cornmeal²
2 cups scalded milk (I use the microwave)
2 eggs, beaten
½ cup sugar
Mix and bake in a greased baking dish @ 400° for about 30-35 minutes. That's all there is to it! I use a whisk when I mix the batter to get the lumps out. You can omit or reduce the sugar, but it sure is good sweet.

I'm satisfied if the finished product is edible, and comes out of the pan. But take a look at the incredible cakes that someone in St. Petersburg (Russia, not Florida) has made. Click here for the photos.

¹ If the fresh oranges at the market look sad, you'll be fine with storebought juice, and grated orange peel from the spice aisle. I use Penzey's grated orange peel if a fresh orange isn't handy.
² You can make your own self-rising cornmeal right at home! 1 cup cornmeal, 3 tablespoons flour, 1 tablespoon baking powder, ½ teaspoon salt.

Pilgrimage

On the first weekend in October, I took a road trip to Vermont so that I could be present at my friend Suzanne's wedding. The drive from Virginia to Vermont is long, but I had a fine trip, arriving at Bennington in the early evening on a Friday. It was dark by the time I reached my destination.

The next morning, even though I had only had a few hours of rest, I awakened refreshed before the alarm went off. I hopped out of bed, shaved & showered, and dressed warmly in wool pants and a bright orange sweater. I headed to the other end of Main Street to a 7:00 meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was a chilly but sunny day.

Thirty 30+ people gathered at the Baptist church, and there was one newcomer, so the group shared short personal stories about their experiences with alcohol, and the strength and hope they had found in Alcoholics Anonymous. I mentioned how grateful I was for the meeting, since I was traveling solo from out of town, and would be attending a social event which would include an open bar later in the day.

Afterwards, I was invited to a coffeehouse with several members of the group, and we had a nice time getting to know one another. There was some talk about local real estate, and one woman mentioned that she & her husband had purchsed an old house from an elderly couple, and found out after they moved in that the previous owner was a crossdresser. One room upstairs had been turned into an enormous closet for his finery, and he had enjoyed making grand entrances via the sweeping staircase to the foyer. Just when you think Vermonters are a little prim and boring...

I was able to get confirmed directions to East Dorset over coffee and an almond scone. Before I left Richmond, I learned that Bennington is just a few miles south of the birthplace and final resting spot of Bill Wilson, one of the co-founders of Alcoholics Anonymous, so I was determined to make a pilgrimage to East Dorset.

One of the ladies at the table, Sue, had inherited property south of the town of Bennington, and operates an antique store. After coffee, I moseyed around a church bazaar, and then visited Sue's antique shop. While I was at Sue's, my sponsor called to see how I was getting along in New England, so I told him about the meeting. Then Kristen, Suzanne's maid of honor, called and we made plans for breakfast.

After breakfast with Suzanne & Kristen, the three of us went on a hunt for large glass vases for the roses Suzanne had flown in from South America. Things were looking grim until the frustrated bride suggested trash cans. I found two mock cut-crystal plastic trash cans in the bath section of Walmart, and the problem was solved. No one would have guessed they weren't expensive vases once Kristen arranged the roses in them.

I decided that Sunday would be the day for my journey to East Dorset, so I took off after breakfast. The fall colors were beautiful on the trees, and soon I was standing outside Wilson House, the inn where Bill W. was born in a room behind (appropriately) the bar in 1895. The building still operates as a bed & breakfast, and draws recovering alcoholics from all over the globe. Many old homes in New England have the barn attached to the back of the house so that livestock could be tended easily in cold winter months. The barn at the inn is now a huge meeting room, with comfortable seating areas and a large stone fireplace. Everyone I met was happy to be there and very friendly. I was also given a key to explore the small house nearby where Bill spent many of his childhood years with his grandparents.

On my way back to Bennington, I had one last stop on the outskirts of East Dorset. On the west bank along Route 7 lies an old country cemetery. Here, Bill and his wife Lois are buried. As I pulled into the cemetery, I scanned the hillside and wondered how I would find the graves. On a far slope to the back of the graveyard, I saw a dozen people standing in a circle. I knew that was the spot.

The group was leaving as I approached, so I stood alone at the grave of an ordinary man who made an extraordinary difference in my life and the lives of many others. Because of him, I am alive today. He had faced the same struggles as me, felt the same hopelessness & despair, and been wracked by the bewildering craving for another drink - even though it was killing him. He discovered the key that eluded the medical experts: recovery from this fatal disease is possible when one alcoholic helps another.

The graves of Bill & Lois are honored with simple tokens left by other recovering alcoholics: stones, medallions & chips, meeting schedules from distant places, and personal thank-you notes. The grass was worn bare around these graves.

