Colonial Lunacy & Manifest Destiny

In March, two friends & I went to an AA state assembly in Williamsburg. For most of our time there, it was cool & rainy, but on Sunday, our day to return to Richmond, the sun broke through and the temperatures became mild. It was a lovely Spring day, and we went for a stroll through Colonial Williamsburg. I'm glad I had my trusty camera with me so that I can share some photographs with you of the historic area.

When I was growing up, my parents & I went on frequent weekend trips to places of interest in the surrounding areas. Sometimes we traveled to places like Luray Caverns or Natural Bridge; other times we would go to historic sites.

I remember visiting Williamsburg, touring the restored area, and staying in a motel called Carolyn Court on Route 60. At the time, I guess I thought that Colonial Williamsburg had always looked that way. What we see today in old Williamsburg was actually the brainchild of Reverend W.A.R. Goodwin with the financial backing of John D. Rockefeller, Jr.


Before the extensive restoration work got under way, Williamsburg had become a sleepy backwater town. A 1912 editorial in the Richmond Times-Dispatch dubbed the town "Lotusburg" because "Tuesday was election day in Williamsburg but nobody remembered it. The clerk forgot to wake the electoral board, the electoral board could not arouse itself long enough to have the ballots printed, the candidates forgot they were running, the voters forgot they were alive." Another account I read spoke of a befuddled bell ringer who thought it was Sunday morning, rang the bells at Bruton Parish Church, and most of the townsfolk dutifully showed up, but it was Wednesday.


The first psychiatric hospital in the U.S. was built in Williamsburg in 1771, originally called the Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds, known these days as Eastern State Hospital. The 1770 Act in the Virginia colonial legislature stated "Make Provision for the Support and Maintenance of Ideots, Lunaticks, and other Persons of unsound Minds.' During those times, treatment for mental disorders was restraint and discomfort. Patients could enjoy cold plunge baths, bloodletting, intimidation, cupping glasses (sounds ominous), blistering salves, and - new in 1793! - sessions with the electrostatic machine.


The photo above shows Duke of Gloucester Street, the primary street in the colonial section, anchored at the western end by William & Mary's Wren Building, and House of Burgesses (the Capitol) at the eastern end. Immediately below are photos of a merchant's window, followed by the Milliner's Shop.




The stout building above is the Powder Magazine. That name made no sense to me as a child, no matter how many times my dad tried to explain it.


That's the Governor's Palace up there, and a horse & carriage ambling by the gate below.


The original Governor's Palace was destroyed by fire in 1781. Some outbuildings survived, but were demolished during the Civil War. The Governor's palace we can tour today is a reconstruction based on drawings by Thomas Jefferson (the last resident, who urged that the capital be relocated to Richmond for security reasons during the American Revolution), General Assembly records, and a copperplate engraving found in England's Bodeian Library.


The restoration of Colonial Williamsburg got underway in 1926 with the quiet acquisition of properties by Reverend Goodwin and John D. Rockefeller in the designated area. They revealed their plans in two town meetings in 1928. Structures that post-dated 1790 were demolished, and 88 of the approximately 500 buildings in the historic are are original. Most buildings were completely recreated.


When I was born, my parents were into the modern look. Their furniture had clean, square lines. The end tables and coffee table were blond wood and metal. Somewhere along the way, this stuff went out and Early American furniture entered the house.

As it turns out, Colonial Revival decor started in the 1870's with the U.S. Centennial. The simplicity of true American colonial design was mashed together with Victorian fussiness. As the popularity of the Victorian era faded, Colonial decorating motifs became simpler. Travel became easier in the 20th century, and people made pilgrimages to historic homes. Williamsburg became a popular travel destination, and the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation became a national leader in retailing museum-quality reproductions of items in its collection, including furniture, pottery, pewter and silverware.


Williamsburg is a great place for a stroll. It is truly "picture perfect." Archaeological excavations continue to bring up secrets from the past, and Colonial Williamsburg operates as a 301-acre living museum. Although you must buy tickets to tour the buildings, anyone can walk the streets without charge. Re-enactors are dressed in period clothing, although there was a bit of a fracas prior to the U.S. Bicentennial in the 1970's when someone thought it would be a good idea to outfit the tour guides in polyester red-white-and blue pantsuits. Tourists were not at all pleased. The pantsuits plan was ditched.

