Hampton

Yesterday we visited Hampton, a National Historic Site, that is part of the National Park Service (which makes it cooler because it’s free).

Hampton was a Georgian estate/plantation built just after the Revolutionary War and owned by the builder’s descendents through World War 2. At which point it was purchased, restored, and given to the Park Service.  Each room in the house is decorated with original antiques from ne of the time periods during which the house existed.

Here are some photos.  One caveat: the photos don’t do the estate justice. There was no way to take in the opulent grandeur. Nor was I able to take photos of the slave quarters and indentured servants housing that kept the estate flush with money and labor.

Here are Cal and I in front of one of the main doors.  It's hard to see but there's leaded painted glass in the window above our head.

 Here's the music room.  Note the harp. There was also an exquisite antique Steinway piano and wooden flute.

 Here's part of the bell system.  Each bell had a different tone and let the servants know where in the mansion they were needed.

Here's Matt in the stairway to the ice cellar. It went down thirty feet.  In the winter they'd fill a 30 foot deep brick lined well with ice so that in the summer the "family" and their guests could have ice cream and iced drinks.

Vacation

We are on vacation, which for us usually involves a car trip.  This vacation was no different. We left Chattanooga and headed north along roads flanked with snow. It was lovely as we passed through the Tennessee valley and eventually into the Blue Ridge Mountains. However, I noticed a couple of major differences between Tennessee and Virginia.

In Tennessee, every now and then we’d pass road workers standing along the sides of the interstate holding shovels filled with asphalt patch.  Then in breaks in the traffic, the road workers would dart onto the interstate, dump their pile of asphalt and hightail it back to the shoulder.  I’ve seen the workers out there after any major storm filling the potholes, and I’ve thought this was the height of folly.  And I still do.

However, when we got to Virginia, I discovered what happens when the state isn’t as concerned about highway maintenance. Highway 81 in Virginia is one big pothole broken up by bits of road.  The situation is so bad you could play dot-to-dot with the holes and end up with a spider web of lines.  No matter how avoidant you are, you can’t miss them because there are too many.  I wonder if the state of Virginia will pay for the new struts that I’m sure our van will need. It’s curious to me because I’ve heard, though not through personal experience, that speeding tickets in Virginia are among the highest in the nation.  I’m not sure what the state is doing with the money. But my theory is that if they’re adding to their state income through gouging out-of-state drivers, they ought to at least provide drivable roads.  But that would make sense and the politics of finance rarely does.

Another difference is the quality of driving.  In Tennessee (Memphis excepted) drivers feel a compunction to politeness. At a four way stop in Chattanooga, you might be waved to take your turn early by a kind driver who doesn’t want you to have to wait. This actually annoys Calvin when he ponders liability issues if that driver is really a psycho who’s going to crash into once you pull into the intersection (clearly Cal spent most of his adult driving life in Southern California).  At any rate, in Virginia no one is terribly concerned with politeness.  It appears to be a state of tail-gaters.  While in Virginia, Cal talked to cars in his rearview mirror and asked them why they were idiots and if their hope was to draft off the back of our van.  He became convinced of this when we pulled into the right lane so they could pass only to find that they frequently didn’t.  I think they’re just trying to conserve fuel.  Cal was not amused.

Next state is Maryland.  I wonder what their drivers are like. 

And She’ll Have Fun, Fun, Fun....

For you Beach Boys fans, I’ll say straight out that we didn’t get a car.  But we did get something nearly as much fun and infinitely cheaper...a Kindle. 

E-books are the way of the future (publishers take note, burying your collective head in the sand doesn’t change the reality).  Somehow they haven’t learned the lessons of the music industry.  Perhaps they’ll consider what happened to the monk copyists when the printing press came about.  But I digress.

Back to the Kindle.  It’s light in my hand, sleek, and charcoal gray.  The print is lovely pearl e-ink that causes no eye strain and doesn’t have some weird refresh rate that my brain perceives unlike the nasty computer. (Yes, I know how to adjust the refresh rate.)  Plus, it’s not back lit and so you can read in bright sunlight. As you can tell, it’s a match made in heaven.