Not too long ago, I could not have imagined that I would be at this place, feeling the warm sun and the brisk breeze, seeing the splendid autumn colors of the trees, and being overtaken by a deep sense of peace and gratitude.

A Christmas Potty

I'm having new siding put on my home, and the worker's have a porta-potty nearby - I think there's a state law where I live that there must be a portable toilet handy for outdoor workers if indoor facilities are not available.

Anyway, I'm out of the house before dawn, and I get home well after dark, so I haven't been able to see much of the siding project. When I drove home Saturday morning (daylight!) from the yoga lesson and following meeting, I noticed that the portable toilet is all decorated for the holidays. It's a cute little unit on its own merits; fancier than most porta-potties, with its mock-wooden siding and contrasting trim. I especially like the crescent moon design on the door.

The red bow on the door and the red bead garland around the sides and back are festive, but the little red & green glitter tree at the apex of the roofline is the brilliant crowning touch.

I might have to bake these workers some cookies.

Update: I noticed this morning that they've added a gold tinsel garland to outline the edges of the johnny house, and a red dangly thing on the door latch. I hope this remains a work in progress. Maybe they'll have a manger scene by the time Christmas is here. I'll take pictures on a sunny day if there are additional improvements to the holiday theme. I wonder if they have decorated the interior?

An American Tragedy

see more pwn and owned pictures

I hope none of my readers has killed anyone in their zeal to find Christmas gifts this year. Can you believe that story about the Walmart greeter getting trampled to death? I can't say I was surprised, but I certainly was disgusted. Someone told me that the remaining crowd was angry that they couldn't get inside to shop, and had to be told "No. You've already killed someone. We're closed."

I avoid that store unless I have a very compelling reason to be there. My cousin in Iowa sent me an idea recently that I'll share just in case you must shop at Walmart in the near future. It's Walmart Bingo, but you'll have to make your own game cards because I'm not clever enough to copy it from her e-mail message to this post. Here are the things that go on your Bingo card:

• child without shoes
• woman with hair curlers
• someone with an eye patch
• "rat tail" hair style
• obese person using scooter
• Rebel flag tee-shirt
• white girl with 3+ multi-racial children
• someone using an oxygen mask
• kid riding a bike in store
• frozen food item left to melt in random aisle
• dirt diaper left in parking lot
• someone using a voice box
• (free space) person oblivious to the fact that they are in your way
• bearded woman
• teardrop tattoo
• child over 5 drinking from baby bottle
• someone buying beer and diapers
• entire family wearing NASCAR apparel
• man under 30 with no teeth
• somone missing a limb
• someone giving away kittens
• someone with puke or blood on their clothes
• unattended crying children
• pregnant woman with visible "tramp stamp" tattoo
• someone with unbearable body odor

I haven't started my Christmas shopping yet. I'll probably do most of it on the Internet. Some folks enjoy the holiday crowds, but I'd rather eat ground glass. I'm the new Scrooge.

On a lighter note, I took my first ever Yoga lesson today. It was very enjoyable and relaxing. I'll probably wake up sore tomorrow, but I'm looking forward to the next lesson. It's too good of a deal to pass up because there's no charge. My sponsor is a Yoga instructor and a Feldenkrais healer, and he is giving free lessons prior to our Saturday morning AA meeting. Sweet!

Castaways

Thinking back to your childhood, what changes did you go through in a four-year span? Four years is a long time in the life of a child. I remember thinking after each Christmas that Santa's next visit would take forever. Meanwhile, without even realizing what was occurring, I was going through amazing changes from one year to the next.

The growth of a child doesn't wait. It cannot be put "on hold." I've always thought it strange that I don't remember my infancy, when my mental and physical development was at its peak. Living each hour was an explosion of experiences that refined my motor skills, vocalization capabilities, cognitive thinking, and ability to interact with the world around me.

As I learned the basics of moving, talking, eating, and controlling my bowels and bladder, my parents also taught me how to interact with other people. They taught me to use good manners, obey rules, consider the safety of myself and others, and share my toys. My parents were the stewards of my development. I am grateful that I had such loving and responsible guardians.

I feel a bit unsettled today. I'll tell you why, and maybe you can help me out by sharing your comments with me. I had mixed feelings when I heard about Florida's State Supreme Court decision concerning gay adoption. For those of you who may not have heard, a judge ruled that the state law blocking gays from adopting children is unconstitutional.

Why do I have mixed feelings? First of all, I am happy about that decision. The state, though, intends to appeal it. They think it is horrifying. They cite studies that show that gays are more likely to abuse drugs and alcohol, and that gay relationships are less stable than heterosexual marriages. I am sure that we will be treated to newscasts of outraged citizens bitterly denouncing the judge's ruling.

