The World's Greatest Dessert

Dear Readers:  The following entry is a guest blog from my favorite person.

The World's Greatest Dessert is the Profiteroles served at Mr. B's Bistro on Royal Street in the French Quarter of New Orleans.  This knowledge is based on years of culinary research as well as our sentimental history with the Mr. B's restaurant. Even my memorable 1980 Paris chocolate souffle can't quite measure up to the Mr. B's specialty.  And like a slick advertising spin doctor, I make this audacious claim since it can only be debated, not refuted legally or scientifically.


This week we drove the southern route from Virginia to Texas both to avoid the winter weather and also visit our good friends in New Orleans and Houston.  During the Crescent City stopover we made the opportunity for dinner with our friend, Martha, at Mr. B's, our favorite New Orleans restaurant.  (The "B" is for Brennan, the most famous multi-generational restaurant family in New Orleans.)  Mr. B's not only has great food which we enjoyed many times when we lived near the Big Easy in the 1980's, but it is also linked to special memories involving our daughter, Sarah.

It has been about 20 years since we ate at Mr. B's, so we couldn't be entirely sure the experience would measure up to the memories.  The restaurant was full on a Wednesday night, but the atmosphere was the same comfortable buzz we remembered.  Thankfully, even the Katrina disaster didn't destroy, or even essentially change, the many French Quarter restaurant landmarks.  Our meals were tremendous, including a nice familiar Oregon wine, excellent service, and especially the WGD capstone.  Their profiteroles were one of the key drawing cards to return to Mr. B's for our one evening meal on this New Orleans trip.  It was a great relief to still find them on the menu.

A profiterole is a baked puff pastry about the size of a golf ball, cut in half, filled with vanilla ice cream and topped with chocolate sauce.  (Mr. B's serves three on a plate suitable either for sharing or gluttony.  On this night Jan and I both chose gluttony.)  We've tried so called profiteroles elsewhere many times in hopes of

matching the Mr. B's excellence, always with some degree of disappointment.  The real thing, to be great, must have each of the three components in perfect harmony.  The pastry has to be baked fresh to a precise degree of stiffness/softness.  The ice cream must not be too hard or too soft.  The sauce can only be a rich dark chocolate.  If the pastry ice cream ball is not the right consistency, the dessert can not be eaten with a fork or spoon without falling apart or shooting off the plate.  It's important to get small bites easily with all the elements present.  We've had many impostors with the pastry too crunchy or too soggy, or the ice cream too hard or melting, or topped with cheap milk chocolate.  Anyway, the recent version was just what we remembered - perfection again.  I was certainly happy with the decision not to share.

The other draw for Mr. B's has to do with specific 1985 memories.  At the time, I worked in downtown New Orleans in a Poydras street skyscraper, a five minute walk from the Quarter.  I invited Jan downtown for lunch on September 25, her birthday.  Jan was pregnant with Sarah, about one week from delivery per her doctor's latest forecast.  We started at Mr. B's for lunch, then walked all around the French Quarter that hot day, through Jackson Square, stopping in Jan's favorite perfumery, Hove, on Royal Street for a birthday gift.  (Jan would have remembered it being hot that day under the circumstances regardless of actual conditions.  I checked the historical data.  That September 25th high was 90 degrees with humidity over 80%, so yeah, it was hot.)  That evening friends invited us to a special birthday dinner at Commander's Palace, considered by many to be the best New Orleans restaurant.  I don't remember much about that dinner because driving home from Commander's, Jan went into labor.  Sarah was born about noon the next day.

Two months later after a couple of successful fast food outings with infant Sarah, we decided to treat ourselves with another visit to Mr. B's.  It was a disaster.  A few minutes after ordering our meals, Sarah had a melt down.  I don't know what triggered the outburst - maybe smells or noises or internal physical distress - but we couldn't shut it down.  Finally, we had to take her outside and wait for our expensive meals being packaged to 'go'.  Anyway, it was our first lesson in the risks and the importance of preparedness when including a small child in adult social situations.  That experience propelled Jan to become an expert child entertainer in nice restaurants.

So, our return visit to Mr. B's this week was an enormous delight, for the good company and wonderful food for sure, but also, to reinforce those 1985 memories associated with the most important single event in our lives so far.  Jan even got to enjoy the Hove Perfumery in person again after many years of relying on mail order shopping.

                                                    Delectably Submitted,

                                                    Drake

   

Leaving Virginia

We're leaving Virginia, and we're heading to Texas for the Christmas holidays.  The week we get ready to move on should be smooth sailing by now, but, alas, not so much.  This week is just about the only time you can hear quarrels in the Smith house.   Drake is completely unreasonable, cranky, snide, obsessive, and exhibits every other bad behavior of which he is abundantly capable.  Of course, you can say DITTO about me.  Drake always thinks we have 'too much stuff', and I'm all about, 'you can fit this in'.  Makes for spirited discussions; a little euphemism that involves raised voices, finger pointing, and arm waving.  This move at the end of autumn and the beginning of winter is always weather dicey, and the forecast for Richmond this coming weekend is shaping up to make us nervous.  We both have memories of the 12 inch snowfall in New Hampshire the day before we were due to leave.

I'm usually ready to 'move on', but not so much this time.  I really like Richmond.  I do recognize we've experienced only the best weather here, but I like the livability of this town, and the living pace.  I'm wild about the visual aspects of this town. The trees are gigantic and the mixed forest of deciduous and evergreen defines the topography wherever you look. There are hardy flowers (zillions of crepe myrtles) and trees with colored leaves (such as Japanese maple) planted everywhere.  This town is also compact.  You can zip around quickly which opens up the entire city no matter in what area you live.  The beach is an easy drive as are the mountains. Then, there's the American history that has shaped Virginia in the Colonial period and during the Civil War.

Richmond isn't cosmopolitan in that Eastern seaboard way.  For instance, last night we went to their excellent Botanical Garden which is wired with lights for the Christmas season.  It was sweet and fun, but obviously a big local effort by staff and volunteers to transform the garden into a Christmas lights display for the city. They even had a toy train layout in the botanical library set up by a local group and manned by volunteers.  It reminded me not of a professional production as much as when a neighborhood becomes known for 'the Christmas lights'.  It felt real and fun.  We saw multi-generational families, but also lots of teens out on group dates.

This town has all the usual generic franchise restaurants, but also a thriving community of individual restaurateurs.  There's a live theater on the usual Broadway circuit, a symphony and a fledgling ballet.  We were also thrilled to see they had a Bow Tie Criterion Movie Theater - what most people would have called 'an art movie house' at one time, but is really a theater that specializes in limited release pictures.  We've seen some of my favorite movies at this theater chain.  Richmond also has a fabulous fine arts museum housed in a breathtaking building.  There are historic neighborhoods here with interesting architecture.

I won't bother to recite all the things we've done while here, but I think I could live in this area another six months before I saw all of what I would consider to be 'major attractions'.  Drake claims we have seen the 'best', and he's probably right.  I think the depth of historical sites and museums I'm willing to see is a couple of feet deeper than his.

