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By The Beautiful Sea

8/31/2016

... Continued from yesterday:
Last Friday my daughter suggested that we spend the day - that is, the pre-napping segment of the day - at the beach, an easily accessible and frequent destination as my daughther and her family live 2 miles from where the neighborhood ends,

...and the sand begins.

The Manhattan Beach panorama is so beautiful,

...with the Palos Verde Peninsula to the south,

...and Santa Monica to the north.
Okay, I totally cheated here with my super-zoom lense,

...but it's still a really nice view - a little less zoomed-out here,

…the palm trees and architecture behind us,

...the sky above, and the sparkling blue sea below,

…this being the deepest I ever venture out into, and I'm perfectly happy just to walk along the beach, "close by the margin of the water", as the Stephen Foster song goes.

The thing is, despite being a native Philadelphian - meaning that I should have some Jersey Shore in my DNA - the ocean has always scared me. Maybe it's because I never learned to swim. Or maybe I just don't like being tossed around.
However, for those who do, Manhattan Beach is known to be a great surfing beach,

...and there were quite a few surfers out looking for good waves the day we were there.

Manhattan Beach is also considered the mecca of beach volleyball, and The Manhattan Beach Open national beach volleyball championship tournaments are held here.

However for the rest of us there was the sun and the sand,

...and the surf,

...and the swings,

...and a cute little carry-out restaurant on the beach

...from which we bought surprisingly yummy wraps, salads, grilled cheese sandwiches, and french fries.

Or maybe everything just tastes better he sea.

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The Chip Trail

8/29/2016

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      ...Continued from 8/26/16
      Last Wednesday my daughter took the morning off from work to take the girls to a swim party at the house of some friends, which meant that Tom and I had the morning off from baby-sitting duty.
      So we decided to go for a walk to downtown Manhattan Beach then out to the pier by way of Veteran's Parkway, a popular local walking and biking path commonly known as The Chip Trail

...because of the wood chips that cover the trail.

The Chip Trail runs parallel to the Pacific coastline for 3.5 miles between the towns of Manhattan Beach and Hermosa Beach,

...through beautiful neighborhoods,

...as it meanders amidst the local flora and fauna.

After we'd walked about a mile we cut off the trail and headed into downtown Manhattan Beach,

...then down to the beach,

...to the pier,

...from where we took in the views,

...and made the acquaintance of brothers Matt and Nick, two delightful young musicians from London, originally from Malta, who had just arrived in Los Angeles the night before.

This was their first day of their first visit to the United States and already they were loving it here.
Tom and I assured them that not all of America is like Manhattan Beach,

...though it's not a bad place to start.

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Back To The Verizon Store

8/27/2016

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So here's the conclusion to the saga of the dreaded flip phone.
As recounted in my post from 8/20/2016,

...I recently replaced my cell phone with this little neanderthal flip phone,

...which is one step down the evolutionary scale from my old keyboard phone,

...though it's a pretty big step down.
In fact, I've come to learn in the course of this ordeal (as every dealing with Verizon is, am I right?) that my keyboard phone is kind of the unique missing link between the flip phone,

...which is utilized by only the most back-to-basics Spartan types,

...and the internet-infused smart phone used by most of the rest of the phone-endowed world.

   But I digress.
   Anyway, when my old phone broke the day before I was to leave for a 2 1/2 week trip to the West Coast, I, in a combined state of anxious haste, Verizon store-induced confusion and rank orneriness bought a flip phone to replace it.
   I immediately hated my new phone and was overcome with a gargantuan case of buyer's remorse.
   But the next day I flew to Los Angeles and I really didn't know what to do about my awful phone anyway, except to complain about it.
In truth I think I was just too focused on my own personal pickle to see the pickle jar.
   But then my daughter Claire informed me in a blog comment that there is a two-week window during which one can return a Verizon phone - the kid who sold me my flip phone neglected to tell me this - and my Facebook friend Susan advised me to cart myself back to the Verizon store, take a deep breath, and ask for what I wanted. It was thanks to those wise counselings that I finally saw the light: I was by no means condemned to live my life in flip-phone hell.
     Except that now I was in Los Angeles on co-babysitting assignment with Tom. So when I tried to leave for the local Verizon store of course my 5-year-old grand daughter tagged after me crying out the little-kid battle cry: "Grammie! Where are you going?! Can I come?! I want to come!"
     Naturally my instinctive reaction was that the Verizon store was no place for a child. But then Tom suggested that maybe my grand daughter wasn't to young to witness this paradigm of the workings of the world.
     So I made my way with my granddaughter to the Manhattan Beach area Verizon store,

...feeling somewhat more intestinally fortified, knowing I had a child to protect.

      The girl who greeted me with the standard cool friendliness of of the typical Verizon sales rep listened to my request to return my unloved flip phone, nodded, and after an intimidating pause asked me if I'd purchased the phone at a corporate store, leading me to fear the possibility that if I hadn't purchased the phone at the right kind of store then I wouldn't be allowed to return it. I told her I bought it at the Easton store in Columbus, Ohio, as if she'd have any idea where or what kind of store that was.
      Then she said she'd just look it up and asked me for my phone number. After giving my record a thorough going-over my rep girl asked me if I had the box.
      Do I look like I have the flippin' box?! I wanted to respond, but I just said no.
      She then informed me that I could exchange the phone but that there would be a $35 restocking fee. I don't know whether the fee was because I didn't have the box or if it was just part of the standard juicing process.

