8:31 PM |
To zip it or to let it all hang out? I haven't thought about the contents of my postings because I just don't think. I have never had reason to think. I like so many people I meet, and sometimes my comments are, well, uninhibited. Ditto my past. When I actually know that someone I now know is reading this, I'm uncomfortable. However, if I can't let my freak flag fly, my postings will look like this===>
This is not what our soldiers die for. I shall open my mouth.
'People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.' (Soren Kierkegaard, 1813 - 1855)
Just when I had given up hope on finding any eating place that I had on my list, I made it to Lynn's Paradise Cafe. It was cool. Woodie liked it. Here she is:
Here's what it looks like:
The lights are the best. They have upside down laps. They have light bulbs hanging like a curtain in the window. They change color. In the back there is a chandelier made of wine glasses. The ceiling beams have that silvery multicolory prism sort of contac paper. Makes it look like one of those cool pencils you get for selling the most mini teddy bears at the mini society fair. They also have multicolor lights in plastic tubes like they have in RV parks. Eight or so huge convex mirrors over the bar. There is also a dead tree painted white that has some john+kerry sort of carvings. I get the chickens and sheep mobiles, and even the Nemo-like fish at the top (it kinda looks like coral up there), but what's with the bunch of carrots? There are also mannequin legs with groovy pants on them kicking out from the walls.
I had read about the really big mimosa (is it called huge? giant? on the menu, I mean. I can't remember). But I also read about the Bloody Mary. I hemmed and hawed, and finally decided I could order one even though it's not brunch. We are not the ordinary bears. It was pretty good, but not the best I've ever had. The skewer was cool, though. I was cool, too, when I ate everything on it, including the hot peppers and their seeds. They were kind of juicy, and the seeds in the red one spurted into my lap.
Here's what I ate:
It was good. Pecan chicken with bourbon stuff (it is Kentucky after all), actually made with pecan flour, not pecans, so it was terrifically crispy. The green beans were truly green bean with ham hocks (I think), and well surpassed the ones with unidentified pork products at Lee's. And, yum. the mac-n-cheese.
The lady in the booth behind me asked if is was good. She said she was from Indiana, and came here because it was on the Food Network (whisper, whisper, as though Lynn's could never imagine anybody coming because it was on Food Network). She told her daughter, a rather large and rough-looking woman, oooooh they have a bourbon ball milkshake. Then she said she didn't like bourbon balls. Her daughter didn't either. Here they are:
As I was eating, I saw a cheerleader and her friend come in with her mother. I knew she was a cheerleader because she had one of those high ponytails with the ribbon in it and a silver painted star on her cheek. These girls play a serious sport. If you don't believe me, talk to Sue Sylvester and the Cheerios. Her squad took second of five. That's pretty good. Here she is:
Isn't she beautiful? Wish she was the one I'd kiss. Mom came back from the bathroom.
This is Jason:
He brought me derby pie. Enough said.
As I went out, I asked the lovely and edgy Shelby if they had any key chains as I didn't want to lose my new key. I have one. I lost the other one. Luckily, key chains were on sale. Mine is black leather with a telephone on it. It spoke to me. I decided to risk it. I asked her if I brought my imaginary boyfriend in if she would pose with him. She will! Here they are:
Then Sean (I think, I hope) posed too. Here he is:
During dinner, I texted my almost-real imaginary boyfriend. It has been three weeks, and I thought I might throw it up against the wall and see what sticks. I sent him the picture of Woodie outside, saying Woody and I and my imaginary boyfriend were in Louisville at Lynn's Paradise Cafe. Going on to Bourbon Trail (first drink since I was such a jerk). Graceland next. P.S. I'm sorry and I miss you. And then I forgot about it. Good girl.
Brad got folded up and put in the backseat. I lied when I said he could ride in the front seat again. I like the room for my candy. I forgot to get groovy candy at Lynn's. At least I have my key chain and half a tin of Historic Ruth's cream candies. They must spontaneously regenerate as I thought I had eaten them all.