I wonder, though, what the real old Williamsburg looked like in its heyday. I doubt that all of the houses were painted so neatly, and that streets were as clean as they are today. Just judging by the few horse carriages nowadays and their wake, I'm pretty sure the streets were filled with horse poop. There were probably chickens flapping around, dogs fighting, pigs squealing, babies squalling, cats yowling, women mud-wrestling, and politicians prancing around in dust-coated tights. We get a sanitized version today of what must have been a rough & tumble small-town existence in the middle of deep forests, swamps, and rivers.

At one time, in an attempt to ward off disgruntled Native Americans, a stockade was built across the middle peninsula between the James & York Rivers. This was a harbinger of Manifest Destiny, which would push the original Americans ever westward into smaller & smaller controlled settlements. Nearby, at Weyanoke Plantation, artifacts have been unearthed proving that this area was settled 10,000 years ago...and it wasn't by greedy Europeans.



The picture below is the House of Burgesses, which was the Capitol of Colonial Virginia. Our state legislators still assemble here one day every four years. I'm sure they get a lot of work done on those days, too. No, really.

President Obama took his first trip aboard Air Force One to a House Democrat's retreat in Williamsburg back in February. I remember waiting for a flight at nearby Newport News-Williamsburg International Airport, and watching Air Force One practice repeated landings and take-offs several years ago.


After our stroll, we aimed the car toward Richmond. We made one more stop, at the Hog Wild Smokehouse on Route 60. The food was quite delicious, and I'm sure will eat there again when I can. This place used to be a biker bar, closed by day but rowdy at night. Today it's a cute little eatery. You can decide what you want to order by clicking here.

Happy Easter!

I hope your Easter is filled with wonderful food, friends & family, fellowship, and plenty of chocolate & colored eggs!

The above picture was taken one Easter Sunday at our home in Virginia Beach. Note the shoes: Hushpuppies, of course!

Relapse

Last Saturday, Sheldon took me out to dinner for my (then) upcoming sobriety anniversary. I asked him if his mother could go along, because I always enjoy her company, too. We went to a popular restaurant, and as we were waiting for our meals, a lady at the next table was served a beer in a tall mug. The beer looked really enticing in the cold mug, and I thought about how nice it would be to order one. Then I gave myself a mental slap and asked myself why I was thinking that way? I don't even like beer! The answer to my question, of course, is that I am an alcoholic, and "the idea that somehow, someday he will control and enjoy his drinking is the great obsession of every abnormal drinker." ¹

In December of 1941, General Douglas MacArthur had more than eight hours warning following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor to prepare his base for an assault. Although he touted himself an expert on the Far East, he underestimated the military might of Japan. He did not disperse the aircraft from his base on the Phillipines for concealment. The planes, including seventy-two P-40 Warhawk fighters, sat in pretty rows on the airfield, vulnerable to attack. When the Japanese bombers came, most of the U.S. aircraft were caught on the ground and destroyed. MacArthur had a fool's measure of hubris, and when he failed he always pointed the finger at someone else.

Tuesday was a long day. I went to my early morning meeting and picked up my anniversary medallion. Afterwards, I went to the office early to prepare for a monthly evening meeting. I was at work until 10:00 p.m.

Wednesday morning I slept in, and as I was getting ready for work, I got a call from my sponsee, Hope. Hope was shaken because two of our home group members had relapsed. One woman had been on vacation, got into a disagreement with a family member, and went to the hotel bar and drank. Her story prompted a woman with nine months of sobriety to confess that she had relapsed over the weekend, but had been ashamed to tell us.

I explained to Hope that relapses are part of the disease process, not the recovery process. There is no requirement to relapse. It is an experience you may miss, if you choose. No one that I have talked to felt that it was a dandy idea afterwards. For some, though, it seems to be the event that really makes them value sobriety, and they return to embrace the 12-step program. AA always welcomes everyone back; unfortunately, not everyone makes it back. One of my friends told me about a man he met when he was in rehab. After his release, the fellow relapsed and tried to detox himself in a hotel room, and that's where his family found him - dead from a heart attack. Withdrawal from alcohol without medical supervision can be fatal.

