roverandom

bonjour, bonjour! and all that jazz.

Ooh, I've been away from Blogger for a long time! Partly purposely, and partly because of some great adventures. Purposely because I am desperately trying to pare-down my list of 'hobbies', so that I can fully invest in the ones that make me happiest. Namely: riding, writing, music, and gardening.

Now, if that gives you a vision of me spending the long summer days blissfully pursuing such activities, you are - unfortunately - wrong.

Caring for my six month old(!!) nephew and trying my best to run the household for Momma (whose chemo sessions are nearly over! :D), have kept my nose to the grindstone. Plus we are planting this week after two weeks of constant rain (nearly 11 inches, which is unheard of).

But you don't want to hear about all that now.

You would rather read a bit of my Adventure.

It might as well begin here, at the heart of horse racing. 

My sister graduated from med school this May, even as I unofficially-officially graduated from homeschool-high :) I still have some finishing up to do, but now she can have Dr printed before her name on return address labels.  

The whole familial troupe, except for my other sister and nephew, made the 2,000 mile road trip down in time for the ceremony, but not without making a requisite stop at Churchill Downs on the way.

One very important item scratched off my bucket list!

rosie napravnik
 We were there on Mother's Day and they were running races one after another. We saw three and Momma should have bet on two. I can't even describe what it was like being there after watching the Kentucky Derby every year on television. It was great. greatgreatgreat.

calvin borel

 The next day might have been even more amazing, as we spent the morning at the Kentucky Horse Park in Lexington. (FYI: I have decided Lexington is the place for me. I will live there one day. That is all.) There at the park I got to meet two of my biggest track heroes: Cigar (above), looking magnificent at 25. And Funny Cide (below), who is a giant. Both live in retirement at the Park, and on certain days are brought out to meet the public their adoring fans.

 Then it was onward to Charleston to meet family, graduate Sister, and to eat waaaaaay too much good food. It's a good thing so many of Charleston's residents jog. I suppose they have to, otherwise they'd just roll.

best breakfast scones. ever.

 The last weekend there, we rented a beach house with my aunt and cousins on Kiawah Island. It was great. Breakfast with Sister & Brother in the village, beach in the afternoon....

arnold the three-legged alligator
 ....alligators in the golf course hazards.... 

 ....friendly photogenic squirrels, watching Psych under the covers until the wee hours... and a cockroach raid even later that involved a flip-flop, muffled screams, and a wobbly kitchen chair not intended for a vantage spot when swatting the offending creature from his ceiling refuge.

..................

This is the simplest version of my second trip down South with the least amount of detail. I took over 500 pictures, so what you're seeing is also just a sample. But I think it will all have to do for today.

Destination Charleston: Drayton Hall, day 2

taken from my travel journal

Wednesday, the 10th of October 

part 1

I awoke this morning to a pale skyline pierced by spindling church steeples, and the smell of toasting bagels.
 After a leisurely breakfast of the stuff with large amounts of cream cheese and a few mugs of tea, we began our inspection of the city and surrounding countryside, starting by crossing blue-grey Ashley River to visit Drayton Hall and its lovely grounds.

The gatekeeper was a very nice lady with tortoiseshell specs, who gave us a 'discount' because Little Brother was so cute and warned us not to splash about or throw stones in the waterways and river for fear of alligators.

 On seeing the Hall for the first time as we emerged from the shaded lane into full view of the house and lawns, a single yet potent thought took up firm residence in my mind: I was born in the wrong era.
 Oh, what it would have been like to belong to one of those important families back then..! I'm telling you, my writer's fantasy spinner went into overdrive.

Our tour began with a talk under a wooden shelter a little ways from the gift shop where a lady with a sophisticated drawl gave us and several others an overview of Drayton's history, which began in 1738 when young John Drayton, at 23, purchased the land next to his family's (Magnolia Plantation) believing that he would not inherit as he was the second of two sons.
 He wished Drayton Hall to be a statement of his accumulating wealth and success and I think he very much succeeded.

Prior to the late 1960's when the National Trust bought the plantation for preservation, Drayton Hall remained in the Drayton family. The oldest unmodified plantation house in the United States, it stands alone on the banks of the Ashley as the only authentic survivor of the area's turbulent past. All the other plantation houses in the district were burned to the ground by Union forces during the Civil War. There are several stories and theories given as to why Drayton survived, the most popular being that the head of the house at the time hung out the yellow flags of quarantine (falsely) warning away the soldiers.

