9:52 PM |
I took a real emotional beating today. My family found me. And pissed on my parade. My father doesn't want to do business with me. That's the way he put it. I think his wife is peeking in my diary (hi, Gale). Okay, now that my laundry has been aired, time to move on.
I found out that the owners of the Duff Green Mansion don't really keep sharks. They are Sharps. I am going deaf. They put on lots of luncheons and weddings and stuff like that, so I was a bit of a bother this morning. No complaints, but the breakfast part of B&B was quite uninspired. Eggs, meat, grits, biscuit. Promised the best grits in Mississippi. Really? The biscuit (1) was indeed light as air. Mr. Sharp got some tips from his old black breakfast-maker. She had a stroke and now he cooks. They have pretty china. Chad the mini-innkeeper (under-innkeeper? junior innkeeper?) is so tentative it seems that he is being held in white slavery. He is a gamer and stays up pretty late. We were both groggy this morning. Chad showed me the DVDs of the ghost stories on TV. I wish I had been in the Dixie room where all the limbs had been sawed off. I needed company.
The mansion has an interesting history which I recap briefly here. It was given to a woman by her father who lived next door. Mississippi was one of the first states that let married women have property. She had a baby in a cave when everyone moved there during the Civil War (or War Between The States, as they put it). His middle name was Siege (I learned that at the battlefield museum). The house was a hospital during the war. I was then an orphanage of sorts. 45 kids, one woman. Closed after it drove her nuts and they couldn't find a replacement. She probably ran away from home like me. Owned by Salvation Army for 45 (or 54 I don't remember which) years which is the longest time it has been in one hand. The Sharps spent a boatload of money renovating. They put the guests in the basement. It smells like wet dog. On the other hand, I had a cool bed from 16-something (truly sixteen), and a great mattress. But again, the bathroom floor had a dirt pattern that clearly wasn't paranormal. I put a towel on the floor before I went in there. Also, they have a set of those gold-colored aluminum-framed sliding doors on the shower, the kind that has that textured glass that you don't know for sure if its glass or plastic. The toiletries were from the sample basket at the drug store.
Natchez is only an hour away. I don't know what to do with myself before I get there. Maybe I should shoot for early arrival and see some plantations. I felt I had to see the Vicksburg Battlefield before I left, so I watched the little movie and drove around the grounds looking at my watch. There were a lot of cannon and granite memorials. It seems that Iowa has a lot of money, because they have pretty substantial monuments. Eccentric widow donor? It is a good park for jogging (do people jog any more, or do they all just run slowly?). There were lots of joggers/runners. I think the plaques that dot the field would be very interesting and useful for reenactors. For the rest of us, not so much. I did see an older couple who stopped their car at each one and got out and looked. I kept looking at my watch. It finally occurred to me that I don't have to do this. My mother isn't here to make me. I proceeded at a rapid clip to the USS Cairo (like Kayro the syrup, not like Cairo, Egypt), the resurrected war ship. It is under a tent, like Cirque de Soleil. The armor is cool, and the other stuff they found on it, like boots and spoons, is in the building in the hill behind the ship.
I went to the Visitor's Center as always. This is Pat. She wanted to take her glasses off for her portrait. Pat understands what I like! She is sending me to a great outsider art shop and an old eating place that serves continuously until 9 so I don't have to worry about making lunch on time. I never do. I went to Walnut Hill right after my brief military engagement.