I was fortunate that I collapsed at the home of a friend, and she immediately called the rescue squad. The decision about medical help was taken out of my hands. In the hospital, I required several blood tranfusions, insulin, and massive doses of potassium - in addition to medications and multi-vitamins. My liver was in terrible shape; I was dehydrated, and severely anemic. I was constantly monitored through several days of detoxification. When I went home, I knew that drinking meant death. I drank two nights in a row anyway, even though I did not want to do so. That is when I knew that I could not stay sober without help.

When I woke up the morning after my second night of drinking following hospitalization, I reached the bottom. I could no longer fool myself into thinking that I chose to drink. I could not honestly say "I can quit whenever I want...I just don't want to quit." All of my reasons and rationalizations were stripped away, and I felt completely beaten. I went to the local AA website and found a meeting near my home. Something about that simple action kept me sober. When we were at dinner the other night, we were talking about Sheldon meeting me for the first time about two weeks after I joined AA. Sheldon was laughing about how bad I looked, and he told his mom "I was almost afraid to shake his hand, because I was afraid his arm would snap off." But he did shake my hand and he offered to help me, because that is what the sober members do for people like me who walk in frail & bewildered.

So, unlike General MacArthur, I do my best to stay on guard. Warning signs are heeded. I know that the disease will employ surprise attacks, like the thought that pops in my head when I see the cold mug of beer at the next table in a restaurant. Or anger and resentments which will take me to a hotel bar if I allow them to fester. When I think about how nice a martini would be, I'm thinking of the days long ago before I was an alcoholic, so I refocus my thoughts on how miserable I was a month before I came to Alcoholics Anonymous. A day will come, though, when this line of defense will not work. The best offense is the daily maintenance of my spiritual condition. That is why I pray & meditate. I thank God each morning for keeping me sober the previous day, and ask for help staying sober today. I go to at least one meeting nearly every day. I also go for the laughter and fellowship. We are not a glum lot! I found my sense of mirth again in AA. I have "succumbed to that gay crowd inside, who laughed at their own misfortunes and understood his." ²

¹ Alcoholics Anonymous (Big Book), page 30
² Alcoholics Anonymous (Big Book), page 160

Two

TWO YEARS SOBER

Thank you for letting me keep coming back.

A Slow Boat To Scotland

I had a busy weekend, but I feel well-rested this morning because I slept late. The alarm went off at 5am as usual (which is really 4:50 because I have this weird thing about setting the clock by my bed ten minutes fast) and I reset it for 8am. I don't have to be at work until 9:30, so I was able to get some catch-up sleep. It seems like I have my strangest dreams when I fall back to sleep after the first wake-up. This morning it was about a couple of kittens that kept disappearing into two one-inch holes in a wall.

There was an AA state assembly that I attended in Williamsburg over the weekend, and two of my pals, Constance & Dot, rode down with me, so we had a little car party. Instead of taking the interstate, we drove down Route 5, which follows the north side of the James River. When we got to Jamestown, we took the ferry across the river to Scotland, and then drove into Surry Courthouse for lunch. The ferry is operated by the state highway department, and there is no charge to ride it. I've included some pictures below from the ferry ride.


The photo above shows the pilot house of the ferry we were on. These vessels are fairly new and much smaller than the old ones I remember from childhood. The previous ferries had an upstairs wrap-around deck, and an enclosed passenger lounge and snack bar. The new ferries are surely more cost efficient, but the only things up there other than the pilot houses (one at each end) are two nasty restrooms for passenger use. And a crew lounge that is off-limits, and probably outfitted like a luxurious salon on the QE2.


Like many places with people & water, the seagulls were hanging out hoping for scraps. Sometimes huge flocks of gulls will congregate at parking lots in Richmond. No one has told them that they should stick to the oceanfront. Here, they are perched on the pilings that guide the ferries into the slip. The day was gray & breezy, and quite lovely in its own way. The terminus at Jamestown is right beside the replicas of the Godspeed, Discovery, and Susan Constant, the tiny ships that brought the settlers across the Atlantic to form the first permanent English settlement in the New World in 1607. The journey took 144 days, and - amazingly - only one person died en route. Looking at the size of the little ships, one can imagine what an uncomfortable & perilous trip that would have been.


That's a big ol' thick rope used for tying up the ferry when it docks. I like the sensation of being on the water. I can see why my dad enjoyed being in the Navy. Of course, the destroyers in WWII didn't have stabilizers, so there was a lot of pitching & rolling. My dad was famous for going up to some poor sailor looking out on the horizon who was feeling perfectly fine, and talking him into vomiting over the side of the ship.