One good thing about the upcoming 'move on' is we get to try a new route across the country - the 'southern' route which will allow us to catch up with some old friends along the way and help us dodge winter snow and ice.  The prize for leaving is 10 days in Austin with a wonderful extended family Christmas which we are all eagerly anticipating.  We'll be back in Arizona for the winter.  Time to visit our furniture.    

                 

Thankfulness

The United States official Thanksgiving Day was started by Abraham Lincoln in 1863.  Talk about a bad year.  Constant bloody battles from January through December with Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and Chickamauga being the low lights.  On the plus side it was also the year of the Emancipation Proclamation and the Gettysburg Address.  The idea of Thanksgiving was actually proposed by Sarah Hale, the editor of Godeys Lady's Book, the most popular womens' magazine of the 19th century.  Thanksgiving to her was to be a 'great Union festival'. Lincoln's 1863 Proclamation of a Day of National Thanksgiving made the point even in the midst of a terrible war there were things to be thankful for.

Somehow, by the 20th century, Lincoln's connection to Thanksgiving was pretty much forgotten.  Pilgrims and Indians eating turkey as buddies had become our cultural memory of something the teacher called "The 'First Thanksgiving'.  Having just had a short course in the history of Colonial America and specifically in the relations between the Native Americans and the English - well, let's just say, "First Thanksgiving" should probably be renamed "Eat, Drink & Be Merry, for Tomorrow You Will Die".

About 1960 in homes across America, the holiday became linked with football on television.  Some great college rivalry games grow up around the holiday.  The iconic Thanksgiving game for me is Oklahoma Sooners vs. Nebraska Cornhuskers, 1971.  (We lost, but it was a great game.)  As pro football increases in popularity, the Thanksgiving Day pro football game becomes as iconic in American households as the turkey dinner.  The Dallas Cowboys are the traditional team, so much so, that EVERYONE today who works for the Cowboy organization ALWAYS works T-day because the Cowboys always play football that day.  I understand Jerry serves a magnificent dinner for all.

This is a strange holiday for America.  There are no parties, no costumes, no gifts, no festive decorations, no fireworks, and a set menu.  We might have enchiladas, nachos, hot dogs, hamburgers, lasagna, ham or tamales for Christmas, but, for Thanksgiving we eat turkey followed by pie.  People travel thousands of miles to sit down at a table and eat with their families.  Boyfriends/Girlfriends are introduced. Engagements are announced.  Babies are admired.  Divorces are discussed. Dead family members are mourned.  Everyone has their favorite dish made by their mom, grandma, or aunt. There are recipes handed down for this dinner.  Very few men get a mention here.  This is a woman's holiday.  We plan it, coordinate it, worry about it, fix it (or buy it pre-made and put our 'touches' on it) and triumph in it.

My childhood Thanksgiving memory is from my mother's large family.  The meal is over.  The males are long gone from the table.  They're mostly napping in the guise of  watching 'the game'.  Most of the men in my family over a certain age unashamedly unbuckled their belts and opened the first button on their pants as they settled into the couch and chairs.  My grandfather just flat went to bed after dinner.  He worked shift work his whole life, and with six kids, he could sleep through anything.

 Meanwhile, all the women of the family are still sitting at the dish and food strewn table smoking and drinking coffee and 'picking' at bits of food.  I was about 10 when I wasn't shooed out of the dining room at the end of the meal.  It was implicitly understood that year I could stay with the women, but I was definitely supposed to be silent.  I don't remember being bold enough to speak at this table gathering until I was about 14.  Mostly, I don't recall any of the actual conversations at this post Thanksgiving table, only the tones of laughter and sometimes sadness.   I do remember after a couple of hours or so at this women's gathering, the collective sigh, followed by, "Let's get to these dishes."
        
I do think Lincoln got it right - Thanksgiving is about realizing that no matter how lousy your year, there are always blessings in your life.  I think if you are too cool to be thankful, or too jaded, or too depressed, or too busy, then you're missing the greatest pleasure of the holiday - contemplating your blessings and giving thanks for them. I love to ask people this question:  For what are you truly thankful this year?  Consider the answer.  It will ensure you a

Happy Thanksgiving  

 

 

Are Manners Obsolete in the 21st Century?

I sent a package of books recently as a Christmas gift for a child.  "Dad" promptly got on email and let me know not only they had arrived, but  he appreciated my thoughtfulness. Sadly, I was surprised.  As the electronic age is starting to percolate steadily throughout our society, and with all our new found ways of keeping in touch with one another via email, skype, social media, texting, IMing, blogging, and twittering, one would suppose acknowledging gifts would be on the uptick.  Oh, that is such a pipe dream.

I face to face give as well as send lots of gifts by mail.  I buy gifts for five children.  I send holiday cards, and I don't just mean Christmas cards.  I send stuff by snail mail and electronically.  I send postcards regularly to four children, so they can have the joy of 'getting mail'.  I send family unsolicited gifts.  I made and gave kimonos to nine women this past year during the wedding celebration.

I really spent lots of time and effort making the kimonos, so they weren't just a 'go to the store, survey the aisles and grab something' gift.  I hate those kind anyway.  Just as a personal survey, and knowing my feelings would be hurt if they weren't formally acknowledged,  I LITERALLY said as the kimonos were opened:  "I spent time, effort and love making these; I expect a thank you note.  Can you believe that one person didn't bother?  I could.  I was pleased that eight of the nine 'got it'.  The one who didn't?  Well, let's just say my feelings about her have changed.

In my childhood household, it was not just encouraged, or suggested, it was demanded whenever I received a gift, a thank you note to the giver would follow within five days.  Five days was my mother's arbitrary limit of how much time   could pass before I (and by proxy, her) would lose face by not writing a thank you note.  I was equally inflexible with Sarah.  Children do not 'know' they should make a special effort to acknowledge gifts:  It has to be taught.  I can hear the eye rolling from the parental readers.  "Don't you understand how difficult it is to work, manage a household, feed everybody, and get SOME sleep?" Yes.  I do.  I did it.  I'm wondering what are your priorities since getting along with people has to be a number one social skill?  Teaching manners should be on the short list of parenting.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Life is short, but there's always time enough for courtesy."  Manners, of which acknowledging gifts is just one of a set, show respect both for yourself and for others.  We are a social, herd animal.  Using manners with one another is the way our herds function best.  You never have to worry about 'political correctness' if you have a polished set of manners.  Good manners allow you to make a great first impression in this age of 'networking'.  They are social armor you wear into an unknown group of others.

I long ago decided to cut children some thank you note slack especially if their parents are ignorant or lazy.  However, even I have a line in the sand:  If you are a child to whom I give gifts, then you can expect me to suffer your poor manners until you are sixteen.  Then, at 17, you get a 'second chance' to step up and make an acknowledgement.  After that, there are no more gifts.  I don't care who you are as my unmannered nephew discovered upon his high school graduation.
I think I'll continue to be an old fogey and completely out of touch in the 21st century with my unreasonable expectations on this issue.  At some point, though, if you stop hearing from me, or receiving those notes or cards or gifts, you can bet that I finally got fed up with your lack of manners.            