The driveway was a bear, nearly straight up. All of the streets here are either straight up or straight down. I have to start driving with the emergency brake on and then pop it off at the last second because the drivers here stop exactly 12 inches behind you (they must teach that in drivers' ed) and I roll back as Woody gets going. Anyhow, I opted for the round table at lunch. It sounded like a good idea, even if I didn't quite know what that meant. I was seated at, yes, a round table. It had a huge lazy susan on it and you take whatever you want out of the dishes. The squash was amazing. I like squash, but I've never really had amazing squash. Dessert was cobbler made with canned peaches. Third time I've had it in Mississippi. Maybe after driver's ed, they make canned peach cobbler in home ec. I met Pat and Tommy who were originally from Louisiana but now live in Mississippi. They are there for Valentine's Day (which was 3 days ago) because she said so. I got a lot of recommendations for what to do in New Orleans. I also got some from Helen and Keith, but I didn't take a picture of them because they were talking from behind my back. The key one is that Paul's Pastries ships king cakes so you don't have to. Also, the post office has special boxes just to ship king cakes in. A king cake has a baby in it, and I think a gold coin. I forgot what kind of good and or bad luck you have when you get the thing in your piece. Helen's son works at the World War II museum in New Orleans. Tommy said I should take a horse-drawn carriage ride. Pat said a swamp tour, and she recommends Aunt Sally's pralines. I don't know if she means her Aunt Sally or a made up one like Aunt Jemima. She also asked me if I have a gun. Lots of people ask me that. I do, but it's at home. Here, it's legal to carry a pistol, I was told. As I left I saw a great-looking coconut cream pie in the case. I asked if they make it themselves. They do. What do people like? The caramel cake. I've never had a caramel cake but it looks like molasses colored chocolate cake. I think it would be terrific. Too bad I had already eaten the supplied cobbler.
Took Woody straight down to the main drag. I looked in the drug store. This is where the Sharps get their medications. There is really cool stuff, I mean collections, in here. I wonder if this agar-agar is the same thing as the argon oil I get from Khiel's that is made by northern African women? It works good. I found inflatable toilets next to the cannon balls and hosiery hung by the bone saws. I asked the are-you-really-old-enough-to-do-this-job pharmacist how the collection got started. Some one gave him some stuff 50 years ago and then a lot of people brought stuff since then. You can't see him, because he isn't tall enough to look over the raised counter. It is in the bigger photo, below. His head is someplace to the right of the big candy jar and the left of the sort of round candy jar.
I went to the coffee place and up the stairs to the Attic Gallery. This is where Leslie and Louise have their art store. I'm not sure what they're relationship is. Leslie is most definitely the store owner/artist finder. Louise cried when I told her about the amazing things they do at the Helen Graham Cancer Center in Delaware, including asking if you need financial help. Leslie has been doing this for over 40 years. I bet she's found her bliss. The store is a wonderland. Everything I could ever want in art is right here. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Spend it here. Leslie discovered Earl. Earl is Earl Wayne Simmons and he has assembled a very cool living space that was burned down and then regrown. It grows practically all by itself. I bought an Earl truck, like a big play one. I also bought a Chris Clark cow and a cool small column kind of thing called Twisted Sister. Louise has a sister named LaLa. So do I. And I met LaLa Craig in Clarksdale. I also bought a road trip themed assemblage mostly because it's what I'm doing. And a really great blues artist painting. I didn't want to leave. This is Leslie (right, with the incredible grey hair) and Louise trying to get T-Bone off the wall for me. In the other picture, Leslie is on the left and taller Louise is on the right. When you go there, they tell you to go ahead and touch stuff, because it's all piled up anyhow. Leslie's car is covered with Altoids cans that people did art in.
This is Alyssa. She is Miss Vicksburg and will compete to be Miss Mississippi. She is very tall and her crown is on crooked. She was giving out Hershey's Hugs and expounding on her platform of aerobics for kids or something like that.
My step-mother would like this. I think I actually heard her say this. Her telephone message was "if you play by the rules, you miss all the fun". She buys lots of furry martini glasses and cartoony women with menopause sayings on them. She has a friend that won't let his girlfriend/wife/SO/whatever bring her stuff in their home. I wish my father would do that. (hi Gale)
This is Russ. He waited while I unpacked my entire car for the art. He showed me pictures of his 1954 truck. It is painted red and black, and is gorgeous. He bought it that way. He also showed me a picture of a small red and white car that his wife got to stay in the picture with the whole car show thing. Russ is very nice.