"Hey, nice night. How are you doing?"
"Great. You?"
"Oh, fine. I was just wondering because you don't look so good."
"Really? No, I feel fine."
"That's good, but you really look like you're feeling queasy. But I'm glad you're okay, because most guys get seasick when they look out at the horizon like you're doing. Especially with the ship pitching & rolling like it is tonight. You look kinda pale. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Never under-estimate the power of suggestion.


This shot was a surprise. The monochromatic vista across the river was very serene, so I wanted to capture it. I'm loving my first digital camera, because I can snap photos indiscriminately without worrying about using up costly film. When I looked at this shot on the camera screen, I couldn't tell what the dot was in the center of the photo. It wasn't until I extruded the image from the camera that I realized that a gull was almost dead center in the picture. I didn't even see it when I took the picture.


After lunch we rode around Surry Courthouse, which didn't take long, and then headed east on Route 10. We turned onto a paved country road heading to Chippokes Plantation, which was established in 1617 by Captain William Powell of the Jamestown Settlement. The property was donated to the Commonwealth of Virginia in 1967 for use as a state park. It is one of the largest working farms in the nation, and has kept its original boundaries since the 1600's. Constance & Dot are pictured above in front of an old Allis-Chalmers tractor. Constance wanted to go plow a field, but the thing wouldn't start.

The picture below was taken near the mansion, and the tree blossoms & green field of rye were rich with the promise of Spring. After we left the plantation, we took the ferry back to the north side of the James, and checked in at our hotel in Williamsburg. The weekend assembly allowed representatives from across the state to meet and vote on the business functions of Alcoholics Anonymous. Some members are not attracted to this type of work, and some do not recognize the value of it. All I know is that AA was alive & well when I needed help. That didn't happen by accident. Scores of people, amazed by their own release from bondage, decided that they owed a debt to the program and put their efforts into keeping AA vital and viable for alcoholics like me who wanted a chance at hope and recovery. When we give back, we are surprised to find that we receive even more. That is how it works.

I also have some shots of Colonial Williamsburg that I will post later, and the story of a decaying house that we found on our post-luncheon ride. It is a house that I visited in the late 1970's, and as the pictures will show, it may not be around much longer.

Project Greek Island

I went out of town this past weekend, and it wasn't to a Greek Island. It wasn't even an overnight trip, but I had a wonderful time nonetheless. The Creeping Malaise that had me in its grip the previous weekend caused a disruption in plans. Originally, Sheldon, Robespierre & I were going to take a road trip on the 15th, but that had to be postponed until the 22nd. Unfortunately, Robespierre was not able to go when we rescheduled, but I picked Sheldon up about 7:30 Sunday morning, and we fortified ourselves with breakfast at the City Diner before hitting the road.

One of my discoveries as I started reading my mother's diaries was that my family was directly affected by the Cuban Missile Crisis. In mid-October of 1962, my dad was called to Washington for a top secret meeting. On October 22, fifty of my dad's men were sent to the Caribbean, and President Kennedy made press announcements about the seriousness of the situation. My dad came home briefly from the base on Wednesday, October 24, got the suitcases down from the attic, and told my mother that she must take me and evacuate to the midwest. My mother & I departed for Iowa the following day by train. The Cuban Missile Crisis is regarded as the moment we came closest to nuclear attack during the Cold War.

Known to only a few, a U.S. Government Relocation Facility had been built on the grounds of the luxurious Greenbrier Hotel in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, and was designed to accommodate both the U.S. Senate and the House of Representatives in the event of a national emergency. Construction lasted three years, between 1958 and 1961. Once completed, the bunker was kept in a constant state of readiness until the secret was exposed by The Washington Post in May, 1992. This project went by several names during its active service, one of which was Project Greek Island.

Now, the massive fallout shelter is open for tours. Sheldon & I arrived at the Greenbrier for a 1:30 tour, and we made a few stops along the way. Cameras are not allowed inside the bunker, but we took some shots during our road trip. Our first stop was at Swannanoa, which sits atop Afton Mountain. We took a small road off Route 250 near the entrances to the Blue Ridge Parkway and the Skyline Drive. The private drive for Swannanoa branched off of the unmarked road. As I barreled past the No Trespassing sign, Sheldon sucked in his breath (when his cat makes this noise, Sheldon calls it Sassy's prelude to a hiss). Soon, the unlikely sight of a Medici-style marble villa swung into view. You can look at a few pictures below.