Visiting the Smithsonian

We FINALLY got to spend our week at the Smithsonian.  If you're planning your own visit, let me tell you the first week of November is an excellent time to choose.  We were downright lonely in most museums.  I think you would have to spend two solid weeks touring constantly to see almost everything of interest. Since this was not our first rodeo in Washington D.C., we knew how important it was to have a master plan.  Just ask Sarah.  We took her to D.C. when she was seven, and she remembers it as the worst vacation we ever took.  I think her perception was somewhat colored because of an incident that took place during the vacation.

First, Sarah absolutely insisted on carrying a purse.  This was her first actual purse, as well as her first time at keeping up with one.  Her heartless mother spelled out in advance that if she insisted on carrying it, the purse was Sarah's responsibility and hers alone.  I'm sure you can anticipate the ending of this tale:  Yes, on the second day of the trip, she left her purse on the Metro.  She was shocked, angry and heartbroken.  Not only was her purse gone, but her 'trip souvenir money' stored in the purse had also vanished.  Her unsympathetic parents did not replace the money.  Paired with OUR poor sightseeing plan in which we wound up criss-crossing and back-tracking over the Mall, you can understand Sarah's attitude.

If you've never been to the National Mall, it's much bigger than what most people imagine.  It's 1.2 miles between the steps of the United States Capitol and the Washington Monument.  In between are SOME of the Smithsonian Museums - the most famous being the Natural History Museum and the Air and Space Museum.  It doesn't take long to realize there's no way and no reason to drive a car to visit the Mall attractions.  There's no parking.  This area is not car friendly.  Fortunately, the Washington "Metro" (subway system) is excellent and there are stations at both ends of the Mall.  Another surprise is that almost every museum doesn't open until 10:00 am and closes promptly at 5:30 pm.  They are open seven days a week.

Having said all that, Drake and I knew that if we were only going to spend five days, we would have to carefully pick what we were going to try and see and then lay it all out in a comprehensive plan to minimize time spent traveling from one place to the next.  Does that mean a spreadsheet?  You bet your booties it does.   We immediately dropped the two 'kid' friendly museums - Natural History and the Mall Air and Space.  We concentrated on art this time with two additions:  The National Archives and the new Uder-Hazy Air & Space Museum addition out by the Dulles Airport.

Drake really wanted to see the 'documents'.  I'm talking about the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.  (FYI - The original Declaration of Independence is almost completely faded out, but the Constitution and Bill of Rights are still readable.)  I saw all of them when I was 16, so I was more curious about the Public Vaults.  This is a new attraction at the National Archives - well, new to us, anyway.  The Archives hold not just the big three, but also other famous documents, recordings, census records, army records, and tons of other original source material of historical interest generated by the United States government.  The Archives have opened their 'vaults' in a clever interactive exhibit divided into five sections based on the preamble of the Constitution.  For instance, I saw the original Emancipation Proclamation.  Also interesting were personal letters written to various presidents.  The one that cracked both of us up:  Teenage girls of an Elvis Fan Club wrote to Eisenhower telling him they 'would die' if Elvis was forced to get a GI haircut.  Drake was fascinated by immigration forms of the famous - like Albert Einstein.  There was so much, and it was so cleverly presented.  I didn't know that the Archives are petitioned for help constantly - for instance in determining citizenship of someone who was brought to the United States as a child.

The Uder-Hazy was built as an addition to the original Air and Space Museum,  and the new place holds the big stuff.  The star of the collection is the newest biggie - the Discovery Space Shuttle.  This is a slickly designed facility which is several airplane hangers connected together.   You can just wander around and look, or you can go to an IMAX show, have lunch at the McDonald's, or buy rides in simulators and other high end tech toys.  There's also a complete restoration area with a viewing overlook.

They have one entire hanger that's nothing except the space shuttle, space capsules, rockets and satellites.   Some other highlights are the Enola Gay (plane that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima), a Concord, a 707 jetliner, a Pan American Clipper Flying Cloud (first transport airplane with a pressurized cabin), the only remaining WWI fighter airplane, and a Stealth Blackbird.  All in all, there are more than 200 airplanes displayed both on the floor and hung from the ceiling.  There are two stories of  cat walks to give you a bird's eye view of the hanging aircraft as well as an overview of the floor.  There are also nooks and crannies displaying peripheral flight stuff - like an Astronaut suit that's been on the moon, and still has moon dust all over it.

Since you can't tour the inside of these artifacts, there are computers scattered throughout the museum that lets you do a 360 VR inside a variety of aircraft as if you are sitting in the pilot's seat.  I can't begin to tell you the difference between the cockpit of the Enola Gay and the Discovery Space Shuttle. All the more jaw dropping when you realize there's less than 50 years between the construction and flight of the two aircraft.  Even more amazing:  Wright brother first flight of about 15 feet in 1903.  First Space Shuttle Launch was in 1981.  There is only 78 years between the two events.  I have two grandparents who were alive for both occurrences.  If you're interested in the pix I took, there's a separate photo album that's only the planes.

And now for the art:  We went to the National Gallery of Art, the Renwick Gallery, the Corcoran Gallery, the Hirshhorn, the Freer, the Sackler, the National Portrait Gallery, and the Smithsonian Museum of American Art.    I've created a best pieces photo album for those of you who would like a greatest hits version of the trip.  I've also included the big enchilada - a photo album of every picture I took while there.  It's heavily weighted toward pieces of art.  That album is best viewed in pieces since it's 901 pictures.  By contrast - the plane pix album is 118 snaps, and the greatest hits photo album is 162.

Finally, we also went to the Smithsonian Museum of American History and the Smithsonian Castle.  We saw iconic artifacts of American history and culture.  My favorite in the American history museum were the First Lady gowns and china, but there was a bunch of other interesting 'stuff' mainly handled chronologically.  The Castle wins the funniest exhibit - called Souvenirs.  It's all about what we save to commemorate important events or people.  Many artifacts are sent unsolicited with 'labels' directly from individuals to the Smithsonian. Someone sent a collection of hair of the Presidents.  Really.

This was a great trip.  My feet held out (barely), and we were smart to have a plan and limited what we tried to see.  We bought a pocket book of maps we used constantly.  The final tip is:  Stay in an outlying area close to a Metro station and take the subway train in and out of town.  You save gas, aggravation, stress, and money.  For instance, we stayed in a highly rated chain motel with a hot breakfast five minutes from the Springfield/Franconia Metro Station for $100 a night.  A seven day Metro pass is $57 per person for unlimited rides, and you can either take the free shuttle from the hotel or park your own car for $4.50 a day at the station.

Here are the photo albums.  Pick your poison.