Here's what it looks like:
The lights are the best. They have upside down laps. They have light bulbs hanging like a curtain in the window. They change color. In the back there is a chandelier made of wine glasses. The ceiling beams have that silvery multicolory prism sort of contac paper. Makes it look like one of those cool pencils you get for selling the most mini teddy bears at the mini society fair. They also have multicolor lights in plastic tubes like they have in RV parks. Eight or so huge convex mirrors over the bar. There is also a dead tree painted white that has some john+kerry sort of carvings. I get the chickens and sheep mobiles, and even the Nemo-like fish at the top (it kinda looks like coral up there), but what's with the bunch of carrots? There are also mannequin legs with groovy pants on them kicking out from the walls.
I had read about the really big mimosa (is it called huge? giant? on the menu, I mean. I can't remember). But I also read about the Bloody Mary. I hemmed and hawed, and finally decided I could order one even though it's not brunch. We are not the ordinary bears. It was pretty good, but not the best I've ever had. The skewer was cool, though. I was cool, too, when I ate everything on it, including the hot peppers and their seeds. They were kind of juicy, and the seeds in the red one spurted into my lap.
Here's what I ate:
It was good. Pecan chicken with bourbon stuff (it is Kentucky after all), actually made with pecan flour, not pecans, so it was terrifically crispy. The green beans were truly green bean with ham hocks (I think), and well surpassed the ones with unidentified pork products at Lee's. And, yum. the mac-n-cheese.
The lady in the booth behind me asked if is was good. She said she was from Indiana, and came here because it was on the Food Network (whisper, whisper, as though Lynn's could never imagine anybody coming because it was on Food Network). She told her daughter, a rather large and rough-looking woman, oooooh they have a bourbon ball milkshake. Then she said she didn't like bourbon balls. Her daughter didn't either. Here they are:
As I was eating, I saw a cheerleader and her friend come in with her mother. I knew she was a cheerleader because she had one of those high ponytails with the ribbon in it and a silver painted star on her cheek. These girls play a serious sport. If you don't believe me, talk to Sue Sylvester and the Cheerios. Her squad took second of five. That's pretty good. Here she is:
Isn't she beautiful? Wish she was the one I'd kiss. Mom came back from the bathroom.
This is Jason:
He brought me derby pie. Enough said.
As I went out, I asked the lovely and edgy Shelby if they had any key chains as I didn't want to lose my new key. I have one. I lost the other one. Luckily, key chains were on sale. Mine is black leather with a telephone on it. It spoke to me. I decided to risk it. I asked her if I brought my imaginary boyfriend in if she would pose with him. She will! Here they are:
Then Sean (I think, I hope) posed too. Here he is:
During dinner, I texted my almost-real imaginary boyfriend. It has been three weeks, and I thought I might throw it up against the wall and see what sticks. I sent him the picture of Woodie outside, saying Woody and I and my imaginary boyfriend were in Louisville at Lynn's Paradise Cafe. Going on to Bourbon Trail (first drink since I was such a jerk). Graceland next. P.S. I'm sorry and I miss you. And then I forgot about it. Good girl.
Brad got folded up and put in the backseat. I lied when I said he could ride in the front seat again. I like the room for my candy. I forgot to get groovy candy at Lynn's. At least I have my key chain and half a tin of Historic Ruth's cream candies. They must spontaneously regenerate as I thought I had eaten them all.
That's the name of my shooting range at home. It is also me when confronted with the huge red bullseye. In the snow and slush and who knows what, Target loomed brightly across Dixie Highway. I need some stuff, so I thought I'd take refuge from the weather. I didn't take a shopping cart because that admits that you're going to buy a lot of stuff you don't need.
So here's what I've worn so far:
I need to do laundry or buy more panties. Hmmm... Tough choice. Duh, buy more. Target actually has some pretty nice panties, and real women wear the logo proudly (see men & pink skate laces). They are having a sale, $4 a pair. I pay $9 or $12 at Victoria's Secret, and $38 for date panties (not taken out of the bag as of yet). I don't like the cotton ones because they remind me of utility, which I have left behind. That leaves the silky and the lacy ones. Found some. I always feel guilty when I buy the ones that are part of a set because someone will want to buy the bra but can't find the matching panties.