Inside the house we were warned not to touch the walls since the last time they were painted (save one room) was in the 1870s-1880s. To put that in perspective: About the height of the British Empire, Queen Victoria, British Occupied India, and the South African war.

the Lawn Entrance

The Hall is unfurnished, I don't recall if they ever told us why exactly, but the immaculate carvings of the woodwork and mantles, plus the amazing moulded plaster ceilings spoke their proud history with a clear enough voice. The grand staircase and the ballroom on the second floor were my favorite places.
The house isn't completely bare of minor detail, either. On the back of a broom cupboard door is actually Union graffiti, the only thing legible the scrawling name Simon.

civil war graffiti

 Also, in one of the family rooms, a curved doorframe made for the perfect place for a growth chart, that dates back to Charles Drayton's (John's son) children or grandchildren. The doorframe is pretty black now for all the marks as the present generation continues the tradition.

servants' stair

 The last member to own the house, a Miss Charlotta, since she had no children, measured her terriers instead in the year 1915. It was she who most firmly requested that the house remained unmodernized when she passed it on in her will to her two nephews who, after only a few short years, sold it to the National Trust to be cared for and preserved as this precious gem of American history deserves.

looking at drayton from the river entranceway 

river entrance 

After our tour of the ballroom and bedrooms, we made our way to the River Entrance. John Drayton insisted that the Hall have no back, but rather two entrances; the River and the Lawn.
Then it was down into the kitchens, a large open place with supports to hold up the great weight of the Hall. The walls and supporting arches dare for the most part just whitewashed plaster, but in some places the plaster has fallen away revealing the red brick muscles of the house.
 It's hard describing the feeling of touching those bricks made from the mud of the Ashley by hands that worked nearly 280 years ago. 280. Two-hundred and eighty years. If that's so hard for me to comprehend, imagine what it will be like when(not if, but when) I go to Europe!
The kitchen hearth is very large; about ten feet in length. The Drayton's were a very influential family and entertained many important guests in their time who would all arrive either by the wooded road like us, or by boat on the Ashley River itself, located perhaps a quarter mile from the River Entrance of the Hall.

On the grounds little remains of the other structures (such as the smithy and greenhouse) besides excavated foundations. However, the privy and the well (a much later aesthetic addition) are still intact.

To the left of the Lawn Entrance (looking from the house) a little ways lies the exquisite reflection pond who's only purpose it to reflect the image of the Hall on its still waters. It was added when they were all the rage in the Victorian period.
 This was by far my most favorite place. It was just perfect to sit under the magnolias and live oaks near the water, and would make the perfect place to come and imagine and write.
 After Sister and I had stood on the bank looking at the reflection of Drayton on the shady waters for a time, we both decided we would need to have reflection ponds for our future mansions, too.
The four of us -- Mum, Sister, LB, and I -- then walked along the marshy banks of the river which was a beautiful color blue that day. But much to LB's and my disappointment, we never saw any gators. :(

 Before we left the plantation, we paused at the Negro cemetery that shelters many generations of Drayton Plantation workers. I personally didn't think the place should open to the public, and felt more than a little intrusive, so we didn't stay long.

We left Drayton with reluctance and rumbling tummies, so it was decided that now would be a good time to try out some real Southern BBQ.
 Sister knew a place on the way home called 'The Home Team' or 'The Team' or something or other. I didn't really catch it, but the sign has a funky-looking pig on it (that should narrow it down - ha).
 It was kind of a loud road house - with blaring old rock'n'roll not-quite-hits and tall barstools, washtub chandeliers (oh yes) and enough Harly Davidson orange paint to make your eyes cross. I'll admit I did pause when I crossed the threshold, this not looking like the kind of place I like to frequent. But as soon as the food was set in front of us I realized we were in good hands. We ate until we were like stuffed toads, and then headed down on the road.

A capitol adventure

Alternately titled: The Longest Drive for reasons I will elaborate on in the near future.

If offered a chance to journey to your state's capitol building for a sculpture unveiling featuring your Da's work, and a chance to meet your Governor, would you take it? I did.