Anyway, it turned out by auspicious happenstance that this store did carry my old keyboard phone, which was all I'd wanted in the first place.

I was so happy to get my new old phone that I put less than the usual effort expended in a Verizon store visit into trying to get my rep girl to clarify for me:

1. Why it was more cost effective to pay the $109.99 price of the phone in 24 monthly installments of $4.58 each than to pay the whole $109.99 upfront (she told me I'd have to pay an extra $10 if I paid for the phone upfront. Go figure), and 2. What these mysterious extra fees were that added up to another $41.15.

But never mind, some things are not meant to be understood. I had my phone and it was all good.
And my grand daughter enjoyed playing with the box.

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Ants On A Log And Other Wonders

8/26/2016

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Continued from yesterday:
Jet lag be dashed, Saturday morning it was sneakers to the ground,

...starting with a neighborhood association morning (read pre-afternoon nap) swim party at the local park,

...complete with a wonderful train (which I rode several times myself),

...and a hilarious magician with a gift for connecting with preschoolers.

Saturday afternoon I taught the children to make ants on a log.

So we made ants on a log,

...and more ants on a log,

...reminding me yet again that the best benefit of being around children is having the chance to rediscover the novelty and wonder of things

like ants on a log.

Saturday evening we ate dinner at a crowded, homey little Manhattan Beach restaurant called Mama Dee's,

...where they brought us yummy slices of fresh bread to snack on while we waited for our table,

...and our yummy food.

After dinner we walked around beautiful downtown Manhattan beach,

...where even the poochies are amazing. ;)

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Adventures In Paradise, Or Close To It

8/24/2016

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Last Friday Tom and I flew into Los Angeles for a visit with our daughter, son-in-law, and grandbabies.
No matter how many times I've traveled from Columbus to Los Angeles, for me there's still always something about arriving, stepping outside the airport terminal,

...and seeing palm trees.

... and that clear cerulean blue sky,

... and feeling and smelling the balmy air - I swear the West Coast smells differently from the East Coast though I can't describe how, - that gives me a warm, enchanted feeling , as if I've just stepped into Paradise. Or at least one its suburbs.
So good does it feel to be in Los Angeles that Tom and I upon arriving generally

ditch the endless airport taxi line,

...in favor of taking the airport shuttle to the Metro Rail station,

...from whence we take a train to Manhattan Beach,

...and then walk, luggage in tow, the 1.2 miles from the train station to my daughter and son-in-law's house, as we did this time.

The game-plan for this visit was that we would spend the following week - this past week - baby-sitting our two grand daughters.
But as soon as we dropped off our luggage at the house we headed over to our granddaughters' day care to pick them up early and get a head start on our week together, starting by spoiling our dinners with a 3 pm linner (the meal between lunch and dinner, right?) at Johnny Rockets, a place that my granddaughters, aged 3 and 5, found fascinating,

...especially the counter with the high stools, at which we of course had to sit,

...the vintage jukeboxes with buttons that could still be pressed, and the little paper bowls inside of which were painted ketchup smiley faces.

So much did we all enjoy that first visit that over the past week the four of us have rather become lunch-time regulars at Johnny Rockets and the waiter gives us extra bowls of ketchup faces.

Turned out, though, that we didn't spoil our dinners that first day after all, so much was there to do for the rest of the afternoon,

...including a trip to Ralph's for groceries,

...cleaning the corn we bought,

...folding the laundry,

...trying out the gifts of flashlights from Grammie and Grandpa while making a peach crisp for dessert,

...and chicken, corn on the cob,

...that here's the recipe:

...and a batch of oven-roasted tiny potatoes. which were such a really yuge hit,

      Oven Roasted Tiny Potatoes
      1 bag of tiny gold potatoes
      2 tablespoons of olive oil

1 teaspoon Lawry's Garlic Salt

Preheat oven to 400 degrees
Mix the olive oil and garlic salt in a bowl. Add the potatoes to the bowl and roll them around in the oil and salt. Bake on a foil-covered sheet for 20 minutes. Turn the potatoes over and bake for another 20-25 minutes until the potatoes are soft inside when pierced with a fork.
Enjoy!

After dinner there was some playing left to do,

...and toys to be tucked in before bedtime,

...to revitalize us after a long day - which started two time zones ago for Tom and I -

...for another day of little adventures on the outskirts of Paradise.

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Smother Mother

8/21/2016

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The 2016 Rio Olympics have come to a close,

...and while many Olympians are doubtless still basking in the glory of their victories,

...Team U.S.A. swimmer Ryan Lochte is spending his post-gold medal days on an apology tour, endeavoring to climb out of a pool of shame.