The house is perched on Afton Mountain above Rockfish Gap, and was the summer home of James & Sallie May Dooley. The Dooleys built an estate called Maymont in Richmond, which I visited last year. They seemed to enjoy quite a bit of disposable income, probably because they didn't have children. Swannanoa sat empty for a number of years, and was then home to the University of Science and Philosophy, founded by Walter & Lao Russell. This pair seemed like two crackpots, as best I can tell. Fortunately, the house has a new owner who seems to be putting some effort into maintenance & restoration, although the place is currently unoccupied once again.

Our next stop, aside from the Food Lion in Stuart's Draft so that weenie Sheldon could get some aspirin, was in Lexington, Virginia, which was founded in 1777. Lexington is the home of Virginia Military Institute and Washington & Lee University. It's a beautiful old town, and we stopped to take pictures of a tree in Spring bloom, and then strolled a bit stretching our legs.



The Greenbrier's Bunker tour was our next destination. The hotel is lavishly appointed, and sits incongruously at the edge of the ramshackle town of White Sulphur Springs. Clearly, this town would be in sad shape without the hotel. We gathered in the North Lobby, and boarded a shuttle bus which took us back out the main gate, west on Route 60, and back onto the hotel grounds via a service gate. The bus went up a narrow road to the bunker entrance. In the era of secrecy, this was explained as a service door for maintenance operations, and a Danger - High Voltage sign warned people away. Beyond the inconspicuous truck entrance was a 25-ton blast door made by Mosler. This door is 12 feet wide, 10 feet tall, 18 inches thick, and can be opened & closed by one person exerting 50 pounds of pressure to get the movement started. On the other side of the door lies a long tunnel which was used by supply trucks. Supplies were moved in & out in the middle of the night.

The bunker was kept in a constant state of readiness, and was prepared to house about 1100 people for 60 days. This meant a lot of food was always kept on hand with staggered expiration dates. Someone had the thrilling job of rotating that supply in & out; imagine checking all those use-by dates. For excitement, that's right up there with stuffing cotton in aspirin bottles.

Once inside the bunker, most of it was quite non-descript. Intentionally. In case someone somehow got in there without authorization, doors were not marked. I guess this is where Reality and Hollywood parted ways. In a movie, the ne'er-do-wells would have just looked at a sign on the door to find the Command Center or the House Speaker's Dorm Room. In this place, some of the doors didn't even have doorknobs.

We got to see lots of interesting things, including the room where they would have broadcasted messages to us common folks outside. In one room there were two big murals. One showed the Capitol Dome, and the other the front of the White House. These were meant to be reassuring backdrops for news briefings. Meanwhile, we would have been watching while our skin peeled off in strips, if we were still alive out here.

The construction of the facility was under the guise of adding a new wing onto the hotel, which the government paid for. Interestingly, one large area of the bunker was actually used as a public exhibit hall, and a couple of auditoriums. Regular visitors would have had no idea that they were in a fallout shelter, because the blast doors that would seal the bunker in an emergency were cleverly hidden behind false walls and panels. It's one of those hide in plain sight strategems. Sheldon thinks the place is really still a disaster relocation center, and that our mild-mannered tour guide is actually a CIA operative. Sheldon is such an idiot sometimes. Or is he???

After the tour, we retrieved our cameras and snapped a few pictures at the Greenbrier. There's Sheldon below, acting like he owns the place. Perhaps he could soon; the Greenbrier just filed bankruptcy.

Here's the beautiful indoor pool. The water was as smooth as glass. The lifeguard looked lonely, so I waved at him. He waved back forlornly.

This is the famous Springhouse. People have been drawn to this resort since 1778 to take the waters. Personally, I don't know what attracts people to sulphur water, but to each his own.


It was a very fun day, and Sheldon and I always have a good time wherever we go. We had such a good time laughing and talking that the miles flew by. By the time we crested Afton Mountain on the way home, dusk had already settled on the valley below.

Mouth-Breather

What? How am I doing, you ask? Kinda crappy, actually. I've been a little under the weather. Feeling puny. Looking peaked. Feeling groggy. Sick as a dog. White as a sheet. Pale as a ghost. Not ship-shape. Run down. Worn out. Half dead. Unable to breathe through my nostrils.