Where are these people when it comes to opening their homes to foster children? For years the state of Florida has been using gay households as dumping grounds for the "undesirable" children in need of foster care. Does the kid have mental, physical, or behavioral problems? Are they "too old" to adopt? Diseased? Ugly? Halt or lame? Stick those kids on the list for queers. Hell, they'll take any scraps we throw them. We'll save these shiny-looking kids for the choosy heterosexual foster parents.

Let me be clear. I think these kids are valuable. But the state of Florida does not. Otherwise why would they have allowed these two children to live in foster care for four years with gay men, when the state's position is that their home is unfit and dangerous for adoption?

Here's an interesting quotation pulled from a news article:

John Stemberger, chairman of a successful drive earlier this month to pass a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage in Florida, called the ruling
"classic judicial activism" and predicted it would be reversed on appeal.
"Everywhere in the law where children are affected, the standard must always be what is in the best interest of the child," said Stemberger, an attorney in Orlando. "What is stunning to me is that when it comes to dealing with gays, that standard goes out the window. Children do better with a mother and a father."

Oh, really? How many children does Mr. Stemberger foster in his pleasant home? In the landmark case the children are ages 4 and 8, and have been in the care of Martin Gill and his partner since 2004. That's a lifetime for one child, and half a lifetime for the other.

When I was a teenager, over half of my close friends were being raised by single parents, resulting from unsuccessful heterosexual marriages. Of the others, two lived in homes with unhappily married parents. One friend broke down in tears one afternoon and told me that her parents' marriage was horrible; her father had slept on the couch in the den for years and was an alcoholic. From the outside, she seemed to be from an all-American home, but the emotional turmoil inside that home had her marrying the leader of a religious cult within a few years. Having a mother and a father coexisting under the same roof did not make her "do better."

Awhile back I saw a documentary about two gay men, both nurses in a pediatric AIDS unit, who took five children into their home that no one else wanted. They fed them, clothed them, educated them, hauled them to after-school activities if they lived long enough, kept them on their individual daily medicines, disciplined them, and loved them. One of the fellows gave up his career to provide at-home care to these sick children. The film is We Are Dad, and here is what one viewer had to say about it:

By chance I had the honor to see We Are Dad. It totally changed my mind regarding adoptive gay parents. I grew up with the (wrong) notion (given to me
by the adults around me) that gay parents couldn't provide a healthy medium for a developing child to be raised in. Come on! How many nuclear families screwed up their kids. And these two gay guys are the best. After seeing it and pondering about it I am a lot more inclined to be all for gay marriage and adoption by gay parents. I am really glad I saw this factual film. It opened my eyes, mind, and heart. I recommend to anyone to see it. You will have more facts with this documentary on which to base your opinions so you can also give it established on some ground and not only on discrimination and narrowness of mind like I did.

Florida should put its money where its mouth is. If they think gays make unsuitable parents, then don't use them as foster parents. Let the straight Floridians take on the burdens from broken heterosexual relationships. Instead, the state says that gay households are unfit for adoption, but sees no hypocrisy in funneling its unwanted children into them for foster care.

Now, with this recent court decision, it will be interesting to see how Florida, and the rest of the nation, reacts.

Virginia Byways

I'm so grateful that gas prices have dropped, because one of my favorite things to do is hop in the car with a friend and explore the two-lane highways of Virginia. Richmond is geographically convenient for day trips that will let you be at the Atlantic Ocean, Blue Ridge Mountains, Chesapeake Bay, Colonial Williamsburg, or our nation's capital in less than two hours.

Spurred by Suzanne's wedding, I finally bought a digital camera. I love it! It's just a basic model, a Panasonic Lumix, but it has a lot of features for $150.00. Some of the available settings for taking photos I will probably never use. In addition to what I would expect (portrait, scenery, sports), I can select soft skin, food, party, candle light, baby, pet, sunset, starry sky (the van Gogh setting), fireworks, beach, snow, aerial, and underwater. Some of these options have come in handy, but I usually use the point & shoot setting.

I thought I'd show you some photos from a few recent jaunts.

Jeffrey & I took a ride up to Montpelier, the home of James Madison. Montpelier is an estate in the foothills with a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains - the frontier, back in Madison's grandfather's time. The original house was a modest frame structure, built by Madison's grandfather. Madison's father built a handsome brick Georgian house in 1764, which James Madison enlarged with two separate expansions. In the early part of the last century, the plantation was purchased by William duPont. The duPonts slapped pink stucco over the original Flemish Bond brick, and added wings, rooms, and bathrooms until the twenty-two rooms numbered fifty-five.