Greatest Hits:  https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115478608971584948192/albums/5947444820285122945?sort=1&authkey=CP6oiI662tCA0gE

Airplanes:  https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115478608971584948192/albums/5944385050606046193?sort=1&authkey=CPbRqeLtx9fFGg

Art & Architecture:  https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115478608971584948192/albums/5947450770948723185?sort=1&authkey=CNH-movAl_C4pwE        

                

Thrilled

I'm  always amazed when I encounter the attitude of "Nothing I do really makes a difference".  I think each time you express that attitude by not voting, by not volunteering, or by not caring, you sell yourself and everyone around you short.  I know it is easier not to care, and certainly less frustrating.  And, of course, no one likes to be reminded that apathy and indifference are not just unattractive qualities, but actually unChristian, and I suspect unJewish and unIslamic too.  

As you should all know by now, I support teacher friends who post projects on Donor's Choose.  Our last project to try and get funded was for Shannon Sansom, an elementary school librarian in a central Texas rural district.  She posted a project to buy library books with which to challenge her children to read more.  We managed to help her raise $1018.00.  That's a lot for a project, and we were all thrilled when her project funded.  Many of my friends and readers helped her.   

Shannon sent this today to all her donors:

"Thank you so much for the donation of fiction books for our library.  The books are processed, on the "New Book" shelf, and are already in  demand by our readers! We are a charter school, and the library budget would not allow for us to have these great new books if it weren't for  donors like you. Our "Reading Bingo" program is underway, with nearly  half of the student population signed up with the goal of reading 100  books by the end of the school year. To date, nearly 30 students have gone to the second level, and 4 have reached the third level! They are excited and proud when they turn in their Reading Bingo cards and  receive the next level card. Nothing can get a child more excited about  reading than to provide them with new books on topics they enjoy. And  of course, nothing helps a student's reading skills more than reading!  Pleasure reading will help boost students reading skills in every aspect  of their learning. Thank you again for providing my students with such  great books. With gratitude, Mrs. Sansom" She also posted some pictures - this one was my favorite

   
If you were one of the people who accepted the challenge to 'make a difference', then just look at those faces.  If you were one of the people who 'passed', then look at the faces.  

There will be another project.  Be someone who thinks their actions make a difference.  I know mine do; proof is in the picture.  

The Leaves of Virginia

Since we arrived, we've been very curious about what autumn was going to be like in central Virginia.  I knew there were lots of deciduous trees in the area because I grew up in Tulsa, Oklahoma which is a city of trees.  I can pick out most of the standard trees, and I know which ones usually have colorful leaves.  It seemed to take forever for fall to arrive since we had a very late Indian summer week which delayed the leaves turning.  We took off for Shenandoah National Park the last week of October when the leaves around our apartment were just starting to turn

Shenandoah was interesting and the leaves were pretty, but not nearly the show that New Hampshire and the rest of New England put on.  Drake really summed up the autumn on the Blue Ridge:  "It looks like bad shag carpeting from the '70's."  See what he means -  

One of the hallmarks of the Virginia autumn in the wild is the predominance of yellows and rust colors.  That's due to the yellow poplars and the elms.  There's also a lot of different oaks which tend to be rusty or just outright brown.  The most fun in Shenandoah was the chilly morning we took a hike to the summit of Stony Mountain and it snowed on us!  OK, it was just flurries, but it was constant.

Another unlooked for enjoyment came from a spur of the moment decision to drive over to Luray, Virginia, the Heart of the Shenandoah Valley, to see the Luray Caverns.  Now, there are caves and there are caves.  Some you seem to be just circling their one real nice stalagmite or column, and others like Carlsbad are one outstanding rock formation after another.  Well, the Luray Caverns, discovered in 1878, falls much closer to the Carlsbad standard.  In point of fact, these are the best caverns I've seen since Carlsbad.  People have been touring these caves since the 1880's and there's a whole little attraction complex surrounding the caverns now.  They have so many nifty formations that the tour takes more than an hour.  My favorite part was the 2500 square foot lake which was only about two feet deep, but when lighted shows an exact reflection of the stalactites above it.

My favorite formation was the 'waterfall'.  These are pretty rare and only grow at the rate of about one inch every 130 years.  They are originally falling water.  Apparently, it takes longer to turn moving water into stone.  

The Luray Caverns Attraction Complex had restaurants, a fudge shop, a toy store, an English garden maze, and an antique car museum.    Like caves, car museums can be spectacular or pretty disappointing.  This one was crammed with some really vintage models including Rudolph Valentino's 1925 Rolls Royce, painted to look like it was covered in alligator skin, an actual carriage from the 1720's, and a wagon actually used to ferry railroad passengers to the Luray Caverns.  They also had one of the earliest examples of a 'horseless carriage'.  Not surprisingly, these nascent cars DID look like carriages without horses.  That example above of an early car is an 1892 Benz.  My favorite car was the 1930 Cord - mainly because of the color.  According to a mechanic we chatted with, every car in the museum was in complete running order.  You could start them up, and drive them out the doors.

As we drove back into Richmond, it became obvious that the leaves had really gotten tuned up in our absence.  Every view all over town seemed to be in technicolor.  
   

 There is some variety of planted maple which are like flames. Here they are in the parking lot of my local library in Henrico, Virgina.   All over town looks like this.  Today, I was eating at a Ruby Tuesday and looked out the window to discover there's a variety of crepe myrtle here whose leaves turns flame red in the fall.  There was an entire line of them which were sporting the hot pink flowers when we got here and now their flowers are gone but their leaves are the exact color of a red-orange Crayon.    Here's a representative picture of the mixed forest that is Richmond's landscape.  We've joked that the tree trimmers and leave rakers can really make more than a decent living here.  Drake has been so thankful he doesn't own a house here with the attendant 'leaf pick up and disposal' problems.  

We decided to take advantage of what will probably be the last day of summer (temp was 77 degrees) and check out autumn at Pocohontas State Park, the largest in Virginia, and only about an hour south of Richmond.   We settled on doing a small hike around Beaver Lake, which in Texas we would have named Beaver POND.  The only wild life we saw were squirrels, but as small as the alleged lake was, there were fishermen in evidence (big mouth bass and a few pike according to one we met on the trail).  It was a pretty spot.

Overall, I have to say that the autumn around Richmond has been gorgeous much prettier thanks to the planted trees than the Blue Ridge.  According to locals I've met, the tree color here is rated as a 'down year'.  I've heard at least a couple of times, "It was much prettier last year."  All I can say is they shouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth.  Lots and lots of places would love to have these beautiful trees.

If you want to see the rest of the Shenandoah Valley/Blue Ridge pictures, here they are:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115478608971584948192/albums/5939238633933979537?rlz=1C1SFXN_enUS500US500&ie=UTF-8&authkey=CJ3Tot-3_I7MswE

More Observations of Women in the Islamic World

(Readers,  this is a guest column from one of my long time friends who spent ten years living and working in Saudi Arabia.  These are his observations based on that experience.) 