Lots of other people wanted to talk about Woody today. I just couldn't. I am exhausted. Really, truly exhausted. I need to stay more than one day at a place soon. I regret not staying in Clarksdale at the Shack Up Inn. Seriously considering bagging the rest of the trip, going back to my shack, and learning to play harmonica from Stan Street. I keep hoping that the next place I go will be nice and restful and pleasant so that I want to stay. No dice as of yet.
I am currently staying in the historic Dunleith with the historic mattress in Natchez. I wouldn't take the first room because it is right across from the industrial air conditioner of the restaurant. She asked me if I'd like to stay in the mansion. Uh, yeah. I booked the Dunleith Mansion. I now have a veranda that overlooks the Coke machine and an exit sign. You ever heard of a historic B&B with a Coke machine? Me neither. You have to go through all the additions to get to the mansion. Why can't I just walk in the front door? It's open. Which is what the windows are not. And will not be. This is because they are those terrific huge windows that go all the way down to the floor, and nobody has opened them because your room is basically unsecured at that time, and I guess people don't want to sleep with people they don't know with their walls missing. I managed to get one up about 20 inches and crawled outside to put something in front of the Coke machine and exit sign. I still have it open. Living dangerously.
I do have to say that there is a very nice tub in the middle of the bathroom and I audibly sighed when I saw it. I got lost on the way here (what's new), but in this case I really, truly think the directions were horrible. She kept on giving the house number and the name of the street. I don't GPS unless it is actually necessary. The directions she gave me weren't doing any good, so at the edge of town I decided I'd go down a perpendicular road to get back to the last one. It was one lane and dirt and ended at a crazy shack with a rusted truck and I couldn't get turned around because Woody would have fallen in the ravine. And, he kept on stalling. I was getting more and more frustrated. We finally escaped with our lives and I pulled to the side of the road in some nice residential area. Gave in and turned on the GPS. It told me to continue to the street the mansion is on. I know, I want to get there. Tell me how, dammit. I drove around so that it would recalculate and the reason it told me to go to the mansion is that I was 50 feet away from where I was the first time.
I don't see well in the dark, and Dunleith doesn't make that any easier. It is a restaurant/wedding venue/catering company that happens to have a perfunctory 21 room B&B ensconced in the mansion. There must be some legal need to have the sleeping quarters, as they clearly have no desire to have them otherwise. It's a good thing I only carry a change of underwear and a clean shirt when I get to my flophouse because you have to carry your stuff over the bridge and through the woods. Anyhow, given it's fancy, shmancy restaurant clientele, they really uplight the architectural features, large magnolias, and clever signs. Woody's lights are not Xenon. The driveway is the same color as the lawn, and there is no demarcation between them. I couldn't get from reception to parking. Cars for the restaurant were backing up behind me. I wanted to cry. I did cry. I couldn't find my second room. I sat on the porch and wondered what would happen if I just slept there. I cried some more. I have been crying all day, and that is very tiring.
There's this thing I do when I'm stressed. I get this background noise like when you get a song stuck in your head, but mine is numbers. I think I saw on TV someone who did that and they have an obsessive compulsive disorder but I don't wash my hands a certain number of times or have to check the oven seven times before I leave the house. I just have filler. I hadn't had that happen this entire journey. Once my real life stuck its stinky finger into me, I lost that floating sense of calm that I had been unintentionally but magnificently cultivating. It feels like the trip is ruined. I'll probably wake up tomorrow in a much better humor, but right then I felt like I really needed my almost-real imaginary boyfriend to almost-really hold me. It's where I go to escape. It's the idea of him, and it's comforting. I can almost conjure up a physical sensation.
I think I'll stay in Natchez for another day, but I'll probably move to a different B&B, or the Enola Hotel. I found out that Dunleith has a ghost, too, the whole story of which you can read at that link. She must be the one behind the bathtub faucet that wouldn't turn off at all. It was freezing cold, and after I turned the handle in as many different directions it could go four or five times, it stopped. The bottom line of our ghost's deal is that she died of a broken heart. Maybe she'll visit me and we can dish. While during the entire trip down from Vicksburg I got stuck inside my head and didn't observe anything, I did spy an aptly named Big Black River.