This past weekend, during the zenith of my misery, I caught myself reflecting on being home sick from school when I was in grade school. My mom would transform into Clara Barton, and my every need would be lovingly tended. My brow was smoothed, and soothed with damp washcloths. Bedding was straightened & tucked in. Pillows were plumped and shades were drawn. The vaporizer fogged the windows. The thermometer would be checked, and it would remain under my tongue for several hours before it was trusted for an accurate reading. At least, it seemed that way to me.

I always had a niggling fear in the back of my mind that I would bite through the thermometer by accident and die from mercury poisoning. I had no idea what this entailed, but in my mind my mother would return from a lengthy phone call to find me with my eyes rolled back in my head, mouth gaping, quicksilver drooling from my blue lips. My mother would wring her hands and sob "Darned that Catherine! I told her Billy was sick, and that I couldn't talk on the phone! Now look what I've done." This never actually occurred, as far as I know.

The best part about being sick was when the tide turned and I started feeling better. There was that golden moment when the crisis had passed, but I still looked like hell. I could play my mom for anything I wanted. She was grateful that I was responding to treatment, and I could look at her doe-eyed and ask if maybe she could make me a fold-over peanut-butter sandwich and then play Crazy Eights with me.

Did you have a favorite food when you were starting to recuperate? Mine was a peanut butter sandwich. No jelly. White bread lightly spread with butter; then peanut butter. Cut into squares, not triangles. That was my first foray back to the world of solid food. If that stayed down, my next skirmish was with Campbell's Tomato Soup. Made with whole milk, not water. And lots of crushed crackers.

Watching daytime television with Mom was always fun, too. Of course, my mother never sat down to watch television in the daytime. That would have put her on the fast track to becoming a fallen woman. Mom would iron clothes, the steam iron clicking & hissing, as I snuggled in bed, and we would watch the afternoon game shows. Mom's favorite was The Newlywed Game, but I preferred Let's Make a Deal. I liked the costumes that the contestants wore, and I was certain that my mother could do an even better job than Carol Merrill as Monty Hall's assistant. In fact, when we were in high school, Suzanne & I convinced Jim Tyer, a lower classman, that my mother was Carol Merrill in retirement.

Unfortunately, there was no Mom to place cold, refreshing washcloths on my hot brow this past weekend. I was left to my own devices when it came to administering medications at the proper intervals. I scrounged for food in my pantry & freezer until a neighbor took pity on me. Being sick is a lonely business when our mothers are gone.

Other People's Lives

On a couple of recent weekends, I indulged in a beloved pastime which is free and readily accessible these days. The only cost is transportation, and that needn't be much if you stay close to home. It can also be fun for the whole family, as long as everyone (including adults) is well behaved. I have memories of my parents & I doing this from time to time.

One Saturday in February, Constance & I were out roaming in the car. We rode to Southside, which is not a town, but rather the part of Richmond that is located south of the James River. Our main goal was to snap a picture of a particular backyard that has a lot of lawn clutter, but we also stopped at Southside Plaza to visit a thrift shop that Constance likes. Southside Plaza is a collection of struggling retail shops from the glory days of the American Shopping Center. You can buy groceries, get short-term loans using your automobile or anticipated paychecks as collateral, purchase other people's flotsam & jetsam, or eat unidentifiable animal meat at your choice of dubious restaurants. If your timing is right, you can also get a stab wound or a bullet through your head in the parking lot.

Note to tourists: See the photograph to the right? If you are visiting Virginia and Monticello's surroundings look like this, you are not at Thomas Jefferson's home. You are in the parking lot at Southside Plaza looking at a church across Route 360. Get back in your car.

Anyway, on our rambles, we ended up in the West End, and an English cottage-style home that I find intriguing had a sign out front stating that the house would be open for inspection the following day. This house has been on the market for several months, so I made a mental note of the time for the open house. I'm not in the market for a new home; I'm just nosy. The following day my friend John & I went by for a look. On the way there, we noticed that there were signs everywhere for open houses, so we looked through four that day. What a fun way to spend an afternoon. And it's free! You don't even need to think up a tale to tell the realtor; just tell them you're sightseeing. They can spot us a mile away, anyway, and they'll be more likely to leave you alone. I've included a few pictures. You can browse without leaving your home, and if you are looking for something to do next weekend, check out some homes in your own area.