 Ooh but how it began! I vaguely remember being prodded awake at the crack of dawn by what I took to be at the time a pestering hen. It turned out to be my mother, who insists it was only seven o'clock. What she fails to understand is that time is relative -- and waking a ghastly experience for we owls of the night.
 Crumpets aside, we set out on the East Bound road, through true prairie that reminded me why I love my state.

 There is nothing out there but blue sky, waving grass, and sometimes a herd of cattle. And that is beautiful to me. The openness, the expansiveness, the freedom of it all. You look out at the green-soon-to-be-gold velvet speeding by, and it is not hard to imagine buffalo instead of cows, or even nomadic indians on their painted ponies.... Plenty of fodder for a story-teller like me.

 After several hours drive, through 'towns' along the way with populations ranging from 3 to 26, dodging suicidal pheasants, and surviving an outburst of Shenandoah from Mum as we crossed the Missouri river, we made it at last to the capitol building just in time for the ceremony to begin.

 The place was packed with dignitaries and people that didn't know we were family of one of the artists so we had to take the lift and watch from the balcony, which turned out to be better because the place, built in 1910, has no air conditioning. But it does have cool old radiators.

 The ceremony itself was all pomp and splendor, I suppose. Though after my Da finished his little speech, I confess I did abandon my post of Interested Observer to go and be an Explorer of the upper level, even sneaking a look 'round the Legislators' lounge.
 The Governor spoke too, though it seems that no one had told him the statues' bios would be given as each one was unveiled, so we got to hear everything interesting that ever happened to those men twice. Just incase we didn't get our notes down the first time.

 Afterwards it was tea on the terrace at the Governor's mansion. Well, coffee and lemonade anyway. And sweets. LB kept running back to the catering to snag us a few more lemon-raspberry cheesecake bars. And lemonade. The lemonade was wonderfully delicious. Very cold and very fresh, and it came in the cutest little glasses.
 My family eventually decided that cheesecake bars did not constitute a good lunch, so we packed up and drove around until we found a place to satisfy LB's craving for fried chicken and mine for mashed potatoes & peppery gravy.

By then it was getting time for Mum, LB, and I to hit the trail home so we could make it back in time before dark to feed the animals. We left Da behind to do further sculptural things and headed out, taking a brief rabbit trail to drive over Owahe Reservoir/Dam and about dying of laughter at the top, coming up with all sorts of hilarity {see Percy Jackson and the Olympians book 3}. Then we really pushed off....
  I kid you not: Not thirty minutes into the drive {about the time we pass the sign Last Gas 150miles} I was seriously regretting all that delicious lemonade in the adorable cups -- if you know what I mean.
 This is the main reason I don't like road trips, because where I live to get Anywhere you have to go through a million miles of Nowhere with, you guessed it, no rest stops.
 About an hour later Mum got tired enough to let me drive. I was all like, Okay, Mommy, don't worry about a thing, I'll get us home safely! until she sacked out in the backseat, then I was like LB, fasten your safety belt and zip your lips; we're getting home now!! 'cause there was no way in Hot-place I was pulling over to the side of the road. Because even though there were probably only five other cars on that highway, I can guarantee they would all pass by just then like a little parade for yours truly.
So, yeah. I chose the alternative.
 I won't go into details, but I will say I shaved a half-hour off our travel time. Aaand we arrived in one piece, which is always a plus when I'm driving. In fact, considering the circumstances of that day, it's a miracle.

-Gwyn

I shall regale you with my exploits

Well, if it isn't our little pilgrim returned. 

Hello, everyone, it's been a million years! You didn't know that? Well, then you obviously didn't give up anything for Lent, otherwise you'd join me in the refrain. That being said, it's time to get down to the bean.

little brother & i up in the mountains of steamboat, co

Lent, I think is a time for self-examination, a sort of maintenance check. Where are the areas I need to work on?
 Lent was forty days of trials for our Savior, forty days of tests probing for weaknesses. He didn't have any, but I have several (surprise!). None of them, once revealed, really shocked me out of my shoes -- it's just the regular run-of-the-mill vices like selfishness, temper, negligence that people struggle with every day. What Lent truly revealed to me is the need to try harder not to be these things. For example, one conscious 'good work' doesn't necessarily cancel out the evil thoughts and muttered words said when the horses refuse to be put away and have the almighty gall to actually toss their heads challengingly in your direction as they sprint away.
  Don't Take It Personally has be come my mantra.
{But I'm serious, people, my horses have minds like no others. They're organizing, plotting -- call it what you will -- against yours truly. I know it.}