I found out that the owners of the Duff Green Mansion don't really keep sharks. They are Sharps. I am going deaf. They put on lots of luncheons and weddings and stuff like that, so I was a bit of a bother this morning. No complaints, but the breakfast part of B&B was quite uninspired. Eggs, meat, grits, biscuit. Promised the best grits in Mississippi. Really? The biscuit (1) was indeed light as air. Mr. Sharp got some tips from his old black breakfast-maker. She had a stroke and now he cooks. They have pretty china. Chad the mini-innkeeper (under-innkeeper? junior innkeeper?) is so tentative it seems that he is being held in white slavery. He is a gamer and stays up pretty late. We were both groggy this morning. Chad showed me the DVDs of the ghost stories on TV. I wish I had been in the Dixie room where all the limbs had been sawed off. I needed company. The mansion has an interesting history which I recap briefly here. It was given to a woman by her father who lived next door. Mississippi was one of the first states that let married women have property. She had a baby in a cave when everyone moved there during the Civil War (or War Between The States, as they put it). His middle name was Siege (I learned that at the battlefield museum). The house was a hospital during the war. I was then an orphanage of sorts. 45 kids, one woman. Closed after it drove her nuts and they couldn't find a replacement. She probably ran away from home like me. Owned by Salvation Army for 45 (or 54 I don't remember which) years which is the longest time it has been in one hand. The Sharps spent a boatload of money renovating. They put the guests in the basement. It smells like wet dog. On the other hand, I had a cool bed from 16-something (truly sixteen), and a great mattress. But again, the bathroom floor had a dirt pattern that clearly wasn't paranormal. I put a towel on the floor before I went in there. Also, they have a set of those gold-colored aluminum-framed sliding doors on the shower, the kind that has that textured glass that you don't know for sure if its glass or plastic. The toiletries were from the sample basket at the drug store.
Natchez is only an hour away. I don't know what to do with myself before I get there. Maybe I should shoot for early arrival and see some plantations. I felt I had to see the Vicksburg Battlefield before I left, so I watched the little movie and drove around the grounds looking at my watch. There were a lot of cannon and granite memorials. It seems that Iowa has a lot of money, because they have pretty substantial monuments. Eccentric widow donor? It is a good park for jogging (do people jog any more, or do they all just run slowly?). There were lots of joggers/runners. I think the plaques that dot the field would be very interesting and useful for reenactors. For the rest of us, not so much. I did see an older couple who stopped their car at each one and got out and looked. I kept looking at my watch. It finally occurred to me that I don't have to do this. My mother isn't here to make me. I proceeded at a rapid clip to the USS Cairo (like Kayro the syrup, not like Cairo, Egypt), the resurrected war ship. It is under a tent, like Cirque de Soleil. The armor is cool, and the other stuff they found on it, like boots and spoons, is in the building in the hill behind the ship.
I went to the Visitor's Center as always. This is Pat. She wanted to take her glasses off for her portrait. Pat understands what I like! She is sending me to a great outsider art shop and an old eating place that serves continuously until 9 so I don't have to worry about making lunch on time. I never do. I went to Walnut Hill right after my brief military engagement. 