Thankfully, Ariel was on hand when it arrived to help me with all the technical stuff (she has a Kindle already).  She showed me how to buy free classics, the ones that are out-of-print and not carried by my local library.  She explained what to do when I mistakenly buy an e-book that I don’t want (she knows me too well).  No panic is involved and it’s quite simple. I’m still waiting for her to show me how to read blogs and newspapers.  But I’m not in a hurry.  I’m still trying to decide whether I want to read The Picture of Dorian Gray, some Dostoyevsky (too depressing), or something totally frivolous.   I’ve settled on frivolous.  I’ve always wanted to read Agatha Christie’s Secret Adversary.  It’s one of her Tommy and Tuppence books.  I love the T & T books.  Ariel says it’s because Tommy and Tuppence are only thinly disguised versions of Calvin and me.  But in my defense, I’m not a spendthrift, and I don’t have a penchant for ridiculous hats. However, I do love to disagree with Calvin, not because I’m contrary but because it’s so much fun.

Hmm. That does sound a bit cryptic.  You’ll have to read and Tommy & Tuppence to figure it out.

Here's the Kindle. Next to it is the padded faux suede case that I sewed.  Much cheaper than the $40+ cases that Amazon offers.

I Don't Have To Dream

This morning we woke up to a white Christmas.  And the snow's been coming down ever since. I can't imagine a more perfect holiday.  Here are some photos.

 Here's our own private Narnia lamppost.

And here I am in Narnia.

On Having An Old House

When you buy an old house (70+ years), you get stunning woodwork, amazing artistry, and whacked plumbing.  Our old house was built back in the day when indoor plumbing was new fangled and bathrooms were called “waterclosets” because they were closets literally.  This is all good and well until you have a problem. 

During our recent water debacle, we discovered that one of the toilets “ran.” So we need to replace the rubber stopper of the toilet.  But, of course, you can’t do that because those kinds of stoppers haven’t been made since...well, no one knows when they were last made.  So the “guts” of our water closet’s toilet need to be replaced.  That means that you literally have to take the whole toilet apart. So much more easily said than done. 

First of all, a water closet is NOT a standard size closet.  It’s the size of a closet when people owned two sets of clothes, work clothes and Sunday clothes, so you didn’t need a clothing rod, just shelves.  Shelf width is the width of our WC—each side of the toilet touches the respective wall.  And it’s not long either. If you needed to, you could almost wash your hands while you sat on the potty.  Not easy fit for two adults, various tools, and flashlights (because, of course, the lights in the WC have decided to be fitful at the same time as the toilet).  And it’s taking two adults because these bolts haven’t moved since the Roosevelt administration (?).  Cal’s hands are now covered with desiccated rubber, which is like tar mixed with grease. 

He’s on his way to the hardware store—but it’s only the second time today.  I’m sure the van will take many more trips over the next few hours.  Stay tuned.

Friday Five

It's almost Christmas time.  Yay!   In light of that, what are your five favorite holiday foods?

Here are mine.

1. Country ham (A completely smoked ham--i.e., doesn't need to be refrigerated--that has to be soaked for three days and boiled for eight hours and then baked in a crust).

2. Fruitcake

3. Advocaat (My mother is from the Netherlands, and it's a Dutch drink.)

4. Raclette (This is a Swiss/French New Years tradition.  My aunt and uncle are Swiss. Raclette involves really good cheese, melted in a special pan and poured over potatoes, meat, onions, pickles, etc.)

5. Coconut-rum pie.  Very Yummy.

Finals Security

It’s finals week at the University of Tennessee, Chattanooga.  Luke told us about all the extra precautions that his professors are taking to prevent cheating.  Ariel laughed.  Apparently, the math professors don’t take any precautions.  It’s nearly impossible to cheat on a proofs final.  The exam has ten problems.  Each problem takes about a page to “solve” and doesn’t involve numbers. Copying isn’t an issue because no one knows who might actually be getting the problem correct.  Talking isn’t an issue because again—no one would know if they were doing it right.  Besides if you want to finish in time there’s no time to share answers.  So Ariel’s professor actually leaves the room and congregates in the hall with other profs and they chat.  Students come and go from the exam room.  Some walk the halls taking deep breaths, they open their backpacks and gulp from bottles of Pepto-Bismal, they talk to themselves, they track down the Prof if they have a question, and some even go to the bathroom and ritually wash their hands after every couple of problems.

The boys and I are beginning to think that math really isn’t a major, but more of a club for smart people with social issues.  (Ariel’s offended, but she doesn’t necessarily disagree.)