In 1983, heiress Marion duPont bequeathed the property to the National Trust for Historic Preservation, and a colossal restoration project began in 2003. All of the duPont additions were dismantled, and the pink stucco was painstakingly removed. Now the restoration is nearly complete, and it is a marvelous place to visit. I'll probably write more about Montpelier, but I'd better get on with the photographs before I get too distracted by the Madison story. The picture below shows the front of Montpelier, and the one below that is the view from the veranda atop the west wing. Note the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance.




A few weeks later, Sheldon & I piled in the car and headed to Madison County. We passed very close to Montpelier, and headed northwest. Our goal was Yoder's Market, operated by Mennonites on a country road. It's one of those places you wouldn't find unless someone clued you in. I love going there to buy baking goods. This time, my items included raw sugar, dried cherries, pitted dates, baking cocoa, dark brown sugar (which makes the dark brown sugar from a grocery store look sand-colored), macaroon coconut, and various spices. Sheldon bought a slab of Amish butter, and a bag of dried hominy, and some other items. He also bought sticky buns, which we ate in the parking lot. The market is on farm-like land, and there were goats in a side pasture that came dashing up to the fence, sensing that Sheldon was an easy mark. Sure enough, Sheldon purchased several handfuls of food from the modifed gumball machines beside the goat pen.



Our ride happened in the nick of time to see autumn leaves. Although some trees had peaked, many were still boasting brilliant reds, yellows, and ambers. The day was sunny and invigorating. After we shopped at Yoder's, we drove to Madison Courthouse and ate at the Pig & Steak. Isn't that a fabulous tell-it-like-it-is name for a restaurant? Remember your favorite Vegan this season with a gift card from Pig & Steak.

After lunch we drove down through Charlottesville, past Jefferson's famous Rotunda at the University of Virginia, and south to Scottsville. Along the winding road, we stopped to admire a simple hillside, pictured below. By the time I got my camera out, a cloud had obscured the sunlight that lit up the bright yellows, but it is still a nice picture which shows the rolling hills surrounding Charlottesville.



Scottsville is a pleasant town of about 550 people that sits on the edge of the James River. It was the westernmost major commerce point in the region during the 1700's. Before the train came into use, agricultural goods from the Shenendoah Valley were brought to Scottsville to be transported by water to Richmond and the sea. Hatton Ferry, just west of Scottsville, is one of two operational poled ferries in the nation. There are several beautiful old buildings in Scottsville, including the charming little church shown below.



This past weekend, it was time for another Sunday drive with Jeffrey. This time I aimed the car to the east, and we drove to Virginia's Middle Peninsula. We roamed around West Point, Urbanna, and Deltaville before coming to the road's abrupt end at Stingray Point. The name was coined in the 1600's when Captain John Smith was stung by a ray while fishing. It was a life-threatening injury, but he was saved by Indians who brought a natural remedy from a nearby creek. As a way of expressing our thanks to the natives, we proceeded to take everything that was dear to them, consign them to barren, unwanted land, and turn them into alcoholics. Happy Thanksgiving to all Native Americans! Pack some Manifest Destiny in your peace pipes and smoke it!



The picture below is from the bridge into Urbanna. This is a quiet town, unless you attend the annual Oyster Festival. The Urbanna Oyster Festival is wildly popular, for reasons that bewilder me. Friends of mine had a river home nearby, and invited me down for the festival each year. One tent was famous for its oyster fritter sandwiches, and I watched with fascination as the cooks scooped the batter-fried oysters out of the bubbling vat of oil, squeezed about a quart of steaming fat out of each fritter, and slapped it between two slices of white sandwich bread before handing them to my friends. The bread soaked through with oil immediately, and my friends had to eat rapidly. Oil smeared their lips and fingers. They encouraged me to eat, but I demurred. About fifteen minutes later, they complained that their stomachs felt like lead.


Along the highway, we passed a street sign. The inclusion of rural areas in the Enhanced 911 system requires that every household be assigned a definite street address, so roads previously known by route numbers now have names. Below is one we found interesting.



I know, I know, but it was startling to see as we were zooming down the road. I had to turn around to take a picture. There's a street in Ashland, a town just north of Richmond, that has a name that is as bad - if not worse. Lickinghole Road. I kid you not. You can run it through Mapquest if you don't believe me.

Home again, home again! That concludes today's glimpse of Virginia, with the exception of a snapshot I took one morning this week. Below is Lee Circle on Monument Avenue. Thanks for dropping by, and Happy Thanksgiving!