The driveway was a bear, nearly straight up. All of the streets here are either straight up or straight down. I have to start driving with the emergency brake on and then pop it off at the last second because the drivers here stop exactly 12 inches behind you (they must teach that in drivers' ed) and I roll back as Woody gets going. Anyhow, I opted for the round table at lunch. It sounded like a good idea, even if I didn't quite know what that meant. I was seated at, yes, a round table. It had a huge lazy susan on it and you take whatever you want out of the dishes. The squash was amazing. I like squash, but I've never really had amazing squash. Dessert was cobbler made with canned peaches. Third time I've had it in Mississippi. Maybe after driver's ed, they make canned peach cobbler in home ec. I met Pat and Tommy who were originally from Louisiana but now live in Mississippi. They are there for Valentine's Day (which was 3 days ago) because she said so. I got a lot of recommendations for what to do in New Orleans. I also got some from Helen and Keith, but I didn't take a picture of them because they were talking from behind my back. The key one is that Paul's Pastries ships king cakes so you don't have to. Also, the post office has special boxes just to ship king cakes in. A king cake has a baby in it, and I think a gold coin. I forgot what kind of good and or bad luck you have when you get the thing in your piece. Helen's son works at the World War II museum in New Orleans. Tommy said I should take a horse-drawn carriage ride. Pat said a swamp tour, and she recommends Aunt Sally's pralines. I don't know if she means her Aunt Sally or a made up one like Aunt Jemima. She also asked me if I have a gun. Lots of people ask me that. I do, but it's at home. Here, it's legal to carry a pistol, I was told. As I left I saw a great-looking coconut cream pie in the case. I asked if they make it themselves. They do. What do people like? The caramel cake. I've never had a caramel cake but it looks like molasses colored chocolate cake. I think it would be terrific. Too bad I had already eaten the supplied cobbler.
Took Woody straight down to the main drag. I looked in the drug store. This is where the Sharps get their medications. There is really cool stuff, I mean collections, in here. I wonder if this agar-agar is the same thing as the argon oil I get from Khiel's that is made by northern African women? It works good. I found inflatable toilets next to the cannon balls and hosiery hung by the bone saws. I asked the are-you-really-old-enough-to-do-this-job pharmacist how the collection got started. Some one gave him some stuff 50 years ago and then a lot of people brought stuff since then. You can't see him, because he isn't tall enough to look over the raised counter. It is in the bigger photo, below. His head is someplace to the right of the big candy jar and the left of the sort of round candy jar.
I went to the coffee place and up the stairs to the Attic Gallery. This is where Leslie and Louise have their art store. I'm not sure what they're relationship is. Leslie is most definitely the store owner/artist finder. Louise cried when I told her about the amazing things they do at the Helen Graham Cancer Center in Delaware, including asking if you need financial help. Leslie has been doing this for over 40 years. I bet she's found her bliss. The store is a wonderland. Everything I could ever want in art is right here. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Spend it here. Leslie discovered Earl. Earl is Earl Wayne Simmons and he has assembled a very cool living space that was burned down and then regrown. It grows practically all by itself. I bought an Earl truck, like a big play one. I also bought a Chris Clark cow and a cool small column kind of thing called Twisted Sister. Louise has a sister named LaLa. So do I. And I met LaLa Craig in Clarksdale. I also bought a road trip themed assemblage mostly because it's what I'm doing. And a really great blues artist painting. I didn't want to leave. This is Leslie (right, with the incredible grey hair) and Louise trying to get T-Bone off the wall for me. In the other picture, Leslie is on the left and taller Louise is on the right. When you go there, they tell you to go ahead and touch stuff, because it's all piled up anyhow. Leslie's car is covered with Altoids cans that people did art in.
This is Alyssa. She is Miss Vicksburg and will compete to be Miss Mississippi. She is very tall and her crown is on crooked. She was giving out Hershey's Hugs and expounding on her platform of aerobics for kids or something like that.
My step-mother would like this. I think I actually heard her say this. Her telephone message was "if you play by the rules, you miss all the fun". She buys lots of furry martini glasses and cartoony women with menopause sayings on them. She has a friend that won't let his girlfriend/wife/SO/whatever bring her stuff in their home. I wish my father would do that. (hi Gale)
Lots of other people wanted to talk about Woody today. I just couldn't. I am exhausted. Really, truly exhausted. I need to stay more than one day at a place soon. I regret not staying in Clarksdale at the Shack Up Inn. Seriously considering bagging the rest of the trip, going back to my shack, and learning to play harmonica from Stan Street. I keep hoping that the next place I go will be nice and restful and pleasant so that I want to stay. No dice as of yet.