Here's the English Cottage on Oak Lane, which features rolled eaves on the shingle roof, a popular conceit meant to evoke the thatched roofs of Merry Old England. This style, and its cousin, Tudor Revival, were quite popular in the first half of the last century.


All the rooms were empty. I'll bet the realtor gnashed her teeth when the departing family refused to get rental furniture at their new home until this one sold.


The house had interesting woodwork, custom cut in a rustic style. Most of the closets were built as add-ins, which I am sure was deliberate since closets were customary at the time the house was built. I was especially drawn to the odd convergence of ceiling and closet doors shown below, and the small rounded door inside the closet which led to a storage room in a gable.


The next picture shows a bit of a third floor master bathroom in another home on our afternoon tour. This house was in the Museum District on West Franklin Street, and looked like a typical dwelling from the front. Inside, detailed wood trim work abounded. The house had an English basement, where the original kitchen was located at the back of the building. There was also a new ubiquitous granite & stainless steel kitchen on the first floor, which lacked the practicality of the old kitchen, but would be far more convenient for a midnight snack than schlepping down to the cellar.

From the master bedroom on the second floor, you took a narrow staircase from the dressing room up to the bathroom pictured. This was truly a destination bathroom, because after trudging up those stairs in the middle of the night to pee, I'd be tempted to curl up in the soaking tub for the rest of the night.



The following Saturday found me at a new development called Rockett's Landing after brunch with Jean & Bruce. I took a few photographs there, too, so stay tuned to Planet Bill, and I'll be back with more open house adventures.

Oh, and here is a picture of the yard that started this whole romp. These folks have an unbelievable amount of stuff in their backyard, but their front yard is neat and orderly. That would seem sensible, except you have a clear view of the backyard from a major thoroughfare, and you can't see the front yard at all unless you drive into the neighborhood. I can't wait to see what they cram into their yard when the weather gets warm.

(Not) Dashing Through the Snow

Just when we thought we had made it through the winter with negligible snow and ice, we had a winter storm move through the area which started midday Sunday. I canceled plans to go poke around the Virginia Center for Architecture, and stayed home where it was warm & snuggly. I took the picture below from my back door in the mid-afternoon. The snow was starting to stick.

I took the next picture from my front door around nine o'clock in the evening. Sometimes when it snows, the temperature isn't terribly low. This was not the case during this storm. When I woke up the next day it was ten degrees.


I got up extra-early so that I could dig the car out, and get on the road. Since I grew up in the Southland, I am not an expert on driving in snow and ice. I realize this, so my motto is "Slow & steady wins the race." I don't crowd other drivers, I start off slow, drive below the speed limit, and anticipate stops so that the engine slows the car instead of relying solely on the brakes. At 6:00 in the morning, I didn't have many other drivers to worry about. I did see quite a few accidents later in the day. Some folks do not modify their driving techniques for poor weather conditions.

I got to the church where we have our morning meetings, and opened up the building. Soon, a couple of others showed up to help with coffee and setting up the room. The fellow who usually chairs on Mondays called and said he was running late, so he took my Thursday and I handled Monday. Even with the snow & wind, we had ten folks. We usually have thirty or so, which is not bad for a meeting at 6:45 a.m. It's important to be there for anyone who needs a meeting, no matter how nasty the weather may be. The picture below is how it looked at 6:30 outside the church; very pretty.

After the meeting on my way to work, I decided to snap a couple of photos on Monument Avenue. Growing up, we never went to Richmond, but we drove through it on I-64 when we were traveling. I always thought Richmond looked grim and ugly, and later realized that the interstate highway was deliberately routed in a way that would plow through many of the city's poor blighted neighborhoods. All I had seen of Richmond were worn-out ghettos.

My first real view of Richmond came in high school, when a friend & I drove to Richmond to see Virginia Commonwealth University. It happened to be snowing that day, and I remember how beautiful and quiet Monument Avenue seemed in the snow. It was not the Richmond I had seen from the interstate. The next picture shows Monument Avenue facing east. If you kept heading straight in this direction, you would end up in the State Capitol; you would have to side-step the Civil War cannon dead ahead in the picture, however. Our Capitol was designed by Thomas Jefferson, and a new visitors center opened recently, so I'll tell you about that when I become one of the visitors. Soon, I hope.

Next, we are facing west. The grandiose monument to Jefferson Davis is barely visible in the distance. These pictures were taken during a lull. It continued to snow and blow for several more hours.