Dear Jan,

It is not the black robes and veil that oppress women.  It is the entire Islamic culture that oppresses women.  There are a dozen mainstream laws of Islam which demand and require that women become and remain second class citizens in any Islamic society.  "Women are your tilth" (property as a field or garden) the faithful are told in so many words in the Koran "Use them as you will".  Women can not join men in the mosque; they must be invisible behind a screen in the back.  Men can divorce at will; women must petition an Islamic court.  Men can take up to 4 wives at any one time; women can have only one husband.  Men can marry Jews or Christians if they wish.  Women must marry only Muslim men.  In a court of law a man's testimony is worth that of two women.  If a man who has washed for prayers encounters a woman, he must repeat his ablutions because contact with a woman makes him unclean.  After sex, there are no tender cuddles in the afterglow; the man must rise immediately to wash off the pollution of contact.  Women taken in adultery are stoned to death.  Men have so many opportunities for fornication, what with multiple wives and concubines and ''temporary" wives, etc. that you can never (well almost never) hear of a man getting in trouble for adultery.  

Add to that the cultural baggage of Arab, Persian, Turkish and Egyptian societies, and those black robes are actually the least of women's worries.  In Saudi Arabia, those women could not drive or even the leave the house without their husbands' permission.  

One of my co-workers in Saudi Arabia, "Al", a fellow Okie, told me about a rough and ready Arab technician he worked with, a very hard case who kept a British .303 rifle in the trunk of his Chevy sedan.  One day this technician just took off from work, didn't sign out for vacation, didn't leave word, just wasn't there for a week.  

When he came back, Al asked him, "Hey Abdullah, where have you been?"

Abdullah answered casually, "I had to go kill my sister."

Al did a double-take and said, "Say whaaattt???"

Abdullay said, "Yeah, my sister dishonored the family.  So me and my brothers, we took her out into the desert, shot her and buried her."

As Al told the tale, Abdullah did not even have his paycheck docked for time off work for this homicidal (sororicidal?) episode. 

The Arab women who were born into this culture were basically stuck with it.  To renounce any part of Islamic law and custom was considered heresy, and in Islam the penalty for heresy is death.  

But why any Western woman would voluntarily sign up for such a situation mystifies me.  But I knew half a dozen British and American women with stars in their eyes who married Arab men and willingly converted to Islam, took on the veil, and the black robes and the whole routine.  As converts tend to be, some of them were more Islamic than the Muslims.  There ain't no limit to human folly.  If Katy (Dale's young daughter) ever tells me she wants to marry a Muslim man, I'll knock her on the head, carry her home and lock her in the basement until common sense returns.

But, do Arab women consider themselves oppressed?  In a word, no.  They think they are being protected, and honored, and valued, and supported in the manner to which they wanted to become accustomed.  They pity western women who have to go out into the world with bare faces and bare arms and legs and make a living on their own.  They pitied the American women soldiers who came over during Desert Storm because they had to work with men and sleep in tents next to men and thus were obviously debased prostitutes of no more status than a slave.

So here is that yawning cultural divide again.  We think Islamic women are oppressed, and that the robes and veils are visible symbols of that oppression.  They think they are not, and prefer to cover up especially if Auntie and Granny are around to cry "shame" on them.  They think all you Western women are forlorn sluts and do not think the freedom to go out into the world and make their own living is worth the risk of disgrace and dishonor.  

And on that note, we and they may have to agree to disagree.

All best wishes,

Dale

Perturbed, Disturbed and Angry

I was at Sam's last week, yes, Sam's  Club - Walmart's cousin, and I saw a woman dressed in a full burka.  Basically, she looked like this.  My mouth dropped open, and I literally stopped walking.   I looked again.  She was with a man, presumably her husband, and she had a little girl by the hand, who was about four.  The little girl was wearing a lightweight short sundress and a pair of sandals. 

Then, I felt this incredible rush of anger. 

I walked away really shaken and trying to figure out why I felt such anger which felt intolerant and prejudiced.  It took me a few minutes to get my feelings under control, but the sense of 'this isn't right' just wouldn't go away.  I wished I'd gone up and talked to her, but as Drake put it, "Thank God your better judgement prevailed."  What I felt was based on my Western perception that this garb symbolizes the oppression of women.  Then I had to step back and ask, does it?

First, wearing a 'burka' is NOT a requirement in the Qur'an  (Koran).  Yes, this holy book does prescribe modesty for women, but  apparently, the full covering stems from custom in the time of Mohamed rather than scripture.  So, let's say you're a 21st century Muslim woman and you choose to wear the burka.  Are you oppressed because you choose modesty in the strict Eastern interpretation?   There are some women around the world who wear the burka as a  symbol of their direct rejection of Western culture.  Others say they wear it because they don't like being judged by their bodies.

It still seems like oppression because I'm not convinced that women in an Islamic society are exercising free choice.  Are we not all brainwashed  to a greater or lesser extent by our culture?  The strict Islam culture believes in the subjugation of women and enforces this view by teaching women they must conform or they will bring shame on themselves and their families and ultimately damn themselves to hell.  Guilt and shame are powerful emotions which can cause anyone buckets of anguish and doubt.   

Clothing customs are very much a matter of culture.  Throughout history, men always seems to be obsessed with how much (or how little) women wear.  Islamic men do not have a corner on this.   In our own country's experience, clothing was very much an instrument of control.  A woman can not run, or even move very fast in 50 pounds of clothing in nine layers  which was commonly accepted dress throughout most of the 19th century.  

Corsets have been a standard undergarment since the 1600's.  The Victorians refined it into an instrument of torture by prescribing the lacing be so tight as to obstruct breathing and cause actual physical deformity.  A woman appearing in public without a corset was tantamount as a declaration of prostitution.  In most places in America in the 1800's there were laws prohibiting women from wearing trousers in public.  You could certainly expect to be arrested, and your husband/father would be chastised for allowing their wife/daughter to appear in pubic dressed indecently.  Sound familiar?

My point is that women have been conditioned throughout history to accept cultural clothing strictures, and it is very, very recently, and only in a relatively small percentage of the world that a woman ACTUALLY  has free choice. in the matter of her own clothing.  There is also no 'choice' involved if a woman is considered fair game for rape or being beaten or both if she doesn't choose to wear the burka.  Since the woman in Sam's doesn't run that risk from the general public, you have to accept she is choosing the burka.   This is America.  She can wear what she wants even if I think it's nuts.   

Some Western countries are banning the burka.  They cite the faux choice argument (pressured by men, religious custom, etc.), as well as something I think is much more important.  Burkas cover bruises.  One rationale for burka ban is that women can be more easily abused, when only their eyes and hands are visible.  There are some studies that seem to indicate women who live in societies that insist on the burka have higher rates of abuse than societies that are more clothing flexible. 

When I finally sorted myself out about why this woman at Sam's Club disturbed me so, I realized that it wasn't her that bothered me - it was the little girl whose hand she was holding.  That little girl was dressed in typical little American girl attire.  What is going to happen to her when she's thirteen?  How in good conscience can her mother wear clothing that screams oppression and subjugation over a vast part of the world?  Why would she set this example?  All said and done - that's what really, really made me so angry.  We've struggled and struggled as women to have cultural and economic equality in this country.  I don't want any little girl who lives in America to be sent the message by her own mother that inferior and unequal and subjugated to men is in ANY way OK.
         