steamboat valley

Near the beginning of last month, the Parental Figures, LB, and I went road tripping... er, sort of.... down to Colorado for a family reunion, a distant cousin's funeral, a visit to my mum's mother, and then to Denver to send off my Uncle, two aunts, and a cousin who all had flown (?) up for the funeral. Sound exhausting? Because it was. Horribly. In the course five days we traveled over 1,500 miles, spending close to 42 hours in cramped quarters. Plus I was {food} poisoned twice. Not a very glam trip. But, good news for you readers, that is all I'm going to say about that.

my only, pitiful skyline

moon jellies

One bright spot in the halo of doom that was that trip, we had time the second day we were in Denver to stop off at the Down Town Aquarium. I've mentioned before, I think, that Little Brother is obsessed with fish? Yes, well, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven when we walked through those doors. He might actually have seen them as pearly gates of splendor, but I saw photo-ops.

This fish I named Dorian, because his mouth was agape. He followed the red light on my camera preventing the shot I wanted to get of the anemone (right).

I'll admit it, I'm pretty proud of this shot. I mean, straight-out-of-camera goodness -- no editing required -- what more can a Snap-Happy ask for? Plus lion fish are pretty interesting dudes, even if they are an invasive species. Oh, yes I did learn some facts at this aquarium.... promptly forgot them again, but it still counts. Or should.

black canyon, co

Returning at last to our haven on the prairie, away from those formidable mountains, scrubby mesas, and dirty cities, I had a week to recuperate before the Spring Strings concert at the University hall. Big Brother chose this time to announce that we weren't going to play the song I had picked out and had been practicing since before Christmas, because he didn't like his cello part. I blinked and tried to take this in stride. "Okay, then," I said, "What are we playing?" He handed me a sheet of music with two short slip jigs entitled Brose & Butter & Catherine Haye's Delight. They didn't look too hard, but... "So, where's my part? This is in bass clef."
  "Well, yeah. It doesn't have a violin part. But you can transpose."
  "But I can't read bass that well."
  "You could play it on viola, then."
 Panic starts to rise in me. "I can't read C clef at all."
 "Oh."
I have seven days to learn this and preform it: "Oh." Is that all you can SAY?!
 That's what I wanted to say. Scream, actually. But instead I determined right then and there that I was going to learn this song so well that if anyone messed up it wasn't going to be me. Desperately, I ran to my amazing and tremendously patient teacher and within one lesson we had sorted it out well enough that with a few {thousand} listens to the CD, I had it down pretty well. And in the end, when we stepped out into the lights, heels clicking on the pine wood stage, it went well enough. However, it has been decided that hence forth there must be a discussion before either of us inflicts a heart attack on the other.

Meet my fur-babies. I dissolve into into a puddle of mush when they come scampering up to meet me.
  I should explain that technically they don't belong to me, but rather, my sister. She hopped off to San Padre Island for a week so LB and I got to take care of these guys and her horses. Hard to say who had the better deal.

I personally didn't care for their names all that much, so I hatched a plan that we would change them before Sister got back. They're only a few months old so they're still very impressionable. Joker became Loki, and Cope -- Munchkin. Or sometimes Munchymunchymunchy!
 Both of them are from the same litter, and they are Corgi-Blue Heeler-Border Collie mixes. Munchkin has the giant Corgi feet, and slightly boxy face of a Heeler. Loki on the other hand is much more Border Collie, with small feet and a habit of ambushing her unsuspecting brother from the bushes. Both are the sweetest, cutest things..! I miss waking up at the crack of dawn and driving for twenty minutes to have them greet me like they didn't think I was ever coming back. *sigh* I think I'm going to have to sue for custody.

Well, there it is. My return post. A week late.
  Ah, well.

Other mentionables:

• Spring has definitely sprung already! Whooo!
• I scrapped TLOS again. Began outlining for the first time. Am at last happy with the opening chapter.
• {I cannot believe I'm about to say this...} I've become a fan of Doctor Who. {The later seasons, anyway.} I believe you veterans have a term for this.
• ....Aaaaand my brain just went dead.

See thee later, then.

-Gwyn