It's me, no? My imaginary boyfriend is jealous of my almost-real imaginary boyfriend.
I also bought new pj's and a nightgown for good measure. You have to hunt through the cotton pajama bottoms to find the silky ones. I have a black roses on ivory background set.
Searched all sections of store for appropriate duffel bag. Ones in luggage section too big. Huge purses and totes too small, although I had thought it would have been fun to buy the ugliest one-- they had a crushed black vinyl patent one that would be good. Finally, I found one in the Jane Fonda area. Has ventilated pockets for shoes!
Also bought blunt-end scissors for various grooming activities. Now up to 4 pairs of scissors. You can never have too many.
Mello Yello's competitor was lurking in the Bert's Bees section. It didn't think I'd see it.
It's gonna be a caffeine throw down.
So here's what I've worn so far:
- 8 sets of lingerie
- Sweater
- Backup sweater, ivory and now destroyed and should be tossed but it's cashmere and I just can't do that even though I got it at the Neiman Marcus outlet store
- 8 pairs socks
- 2 pairs jeans
- Miscellaneous shoes and boots
- My diamond bracelet, once, because I thought my not-to-appear gay hosts would notice it
- Belt
- Outerwear of all colors, sizes and degree of down
- Filthy quilted gloves, should be trashed but they're the only ones I have that can substitute for both windshield wipers and snow brushing thingie that is in the still-locked back of Woodie
- Road dirt
I need to do laundry or buy more panties. Hmmm... Tough choice. Duh, buy more. Target actually has some pretty nice panties, and real women wear the logo proudly (see men & pink skate laces). They are having a sale, $4 a pair. I pay $9 or $12 at Victoria's Secret, and $38 for date panties (not taken out of the bag as of yet). I don't like the cotton ones because they remind me of utility, which I have left behind. That leaves the silky and the lacy ones. Found some. I always feel guilty when I buy the ones that are part of a set because someone will want to buy the bra but can't find the matching panties.
I always like the t-shirts at Target. There was a cool Barbie one.
I also bought new pj's and a nightgown for good measure. You have to hunt through the cotton pajama bottoms to find the silky ones. I have a black roses on ivory background set.
Searched all sections of store for appropriate duffel bag. Ones in luggage section too big. Huge purses and totes too small, although I had thought it would have been fun to buy the ugliest one-- they had a crushed black vinyl patent one that would be good. Finally, I found one in the Jane Fonda area. Has ventilated pockets for shoes!
Also bought blunt-end scissors for various grooming activities. Now up to 4 pairs of scissors. You can never have too many.
Mello Yello's competitor was lurking in the Bert's Bees section. It didn't think I'd see it.It's gonna be a caffeine throw down.
Took the I-whatever out of Louisville to Elizabethtown. It was dark, rainy and I was alcohol-fueled. I had planned to go to Peduca, because I could reach Marion for Marion Pit Grill, the oldest somewhere, and Henderson which has another place I want to eat (I'll have to look it up again in Road Food). Due to my key adventure, I could only make Elizabethtown in 45 minutes. I really wanted to watch the Super Bowl (Green Bay 28-24, I always bet the score, and I am often right). I would have stayed at The Dupont House, but I had a teeny weeny cathode ray TV, and I just can't watch football if I can't see the yard markers.
My Holiday Inn Express has let me down. It's more like the old Holiday Inns with better sheets. Also, I am on the third floor. I never stay on the third floor-- too much of a pain to carry your stuff. TV too small. Went through all the hotel channels and couldn't find the game between the black fuzzy ones. QVC coming in loud and clear. Called the front desk. Guy was the absolutely slowest checker inner that I have ever met. He reminded my of my ex-brother-in-law. The lady in front of me was definitely doing the midlife crisis gig. Pink suede jacket, tight indigo jeans, high heels and a magenta kind of furry scarf. Coolish eyeglasses and grey hair. Don't get me wrong, I think grey hair is beautiful. Rikki, my neighbor and Cheech Marin's ex-wife, has the most georgeous white grey long wavy hair. Anyhow, this woman has that flat butt aggressive thing going. Grrrrr, she says., to her imaginary boy toy. My imaginary boyfriend thinks it's skeevy. Back to the subject, 21. The channel is 21.