Maymont, The Gilded Age Mansion

When we moved to Richmond, we asked people what they considered to be the best attraction in their city.  Over and over again, people suggested we visit "Maymont".  Turns out that

Maymont is a 100 acre park on the James River.  The property was bought by the Thomas and Sally Dooley in the 1890's.  He was an early backer of railroads in the devastated South and made a boat load of money on them.  He was an Irish, Catholic Confederate vet, and she was a western Virginia upper middle class Episcopalian.  The families disowned both upon their marriage due to their different faiths, and never reconciled.   

The couple discovered this beautiful property while horseback riding. He bought the land and they built a small mansion which she surrounded with gardens of her own design.  This property is so special because it never changed hands. The Dooley's never had children, and upon Mrs. Dooley's death in 1925 (her husband died in 1920), the property was deeded to the City of Richmond along with all the furnishings.  Maymont is an unparalleled example of a Gilded Age mansion with all the fixins'  It's never been lived in by anyone besides the original owners.  It's never been remodeled.  The original furniture is still intact.  AND, the Foundation that maintains the property is experimenting with allowing visitors to take non-flash photography of not only the outside but also the interior of the mansion! 

Richmondtonians?  Richmondians?  Richmondtons?  (I don't know what these folks call themselves) are justifiably proud of this property.  You will see what I mean when you catch the pix.  Oh, and I'm always talking about how beautiful it is here in town - well, this property kind of shows you what I mean.

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Williamsburg and Yorktown

Southern English Colonial America is defined by three historic sites: Williamsburg, Jamestown and Yorktown.   All three are located on a peninsula of land formed by the James River on the west side and the York River on the east side each emptying into the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay where it meets the Atlantic Ocean.  The land between these two rivers is an American historical jackpot.  

Once you which grasp the geography, it's very easy to understand what made this place very attractive to the early English Colonists.  Jamestown, a virtual island floating in the mouth of the James River, was considered easy to defend and had the added bonus of two navigable river accesses north into the mainland.  Williamsburg was the refinement of Jamestown - better water, out of the swamps, and easier to reach for trade with the rest of young Colonies.  Yorktown's attraction was the deep harbor situated at the neck where the Chesapeake Bay empties into the Atlantic Ocean.   I think we toured the peninsula correctly by seeing these iconic American historical sites in chronological order as they were settled: Jamestown first, Williamsburg, next and finally the Yorktown battlefield. 

Jamestown is the area first settled by 104 Englishmen in 1607. Those initial colonists were quickly followed by a series of ships coming roughly three times a year carrying colonists, and in 1609 included English women. (Obviously, you can't have guys cavorting with those Native women).  By 1609 there were 500 colonists.  At the end of the winter that started in 1609 and finally gave way to spring in 1610, there were 60 colonists.  It's called the 'starvation time' in the Colonial diaries and journals left behind. The colonists finally resorted to cannibalism to survive. (This had been documented by the archaeologists.)   That winter the Powhatan Indians finally realized these new people were not going away, and their numbers were increasing with each new ship that landed.  Feeling justifiably threatened, the Indians bottled up the Colonists inside their fort. Failure of the crops that year mandated hunting to survive.  Any colonists who ventured out of the fort to hunt were slaughtered that winter by the Indians. Only 60 English were left out of 500 when spring and a new ship arrived just in the nick of time. 

The most important English colonist arrived in May of 1610:  John Rolfe.  Without a cash crop export, no colony could survive in the 17th century.  John Rolfe learned how to grow

Caribbean tobacco in Virginia which was in hot demand in England.  Rolfe and tobacco solidified the economic base of the new colony.  I saw my first bale of tobacco at Virginia State Fair, and I'm sure it hasn't changed much in 400 years.

Jamestown was interesting for what worked and what didn't.  It was a final fire destroying the Virginia Colonial Statehouse that sent the government seat to Williamsburg and turned Jamestown into a ghost town and farmland within a very short period of time.  This was a blessing in disguise since its archaeological treasures are just below the plowed surface.  Our 21st century problem will doom this significant historical site.  Global warming is causing the rise of the Atlantic Ocean, which is rising the James River and within 15 years, the site of the original English settlement in North America will be under water.

Williamsburg is a collection of colonial buildings which have been resuscitated by vision and Rockefeller money.  In the 1930's John D's oldest son and wife paired with activists in 20th century Williamsburg setting up an ongoing Foundation and pouring millions of dollars into rescuing the dilapidated Colonial buildings along the  Duke of Gloucester Street.  These buildings were on the main drag of 18th century Williamsburg.  In addition to ordinary houses and shops, this street includes the Governor's Palace, the Colonial Statehouse, historic taverns, the Bruton Anglican Church, the Colonial Magazine (armory) of Virginia, and an open air food market all surrounding a Colonial green.

What sets Williamsburg apart from other Colonial sites (such as Deerfield, Massachusets)  are not only the Rockefeller money, but also the actors doing historic re-enactments of life and skills practiced in 18th century America.

 
When you walk into the Silversmith's shop, there are people in period costumes making silver objects using Colonial tools and methods.   A Revolutionary officer and his wife are strolling the street stopping to visit.  Taverns built in the early 1700's are serving food.  Handlers are driving authentic carriages and wagons up and down the street.  Each building is filled with Colonial furniture and decorations and staffed with actors in Colonial costumes.  The Armory is filled with antique Colonial weapons.
So far, we've been to Williamsburg twice and have a third trip planned to see the buildings we've missed in our first two trips.

The other Colonial site is the Yorktown battlefield.  It's here that George Washington defeated Lord Cornwallis with the aid of French weapons, French soldiers, and the French fleet.  It's at Yorktown that the British population lost their taste for a war that just kept dragging on and on and on, and the Americans proved they finally had a fully functioning army.  The American long gun and the marksmanship the Americans were able to achieve using it, together with the ability to execute a battle plan, defeated the best army in the world. (The Americans capitalized on the accuracy of the long gun at longer range. Their best marksmen climbed trees during the battles and functioned as the first American snipers, deliberately picking off English officers during the Revolutionary battles and disrupting on the battlefield communications.  The crackerjack British units were led completely by their officer corps and without them, simply didn't know what to do during the fighting. The British considered this tactic to be just short of a 'war crime'.)

Yorktown's military importance can be instantly understood by looking at a map.  The French fleet controlled the "neck" where the Chesapeake Bay meets the Atlantic Ocean.  They defeated the British fleet sending it back to the North thus trapping the southern portion of the British army on the same peninsula where Jamestown and Williamsburg are still located. Washington hurriedly marched the majority of the Continental Army South and, using the Marquis de Lafayette's battle suggestions, the American army and French troops defeated Cornwallis and 5000 British soldiers.  Today, the battlefield is mostly grass grown over redoubts and trenches  scattered over long ragged earth mounded lines looking out toward the York River.  The mounds so visible today are mostly the result of the Confederate Army digging dirt fortifications in the same Revolutionary War spots as they defended the peninsula against Union ships.  I've heard of Yorktown my entire life, but being here has finally helped me grasp its significance.