I've always liked the Mediterranean-style house below. It looks cozy & friendly.

Then we have the austere and imposing Taylor House, which looks cold even in the summer months. The owner, Helen Marie Taylor, spends very little time here. She has a large estate in Orange County where she breeds Arabian horses, and she spends most of her days in the country.

Thank You For Sharing

I popped in on Daave's blog this morning, and noticed a post from yesterday. He invited others to join in if they like, and this seems like the perfect way to avoid laundry & housework, so here goes...

1. Where is your cell phone? uh-oh...not in its usual spot. Where in the hell have I left it this time???

2. Your significant other? My guess would be either shopping at the T.J. Maxx in the Mall of Eternity, or potting plants on God's patio.

3. Your hair? There's quite a bit of it, and it's currently about an inch long. No more Beethoven Hair.

4. Your mother? I'm pretty sure she's housecleaning the Universe right now.

5. Your father? He's probably puttering around in God's backyard shed, rearranging things so that not even God can find them ever, ever again.

6. Your favorite thing? A fun-filled, exhilarating, and sometimes madcap relationship with my Higher Power

7. Your dream last night? Strange you should ask. I dreamt I was in a rickety wooden shack, sweeping things out with a broom. Without realizing it, I obviously disturbed a nest of baby spiders. In the dream, I knew they were baby spiders but they were black with yellow-green spots on their backs, and about the size of half-dollars. They were crawling up my hands & arms, and I kept trying to brush them off, but there were more & more of them the more I brushed them away. I finally got them off of me. Some of them bit me, but it was more of an annoyance than a danger. Not coincidentally, I talked with someone last night about the pain she was going through after her 4th & 5th steps (personal inventory and discussing the character defects with another person). I told her that the way she was feeling was normal, and that it would pass. She told me later that she felt better. We usually do after we discuss our feelings and fears with someone else we trust.

8. Your favorite drink? Coffee, with half-and-half.

9. Your dream/goal? To help others (which helps me, paradoxically). A 1960 Chrysler Imperial (with free mechanic and endless spare parts) would be nice, too.

10. The room you’re in? A room with a view.

11. Your fear? Failing to take good actions which lead to humility. And running out of half-and-half.

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? I don't think that far ahead. It's more fun to focus on where I am right now, and know that my needs will be fulfilled as they arise.

13. Where were you last night? At a great private dinner event with about 120 other people. My friend Constance was the chef, and the food was splendid.

14. What you’re not? Hopeless.

15. Muffins? Sure, what you got? I can make blueberry-bran muffins if you like. I have the ingredients right here.

16. One of your wish list items? A magical nose just like Samantha Stevens. I have high hopes of getting one of these quite soon.

17. Where you grew up? Virginia Beach. That's in Virginia, and there's a beach.

18. The last thing you did? Question 17.

19. What are you wearing? A yellow polo shirt and purple sweatpants.

20. Your TV? So old and small I'm surprised it doesn't have a round screen.

21. Your pet? Um, are you asking? You want to be my pet? Okay, as long as you don't eat me out of house & home.

22. Your computer? Toshiba Satellite, and it hasn't blasted off into space yet.

23. Your life? It's the only one I have. I try to make the most of it.

24. Your mood? Contented.

25. Missing someone? Not particularly. If I'm supposed to encounter someone, I usually do.

26. Your car? Very much like me. Once sleek and handsome; now old and idiosyncratic, but fairly reliable.

27. Something you’re not wearing? Socks. I'm also not wearing a fascinator.

28. Favorite store? Book stores, and really junky & cluttered antique shops.

29. Summer? Not at the moment anywhere on this hemisphere. A man in a suit just predicted snow later today. This means everyone will rush pell-mell to buy ingredients for French Toast.

30. Favorite color? It varies.

31. Why did you laugh last? Seeing a big fella seated at the next table last night whose butt crack was hanging out. It kept me from going through the buffet line a second time.

32. Why did you cry last? Hearing someone tell their personal story.

33. Who will repost this? You, perhaps?

34. A place I go over and over: My sick & twisted head. I claw my way out as soon as I realize where I've wandered, especially if I forgot to take flares.

35. Someone who emails me: Scott!

36. Place I would rather be right now: I'm okay right here at the moment, but I know I can't stay where I am for long.