When I finally got the situation under control, it was half time. Good thing the Packers were up. KISS, Janet Jackson and MC Hammer were playing. How did they manage to get them all out of retirement at once? Especially with the cumulative pharmaceutical damage. I looked a little closer. Oh, Black Eyed Peas with Fergie, and Usher. I swear the Black Eyed Peas were wearing KISS costumes without the face paint. And what's with the bicycle helmets? Fergie had the Janet Jackson meets Linda Carter (SuperWoman, my children) vibe. Usher is wearing white hammer pants with spandex. The massive array of dancers were like the Blue Man Group meets Chinese Olympics. Oh! There's some Devo action, too. Actually, I kinda liked the dancers with their airline aisle light strips. I bet they know where there exit over the wings is.
After my Famous Bloody Mary, I was a bit thirsty. I went to the vending machines, which I have never done. They're next to the ice machines. Did you ever think about how unhygienic ice machines are? Sweaty salesmen with their big fat fingers grabbing the ice because they can't find the scooper or would just rather scoop it up with the "bucket". Those tan plastic buckets are one of the things I really hated in the old Holiday Inns. Every single soda choice was either caffeinated or hyper-caffeinated, except Sprite. They had Ski, which I had never heard of. Looked it up. Ski is only distributed here:
The vending machine also has Mello Yello. Remember the Donovan song? If you don't you're the over thirties that we older fifties and sixties said not to trust when we were twenties.
I let my XM boombox cavort with my iPhone. My iPhone will not charge or connect to my Macbook. I cannot upload the greatest pictures ever. I cannot charge it. Maybe it has also cavorted with my GPS. That slut. I tried to get support for the XM incubus, but it apparently does not exist in the universe as we know it. I paid some internet ifixya (I think), gave them my credit card for $20. Then they dropped my chat and asked me to pay for email support. I'm telling you, XM is the devil's plaything.
I have to get a new iPhone, I'm sure. It's not the cable, because my iPad works just fine. I think I jammed all the little wires in the connector inside the iPhone in frustration with XM. Good thing I'm in Elizabethtown. They have several AT&T stores. Those guys who work there are pretty ingenious in rejiggering cell phones, as they deal with this quite often. I once called Apple and told them I dropped my phone in the kitchen sink. They said you mean toilet? They're good, huh? Good thing my GPS is working to find the store to fix the cell phone that Jack built.
Almost-real imaginary boyfriend texted back (!). Thought you'd be crazy for superbowl? I have a few friends over to watch the game. Be still my heart: he still punctuates.
Packers won. Yay! Not that I ending up watching a single minute. Pocket not picked.
I did manage to remember to join the Holiday Inn Express frequent stayer club. They have me listed as David.
My Holiday Inn Express has let me down. It's more like the old Holiday Inns with better sheets. Also, I am on the third floor. I never stay on the third floor-- too much of a pain to carry your stuff. TV too small. Went through all the hotel channels and couldn't find the game between the black fuzzy ones. QVC coming in loud and clear. Called the front desk. Guy was the absolutely slowest checker inner that I have ever met. He reminded my of my ex-brother-in-law. The lady in front of me was definitely doing the midlife crisis gig. Pink suede jacket, tight indigo jeans, high heels and a magenta kind of furry scarf. Coolish eyeglasses and grey hair. Don't get me wrong, I think grey hair is beautiful. Rikki, my neighbor and Cheech Marin's ex-wife, has the most georgeous white grey long wavy hair. Anyhow, this woman has that flat butt aggressive thing going. Grrrrr, she says., to her imaginary boy toy. My imaginary boyfriend thinks it's skeevy. Back to the subject, 21. The channel is 21.