These three places define Southern Colonial America in the same way that Plymouth and Boston define the colonies in the North. I believe that history often turns on small events.  A ship that arrives a month later in 1610 finds a deserted Jamestown.  Lafayette's admiration of Washington turns into a winning military tactics team.  Williamsburg supplants Jamestown just as 100 years later Richmond supplants Williamsburg - leaving entact it's Colonial architectural heritage.  We came to Virginia for the American history, and so far it's delivered in spades.

I took pictures, pictures and more pictures mostly in Williamsbtached to Williamsburg.  You're welcome to view them:

https://plus.google.com/urg, but also in Yorktown.  I also took pictures in the two art museums atu/0/photos/115478608971584948192/albums/5924961010825115697?authkey=CLLrkd3r66GlFg
       

A Bust Day

I should have listened to Drake's intuition.  (Don't tell him I said that; I'll NEVER hear the end of it.)  Everyone knows how much I love Fairs.  Some of our best days of vagabonding have been spent at both little and big fairs.  Who can forget eight year olds herding pigs around a ring with a long stick?  Is there anything more entertaining than llama packing?  There's something totally satisfying watching the longhorn cattle competition and trying to pick winners in each class.  Why, that's almost as fun as guessing the correct evaluation on Antiques Roadshow.  Lumberjack competitions are fast, furious, and involve quite a bit of cheering.  We both love seeing tiny children all dressed up in cowboy garb leading a massive animal around a ring.  Don't forget the 'costume' parade on top of big horses.  

I had high hopes for the Virginia State Fair.  Drake was less than lukewarm.  I convinced him on the basis of anecdotal information from our hairdresser about how fun the fair was, as well as the $8 admission and the free parking.  Finally, Drake capitulated saying, "OK, we're not doing anything else."  Part of going was also influenced by the cancellation of our Washington D.C. trip.  (Oh, please, don't get me started on those idiots in the House of Representatives.)  It was a bad trade-off.

Things started out pretty good, other than we are having a heatwave here, and it was almost 90 degrees the day we chose to go to the fair.  We started at the sheepdog trials which were fun for about 15 minutes, but they just didn't capture our interest.  We moved onto the miniature horse show which was better, but both of these competitions would have been a lot better if they hadn't been held outdoors with the sun beating down.  There was no shade either for the competitors or the spectators.  In retrospect both these events turned out to be the high points of the day.

Still, I was heartened by this fun little photo opportunity involving my used to be favorite fair food - more of 'why' later. I thought, "Okie, Dokie - this is great."  Then I saw the tunnel...and the trek.  A big quirk of the Virginia State Fair is that it's laid out in two sections, and the sections are divided by a four lane divided highway.  There's a tunnel like walkway under the highway.  It's a loooooong way from one side to the other.  Since I never saw the mythical shuttle service between the sides, it meant with my foot difficulties we really couldn't go 'back and forth'.  OK.....first strike.

 

Now a big part of fair time is the food, of course.  I've had some amazing fair food over the past four years, and some of it hasn't even been bad for you. Well, OK, a very small percentage of it hasn't been a visit to Heart Attack City nestled in the heart of Grease and Fat County.  I'm specifically thinking of the fresh salmon and home grown blueberry crepes we had at the Skagit County Fair.  Oh, those were so unexpected, and so delicious. Usually it's hot dogs, hamburgers, funnel cakes, Icee's - the blah of Fair Food.  I'm always on the look out for my personal favorites:  Texas State Fair Corndogs, Maple Cotton Candy, Apple Fritters, homemade ice cream, Fried Butter.  The Virginia State Fair food was SOOOOO forgettable - the usual blah stuff plus foot long corn dogs, regular cotton candy, soft serve ice cream, one type of funnel cake, and, do you know what their 'fried food' was?  Oreos.  Oh, please, so boring, so done by everyone else forever.  It was all so unappealing that I only ate the substandard corn dog, with a $.75 cent ice tea.  I do love cotton candy, well, make that I DID love cotton candy - but the spun maple sugar version in New Hampshire has totally ruined the pink stuff for me.  Virginia Fair Food:  second strike.

We love to look at the animals, and if we're lucky, we get the bonus of talking to the kids who raised them.  At the Virginia STATE Fair, two out of the big three animal barns were empty even though we went mid-fair.  What's up with that?  It didn't tell me anywhere in the fair promotion ads that the majority of the fair animals would be taking a sabbatical this year.  There were no cows, no horses, no oxen, no sheep, no goats.  Here's what we saw:  miniature horses, pigeons, chickens, and rabbits, and that's it.  There was one animal I've never seen at a Fair before.  Yes, that's a real live giraffe.  You could buy carrots for $1 and feed them to the giraffe.  I had to laugh, though, when I saw this sign:  "DO NOT FEED THE GIRAFFE FROM YOUR MOUTH".  Never overlook the possibility of stupid people tricks.  Lack of farm animals....BIG MINUS, but the up close giraffe viewing saved this from being the third strike.  

The third strike and you're out for this Fair wound up being the Arts and Handicrafts barn.  Because of my embroidery hobby, this part of any Fair is always what I look forward to the most.  I love looking at real experts' work.  The Virginia State Fair handicrafts were terrible.  Mostly, it was like looking at the elementary school walls on Parents' Night.  I was hoping the quilts would save the day.  Nope.  Here's the "Best in Show" Blue Ribbon Quilt.  Yes, some skill involved, but can we all say it together:  UGLY.  I did see one beautiful item, but one was not enough to save the entire exhibit.

All I can say is:  "Virginia State Fair, all I got from you is a pair of very sore feet, and a husband with I told you so rights.  How galling! 

 

    

Birthday, Anyone?

I've discovered as I move into old age, I'm supposed to not care about my birthday anymore.  At the very least, I'm supposed to feel embarrassed about enjoying my birthday.  If you're ten and you wake up saying, "Yea!  It's MY birthday!", everyone thinks that's wonderful.  If you're sixty-three and you vocalize that sentiment, people privately wonder if you're getting senile.

It's way, way too easy to knuckle under and pretend you don't care about presents, cake, ice cream, and birthday wishes.  That's complete bushwa!  News flash, Baby Boomers - 60 is NOT the new 40.  I think that's why birthdays have fallen out of favor with my particularly narcissistic group.  You have to be comfortable with getting older, and so many of my generation, who have worshiped their own youth way past its expiration date, don't like to be reminded of getting older by their birthday rolling around each year.    It's going to happen no matter what.  You'd think that would be obvious.