I am currently staying in the historic Dunleith with the historic mattress in Natchez. I wouldn't take the first room because it is right across from the industrial air conditioner of the restaurant. She asked me if I'd like to stay in the mansion. Uh, yeah. I booked the Dunleith Mansion. I now have a veranda that overlooks the Coke machine and an exit sign. You ever heard of a historic B&B with a Coke machine? Me neither. You have to go through all the additions to get to the mansion. Why can't I just walk in the front door? It's open. Which is what the windows are not. And will not be. This is because they are those terrific huge windows that go all the way down to the floor, and nobody has opened them because your room is basically unsecured at that time, and I guess people don't want to sleep with people they don't know with their walls missing. I managed to get one up about 20 inches and crawled outside to put something in front of the Coke machine and exit sign. I still have it open. Living dangerously.
I do have to say that there is a very nice tub in the middle of the bathroom and I audibly sighed when I saw it. I got lost on the way here (what's new), but in this case I really, truly think the directions were horrible. She kept on giving the house number and the name of the street. I don't GPS unless it is actually necessary. The directions she gave me weren't doing any good, so at the edge of town I decided I'd go down a perpendicular road to get back to the last one. It was one lane and dirt and ended at a crazy shack with a rusted truck and I couldn't get turned around because Woody would have fallen in the ravine. And, he kept on stalling. I was getting more and more frustrated. We finally escaped with our lives and I pulled to the side of the road in some nice residential area. Gave in and turned on the GPS. It told me to continue to the street the mansion is on. I know, I want to get there. Tell me how, dammit. I drove around so that it would recalculate and the reason it told me to go to the mansion is that I was 50 feet away from where I was the first time.
I don't see well in the dark, and Dunleith doesn't make that any easier. It is a restaurant/wedding venue/catering company that happens to have a perfunctory 21 room B&B ensconced in the mansion. There must be some legal need to have the sleeping quarters, as they clearly have no desire to have them otherwise. It's a good thing I only carry a change of underwear and a clean shirt when I get to my flophouse because you have to carry your stuff over the bridge and through the woods. Anyhow, given it's fancy, shmancy restaurant clientele, they really uplight the architectural features, large magnolias, and clever signs. Woody's lights are not Xenon. The driveway is the same color as the lawn, and there is no demarcation between them. I couldn't get from reception to parking. Cars for the restaurant were backing up behind me. I wanted to cry. I did cry. I couldn't find my second room. I sat on the porch and wondered what would happen if I just slept there. I cried some more. I have been crying all day, and that is very tiring.
There's this thing I do when I'm stressed. I get this background noise like when you get a song stuck in your head, but mine is numbers. I think I saw on TV someone who did that and they have an obsessive compulsive disorder but I don't wash my hands a certain number of times or have to check the oven seven times before I leave the house. I just have filler. I hadn't had that happen this entire journey. Once my real life stuck its stinky finger into me, I lost that floating sense of calm that I had been unintentionally but magnificently cultivating. It feels like the trip is ruined. I'll probably wake up tomorrow in a much better humor, but right then I felt like I really needed my almost-real imaginary boyfriend to almost-really hold me. It's where I go to escape. It's the idea of him, and it's comforting. I can almost conjure up a physical sensation.
I think I'll stay in Natchez for another day, but I'll probably move to a different B&B, or the Enola Hotel. I found out that Dunleith has a ghost, too, the whole story of which you can read at that link. She must be the one behind the bathtub faucet that wouldn't turn off at all. It was freezing cold, and after I turned the handle in as many different directions it could go four or five times, it stopped. The bottom line of our ghost's deal is that she died of a broken heart. Maybe she'll visit me and we can dish. While during the entire trip down from Vicksburg I got stuck inside my head and didn't observe anything, I did spy an aptly named Big Black River.