After my Famous Bloody Mary, I was a bit thirsty. I went to the vending machines, which I have never done. They're next to the ice machines. Did you ever think about how unhygienic ice machines are? Sweaty salesmen with their big fat fingers grabbing the ice because they can't find the scooper or would just rather scoop it up with the "bucket". Those tan plastic buckets are one of the things I really hated in the old Holiday Inns. Every single soda choice was either caffeinated or hyper-caffeinated, except Sprite. They had Ski, which I had never heard of. Looked it up. Ski is only distributed here:
- Arkansas
- Alabama
- Georgia
- Illinois
- Indiana
- Louisiana
- Missouri
- Ohio
- Tennessee
- Florida
- and KENTUCKY!
I let my XM boombox cavort with my iPhone. My iPhone will not charge or connect to my Macbook. I cannot upload the greatest pictures ever. I cannot charge it. Maybe it has also cavorted with my GPS. That slut. I tried to get support for the XM incubus, but it apparently does not exist in the universe as we know it. I paid some internet ifixya (I think), gave them my credit card for $20. Then they dropped my chat and asked me to pay for email support. I'm telling you, XM is the devil's plaything.
I have to get a new iPhone, I'm sure. It's not the cable, because my iPad works just fine. I think I jammed all the little wires in the connector inside the iPhone in frustration with XM. Good thing I'm in Elizabethtown. They have several AT&T stores. Those guys who work there are pretty ingenious in rejiggering cell phones, as they deal with this quite often. I once called Apple and told them I dropped my phone in the kitchen sink. They said you mean toilet? They're good, huh? Good thing my GPS is working to find the store to fix the cell phone that Jack built.
Almost-real imaginary boyfriend texted back (!). Thought you'd be crazy for superbowl? I have a few friends over to watch the game. Be still my heart: he still punctuates.
Packers won. Yay! Not that I ending up watching a single minute. Pocket not picked.
I did manage to remember to join the Holiday Inn Express frequent stayer club. They have me listed as David.
I have become a Baptist. I think.
I was going to some nice street with nice houses that is recommended for a nice walk when I came upon a man van. Is this a man cave on wheels? There's an awful lot of hanging around in cars instead of street corners here. Maybe the weather.
Before I got to the nice street, I heard the most incredible black church choir and a charismatic preacher. I took this picture because I was so moved that I wanted to look up the scripture (and I don't do this often, maybe never). I took more pix as I couldn't find the door (metaphoric, yes?). I also took a boring video just to capture the sound. I found the pastor's parking space, and assumed it was the pastor's car there. I was writing him a note to tell him how I was inspired to the gut. As a got a few sentences down, two handsome and comforting middle aged black men came around the corner of the church. I told them I couldn't get in. They said they would take me, and I explained that I wasn't dressed respectfully (remember, I don't go anywhere I can't wear jeans). He smiled and said not to worry, I will be wearing a golden crown and robe. The woman behind me opened the door. She had startling platinum dreads and piercing eyes.
I listened and watched arms waving and heard yes, and amen, hallelujah. And a fabulous sermon centered on be still and you shall be something. I forget what it was, but it meant a lot, even to me. It is Black History Month. The preacher recited dates and events, like The Emancipation Proclamation and the Ku Klux Klan. The volume of his deep voice kept increasing until the congregation was a pulsing mass. Barak Obama. A change. A mighty wind prophesied before all tides turn. The war. The right thing. Our men. These are "black folks". I never once heard the term African American. I also saw that he was preaching the fortune of them to be in America, and that slavery was just a way to get to the good. I wish everyone were so forgiving to others. What does get pissed off if your brother drank the last milk really mean, anyway?
A most moving thing happened (I know I have been moving a lot). The pastor asked if anyone needed any guidance on anything at all. They went to the rail, and people I assumed were elders bent their heads to the parishioners and spoke privately for quite some time to those in need. I noted two young men together getting help.