Somehow, it's not.  I laugh when I read the 70 million boomers are projected to spend $115 billion (that's BILLION with a B) on anti-aging products.  That's not just wrinkle cream; it's worse than that.  It's also now about life extension through better chemistry.   Most of us have by now caught a whiff of our own mortality.  (OMG!  I'M GOING TO DIE!!!!!!) Again, those pesky birthdays remind you of the unthinkable.  (This world without ME?)

We all know that I really don't care what other people think.  I always make up my own mind, have my own opinions, and am perverse enough to resist peer disapproval.  I've written blogs that have incensed people to the point they froth at the mouth. Some have even screamed, "I don't want to read your damn blog again!!!!!"  If those folks only knew how much they inspire me.  Any writing that makes people tear out their hair must be sensational.  What a compliment!  

Same with the birthday thing.  I'm not going to downplay  my attitude.  I LOVE my birthday.  I want to be catered to the entire day just as if this were my seventh birthday rather than my sixty-third. I plan to eat cake and ice cream, and celebrate.  Oh, and if you 'forgot' my birthday today, it's not too late - there's still 13 hours left in this fabulous, only going to happen once, day.  Cheers!  It's my birthday.              

I've Been Seeing Dead People

There's an awfully lot of prime real estate tied up in grave sites.  It was truly baffling in New England.  The amount of relatively flat, open land was so small; the amount tied up with sprouting tombstones was noticeable.  There are quite a few New England towns in which the grave yard is bigger than the town.  Cemeteries are fascinating.  I've been to them all over the world.  I got hooked on this practice over 30 years ago in Vienna where some very famous musicians are buried under some fancy stonework.

The Grove Cemetery at New Haven was a few centuries walk through a who's who at Yale.  It had quite a few interesting monuments, but mostly lots and lots of WORDS every where.  You didn't see too many "Beloved Mother" sentiments.  There was bunches of Joe Blow, Reverend, Teacher, Lawyer, Statesmen, Yale Graduate 1809.  Discovered how Air Tasted, Known as the Best Cloud Lover in Thirty States, etc., etc., etc. Oh, and even as fab as he was he died in 1869. 

The Grove in New Haven was among the first 'designed' cemeteries.  Prior to the Grove (1797 - first burial), you died, you got planted, and the next guy who died got planted next to you.  The Grove started the idea of 'family plots', and they pre-sold those plots prior to death.  This new cemetery came into being because of yellow fever epidemics that killed 5000 people quickly and filled up the burial space on the "Common" - the green space at the center of town.  This new fangled idea of having a planned place waiting for you when you died caught on, and the most cosmopolitan towns like New York City and Baltimore and Philadelphia quickly developed their own planned cemeteries.  

1846 rolls around, and the good folks of Richmond are alarmed they are falling behind the times.  They, too, decided a planned cemetery with family plots was just the ticket.  A group of investors bought land bordering the James River and hired an important architect who laid out a massive grave yard leaving the already large American Holly trees on the property as decoration.  He suggested they call it "Hollywood" after the trees that are still standing today.
  
Just fifteen short years later, the first of the Richmond Confederate soldiers came home to the graveyard.  Eventually there would be 18,000 of them, and a large pyramid like monument was raised in 1869 to honor them.  It was made from Richmond cut granite and stacked up without mortar.  The crane was too short to place the capstone.  Placing it by 'hand' was deemed to be a 50/50 risk of death for the person who attempted it.  A prisoner volunteered.  If he succeeded, he got out of jail.  A tough way to win his freedom, but he won his bet.  The monument is about 80 feet high and sits on Confederate Hill.  Directly surrounding the granite pyramid are the soldiers who fell in battle.  This part of Hollywood Cemetery is a grave yard of teenagers and twenty somethings.

Two famous Confederates are buried here:  Major George E. Pickett, the leader of the infamous "Picket's Charge" at Gettysburg in which more than three brigades were shot to doll rags by Union crossfire.  As the remnants of survivors retreated, eye witnesses said that Pickett wept.  When Lee asked Pickett to assemble his brigade, Pickett supposedly replied, General Lee, I have no brigade.  Pickett survived the war and died in 1875; he is buried under this elaborate monument.  There's an equally elaborate monument next to his erected by the survivors of the charge at Gettysburg in remembrance of their fallen comrades. 

The other famous Confederate is J.E.B. Stuart.  Stuart graduated from West Point in 1854, and resigned his US Army military commission returning to Virginia and Lee at the start of the War.  By all accounts, Lee considered Stuart an adopted son.  This famous cavalry officer died at the Battle of Yellow Tavern in 1864 in an offensive led by another famous Union officer, Phil Sheridan.  Sheridan was specifically to ordered to find and eliminate Stuart who the Union generals considered to be the most able Confederate commander after Lee.  Stuart was only 34 years old when he was killed, but his widow Flora lived until 1923, never remarried and only wore black from the day Stuart was killed until she died.  That level of devotion to the Lost Cause was displayed by many, many Southern women of the upper class.  They preserved numerous historical sites as well as significant artifacts in the decades following the Civil War. 

Hollywood is also the resting place of two United States Presidents:  James Monroe and John Tyler.  They are interred in the "Presidents' Circle" and surrounded by the 19th century movers and shakers of Richmond and Virginia society.  There are several Virginia Governors buried in this area.  Ironically, this cemetery has beautiful waterfront views of the James River, but all of the graves in that section of the Presidents' Circle face toward the Circle and away from the river view.  Monroe's tomb is a showcase for the ironwork this cemetery is famous for.  

 
Tyler's tomb is topped with an obelisk, and the obelisk is topped with an American Eagle.  

Of far more interest is the life sized angel standing next to his tomb.  This is over the grave of one of his daughters.  I think this is the really interesting feature of the Hollywood cemetery.  There are angels everywhere; I mean the stone variety, not the real deal.  Most of them are life sized, and they have varying poses.  Some are intact, while others, like this lady, are missing a piece or two.  

Jefferson Davis has his OWN circle and he's got a bigger than life sized bronze statue of himself.  Varina, his wife, has a seated angel over hers

 The Atkinson family didn't want to leave any doubt as to their religious affiliation - not only a life sized praying angel but a larger than life sized cross.

My favorite statue of the entire cemetery was this one.  She kneels on the grave of a 19 year old boy.  I immediately thought, "that's his mother" the instant I saw it.

I'm sure this won't be the last graveyard I visit.  What's fascinating about 18th, 19th and early 20th century graves are the variety of the monuments.  Post 1950, the monuments are all rectangular slabs of granite.  There are no angels, lambs, dogs, fancy fences, crosses, mythological creatures, or fanciful miniature buildings. Post 1970 there aren't even that many granite rectangles.  Instead, there are flat plaques even with the ground.  Ease of mowing has replaced expressions of grief.  I think the faceless perpetual care of contemporary cemeteries coupled with the movement for better land use and the not inconsequential cost of burial is making places like the Hollywood Cemetery relics of the past.

The rest of the pix show other interesting features of this cemetery.

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115478608971584948192/albums/5925537625638750897?authkey=CJXXx7LGz-fVQA