Woody & My IBF

I woke up this morning realizing I had made a terrible mistake. This place was wonderful. The dining room where we had our breakfast truly elegant. My fellow travelers were two young couples. One a heartbreakingly young Ft. Knox trainee and his long-distance girlfriend, and the other a fairly urban couple, probably in their early thirties. I thanked the recruit for his service and found out that the other guy was the photographer for a book of recipes from Victorian homes in Louisville, including The Dupont Mansion. Later, I bought a copy and he signed it for me.

The Dupont Mansion is a wonder, mostly due to it's wonderful innkeeper, Genny. She is the most interesting woman I have ever met, and she has had a younger boyfriend to boot. Two ex-husbands, one a drinker. A beautiful black island man (I'm jealous; my dream husband is a beautiful black professional man). Children and grandchildren (one of the few people I know who doesn't call them grandbabies). This is her official photo. I took one, too, but I don't like it as much.

Genny, Genny, who can you turn to? Remember that song by Tommy Tutone? Who was he, by the way? I looked it up. It is not a he. It is a what. The band. It's funny that a two tone would be a one hit wonder.

Genny turns to herself. She is strong as nails. Tough as bricks. Clever as a silly wabbit. And fun, fun, fun. The stories she can tell...

My favorite one (forgive me if I don't get it exactly right) is about her son and ex-husband on their farm. Dad was told the way you tell a pig's age is to stretch out its tale and measure an inch for each year. So son had him do it and elbowed him in such a way that, well, let's just say that Genny was cleaning poop out of things for quite some time.

She's also gone through many not so good things, included being virtually imprisoned by a man who was not nice. Her daughter got away, but Genny did not for a long time. His brother or something was called Hillbilly. You get the picture.

This woman is funny, open and experienced, yet she's lovely. And a darned good housekeeper. I wish I lived in Louisville so that she could be my friend.

Also, there are dastardly things going on at the DuPont mansion. Apparently, the master of the household had been cavorting with one of the local ladies of the evening. One night she appeared at the front door, which was not done, and announced she was pregnant with his child. He replied that she is a prostitute so there was no way of telling whose child it was. She came back several days later and shot him dead. It is said that the coverup included putting his body somewhere (I don't remember where) and moving it somewhere else, etc. etc. His ghost is said to roam the halls of the mansion.