Before I knew it, I had filled out a card and had joined the West End Baptist Church. I was asked to the front and handed a microphone. I was rededicating myself to Jesus. I asked for good people in my life. These are good people. More than a dozen loving ones came to hug me and hold my hands and look at me in the eyes as no one has ever done. I felt that they were looking into my soul with absolute clarity. I was on the verge of tears. One woman told me she liked my hair. I have seen "Good Hair" (if you haven't, you should). I know this means she likes me.
I was one of the last out of church, with a peace I had never experienced. I let go of my almost-real imaginary boyfriend. As I went into the area out of the sanctuary and next to the door, a woman asked me if I had a mister. I smiled somewhat sadly, and said no. She's having a couples workshop. I told her I needed a couple. Let the Lord find it for you. Don't try to do it yourself. This was my eating, praying, loving day.
The scripture for the day was Hebrews 13, 1-2. Part of it is "do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels not knowing it."
I did finally get to that street. It was very pretty and had some nice apartments to rent. Is this a sign?
And as I was getting ready to drive away, I found I had lost my keys. The church was locked up tighter than Joan Rivers' facelift. I knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked on the office door. Nothing. I went back to the car at The DuPont Mansion and took every single thing out of it. I took my clothes out of their suitcases, the books from their baskets. I shook out my sleeping bag. Found things I didn't know I had, like two hairdryers. As far as I know, I only own one. Couldn't find the keys. Must be at church, the Lord is making sure I go back.
I spent the afternoon waiting for the locksmith whom I promised $400 cash if he could get me out of there today. It's just a Ford, he said. Yes, a 1942 Ford. I had a piece of Genny's chocolate cake and read a guide book. He called. I'll be darned. He made me two keys that work. I need to get Buddy Christ for my dashboard. Ebay has one for $15.99, buy it now. You can bid on another one starting at $5.
Lost:
I listened and watched arms waving and heard yes, and amen, hallelujah. And a fabulous sermon centered on be still and you shall be something. I forget what it was, but it meant a lot, even to me. It is Black History Month. The preacher recited dates and events, like The Emancipation Proclamation and the Ku Klux Klan. The volume of his deep voice kept increasing until the congregation was a pulsing mass. Barak Obama. A change. A mighty wind prophesied before all tides turn. The war. The right thing. Our men. These are "black folks". I never once heard the term African American. I also saw that he was preaching the fortune of them to be in America, and that slavery was just a way to get to the good. I wish everyone were so forgiving to others. What does get pissed off if your brother drank the last milk really mean, anyway?
A most moving thing happened (I know I have been moving a lot). The pastor asked if anyone needed any guidance on anything at all. They went to the rail, and people I assumed were elders bent their heads to the parishioners and spoke privately for quite some time to those in need. I noted two young men together getting help.
Before I knew it, I had filled out a card and had joined the West End Baptist Church. I was asked to the front and handed a microphone. I was rededicating myself to Jesus. I asked for good people in my life. These are good people. More than a dozen loving ones came to hug me and hold my hands and look at me in the eyes as no one has ever done. I felt that they were looking into my soul with absolute clarity. I was on the verge of tears. One woman told me she liked my hair. I have seen "Good Hair" (if you haven't, you should). I know this means she likes me.
I was one of the last out of church, with a peace I had never experienced. I let go of my almost-real imaginary boyfriend. As I went into the area out of the sanctuary and next to the door, a woman asked me if I had a mister. I smiled somewhat sadly, and said no. She's having a couples workshop. I told her I needed a couple. Let the Lord find it for you. Don't try to do it yourself. This was my eating, praying, loving day.
The scripture for the day was Hebrews 13, 1-2. Part of it is "do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels not knowing it."
I did finally get to that street. It was very pretty and had some nice apartments to rent. Is this a sign?
Lost:
- Keys
- Peduca
- Videocam 1 (if I still have videocam 2, otherwise I didn't find it)
- Locksmith
- Huge bruise on my outer thigh (no, I do not know how I did it)
- Jesus
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.
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