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, day 2: Folly Beach

taken from my travel journal, Oct. 10th, 2012

For Little Brother and I it was the first time either of us had seen the great blue expanse that is the ocean.
 Another strange, incomprehensible moment as I stood on the sand looking out, thinking that you could set off across those waters and see absolutely nothing for ages -- I imagine it's like driving across the Dakotas :)

Hardly had our feet hit the sand and LB and I were collecting sea shells for mementos and crafts later on. I even found two pair of tiny angel wings.

I had a lot of fun with Jack and the waves, setting different shutter speeds and messing with the aperture. I'm completely flabbergasted, however, that I failed to get even one long exposure the whole trip! I disgust myself!

After a fair amount of splashing in the foamy tide, we gathered up our shoes and wet socks and our bucket of shells, and walked along the beach to the pier. On the way we came across two crabs, one small, and one rather large one (perhaps 6 - 7" across, claw to claw). Both were tragically dead. But after arranging them a little better with a stick, and with LB keeping the flies at bay, they made some fairly convincing photographs.

On the pier we saw many fishermen and -women, all looking suitably bored and sunburned (I have yet to see an excited fisherman).
We walked the length of the pier and up into its tower and sat for awhile, watching the sun play with the water. It would have been quite peaceful and reflective even, had it not been for the shrieking blackbirds that claimed the rafters. The beastly things made me wish for a slingshot.

When we had had enough of the birds and gave up looking for potential shark attacks, Sister drove us a little further East to see the lighthouse. I wasn't terribly impressed, I'll be honest, but my opinion may be tainted by the fact that to get to the view of the lighthouse was a miniature trek through the sand dunes.
But mostly it was the gnats.
 Not five minutes after reaching the spot the beastly beasts descended upon me. They seem to prefer the ankles and ears, but anywhere is fair game. Soon enough everyone was being chewed to pieces and we, along with some fishers who had though they could stand it, ran for our lives back to the car.
 At home we had a late supper of frozen pizza and tea. Always tea.

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.

Destination Charleston: Departure & Arrival

taken from my travel journal - oct. 8th 2012

The day began at 5:30am, cold and dark. I said my last good byes to my (disgruntled at being woken to early) dogs, then loaded the bags into the car and shoved off.
 Apprehension, snow, excitement, and the overpowering smell of instant (bleck) coffee hung in the air.
 Litte Brother promptly fell asleep on his mountain of travel pillows and blankets while Mum and Da chatted like being conscious at a quarter to six is no big deal.
 I spent the majority of the long drive to the airport praying that flying would not make ill. A reasonable petition that was (praise be!!) answered, I'm very happy to say.
This really is a trip of firsts for LB and I:

• First time on a plane
• First time out of the Midwest
• Our first real vacation (too name just a few of the things)

We only had to go through airport security once the entree journey, I was glad to learn, and it wasn't half as trouble some as a lot of people made it out to be. Yes, you have to place your shoes, coat, and bags in bins on a conveyer belt and walk like socked zombies through a metal detector, but really that's it. My biggest crisis during the ordeal was knocking over the tower of bins, making the loudest look-at-ME! crash in history. I kept apologizing to the people behind me and restacked the beastly things as fast as I could.

 We said goodbye to Da from a distance and were then herded down a cold corridor onto our small plane.

 Our first flight from A to B was fun and exciting. The feeling of your guts and brain compressing is quite extraordinary. LB and I spent most of the time staring out the tiny window and marveling at the landscapes below and the clouds above.

 Halfway through our hour long flight, Mum ordered us all tea and biscuits from the trolly pushed by the flight attendant with red bobbed hair and an apron.

We landed in snowy, bleak Minneapolis and emerged from the gate into what can only be described as The Rat Race. A hitherto unknown amount (to we country bumpkins) of people dressed in business suits walking briskly to and fro, always on their iPhones and seemingly blind to the three of us being trampled underfoot.

 We thought we hand an hour between flights so Mum left LB and I to fend for ourselves and stake out some seats in the terminal while she dashed off to the restroom. Three minutes later I spied the screen that had our flight info listed on it, and, in appallingly bold letters: BOARDING 10 MINUTES.

 In vain LB and I looked in the direction Mum had gone in hopes that she'd reappear. Finally, when the time had ticked down to THREE MINUTES and still no mother, I told LB to sit tight and dashed off to find her, the thought briefly crossing my mind that by the time we returned LB would've a) wandered off (because that's what boys do), b)been kidnapped by the creep three seats down with the greasy hair, or c) we all would miss our flight.

I found the restroom easily enough but, to my horror, also a queue as long as the I imagine the one in Egypt was when the Hebrews grabbed their carpetbags and said 'Cheerio!' to their kohl-eyed pals.

 I felt the sinking feeling of Jonah (as long as we're using Biblical references). But all was not lost as I shoved passed the masses (many who called out to me telling me I had to wait my turn like everyone else) and luckily found Mum drying her hands. With little time for explanations I grabbed her sleeve and we legged it for the gate, grabbed LB(as yet un-kidnapped) and the bags and..... waited forever in line while the Specials got to take there sweet time boarding. It completely defies logic that they, who the the nice seats at the front of the plane get to board first. Besides working backwards, I'm sure they don't like being buffeted by the poor peoples luggage as each and every one of them files past in the too-small aisle.

 We got to buffet a lot of people since we boarded next to last and were placed in the very last row -- you know the one: next to the lavs and the flight attendants. No window, either. To make matters worse this was our longest flight. When they remembered us we got fed peanuts (that would give anyone kidney failure because of the salt content) and coke.

 In Atlanta we got our first glimpse of the South with accents and big hair galore. My word, it was just like walking into a film the way some of those gals talked! LB and I had to stuff our hankies in our mouths.

 We had quite a distance between gates and so got to ride two trains and an escalator to our last flight.

The landing in Charleston was quite rough, and for the first time I felt a little queazy. But it might also have had something to do with surviving on biscuits and peanuts all day and the in-tranzit trivia game (which I ruled!). But before the queasiness could evolve into something sinister, we arrived!

We were met by Oldest Sister outside in the balmy hour of sunset and LB and I got to see our first palmetto. Totally sacked we went 'home' to Sister's apartment and gathered round a pot of chicken soup, tea, and an episode of Mythbusters. After that I was no longer conscious.

 Thus ended Day One.