     It's clear from the chain of events that began with a night of celebratory partying and ended in the shattering of Ryan Lochte's reputation and career that the 12-time Olympic medal winner has an alcohol problem along with the subset of ensuing problems that come with the territory, including in his case an episode of drunken vandalism at a Rio gas station, the subsequent cover-up lying, and the resulting mess in which he now finds his life.
     But it also appears from the unfortunate outcome of that inauspicious night in Rio that Ryan Lochte may well have another problem that he needs to deal with: a mother problem.
Consider: Why would an uber-successful 32-year-old world champion, considered by many to be the best swimmer on the planet, feel the need after a night of drunken misbehavior to make up an outrageous lie to his mother about being robbed at gunpoint?
      Why, in fact, did he Ryan Lochte feel the need to say anything to his mother about what he'd been up to the night before?
        And consider this: Ryan Lochte and several of his fellow Team U.S.A. mates drank too much, indulged in rowdy behavior, damaged the door of a gas station restroom, were accosted by a security guard, ended up paying the gas station owner to his satisfaction for the damages, then went home. End of story, or it would have been had Ryan Lochte's mother not felt compelled to take control of the situation by complaining to the media that her son had been robbed and traumatized by Brazilian thugs.
       Understandably Ryan Lochte's mother must have been terribly distressed by her son's account of his ordeal; but seriously, what mother is still so up in her 32-year-old son's business that she'd believe it was her maternal prerogative to go over her son's head to the press?
        Subsequently the press went to the International Olympic Committee who went to the United States Olympic Committee who went to Ryan Lochte who first denied then later confirmed the account he'd told his mother, then re-told the lie on an NBC television interview which was seen by the Brazilian police who did an investigation of their own and revealed to the world that Ryan Lochte had not in fact been a victim of crime, but had himself committed the crime then slandered and insulted their country. Thus because of Ryan Lochte's mother's intervention an event of drunken disorderliness that would have ended in an unremarkable outcome instead spun out of control into an international incident and caused the downfall of an Olympian.
       Ryan Lochte admits that he's considering rehab for his alcohol issues. Perhaps he should look into some counseling for his mother issues as well.

References:
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/20/sports/olympics/usa-swimming-ryan-lochte-tarnish.html?_r=0

http://www.msn.com/en-us/sports/olympics/ryan-lochte-won%e2%80%99t-rule-out-alcohol-rehab/ar-BBvUGWU?li=BBnba9I

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Fear, Loathing, And A Bad Decision In A Verizon Store

8/20/2016

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     A few nights ago I was hit with the terrible sight of my cell phone sitting on the kitchen counter in a pool of water that had escaped from a nearby leaky glass. Amazingly, my phone didn't die right away, leaving me with a false sense of relief until the following morning by which time my phone had given up the ghost. As I frantically pressed this button and that trying to resuscitate my drowned phone, the awful sense of dread I was seized with did not come from the knowledge that I'd have to live a few hours without a phone or that I'd have to somehow squeeze another errand into an already too-busy day before a trip to Los Angeles, nor was I upset over the thought of having to shell out for a new phone, as I'd been paying a $5 dollar monthly insurance fee to cover just such an eventuality as this one.
      What I filled me with fear and loathing was the realization that now I was going to have to go to the Verizon store.
      There are few are few prospects that fill me with such a mix of anxiety and resentment as a trip to the Verizon store.

....with its spotless, hi-tech,

...futuristic appeal,

... and efficient system of friendly greeters and speedy customer assistance personnel, and where every time upon entering the facility it's all I can do to keep from throwing myself at the first staff member who approaches me and crying out, "Sell me whatever you want! Charge me whatever you want! Just let this ordeal be over!"   Because inside a Verizon store I invariably feel like a naif in a familiar yet strange land where I don't understand the customs, lingo, or anything else I'm supposed to know before setting foot across the border. I don't understand what the people are telling me, nor do I fully trust that the people who are telling me things know what they're talking about, either.
     Thus I have a severe case of Verizon store phobia.
     And yet this time I felt a little less anxious, a little more composed than usual. After all, this time my situation was clear and straight forward: My phone was dead, but I had insurance. I wanted a replacement, same item, period. If all my phone numbers were lost along with my deceased battery, well, so be it. I'd dealt with that possibility and moved past it. Just give me my new phone and let me go home. I even rehearsed in my lines as I drove to the Verizon store.
     In fact, by the time I entered the store and faced the pleasant young greeter I was feeling fairly sanguine. Or at least I was until I met my assigned customer assistance rep, a youngster of medium enthusiasm dressed head to toe in the black Verizon uniform - are they required to dress all in black to scare us? - with a couple of piercings.
      I told him my sad story and he took apart my phone to check out its still-soggy insides and offered that my phone was in fact probably fried but that I could try putting the phone pieces into a bag of rice for a few days and seeing if that might dry them out and bring them back to life. In retrospect I kind of wish I'd taken his advice, whisked my phone out of the store, bought a bag of rice, gone phoneless for a few days and taken my chances. However I shared with him that I needed a working phone that day as I was going out of town the following day and that, as I had phone insurance, I just wanted to exchange this one for the same model.
     My service rep kid then consulted his tablet and informed me that my $5-a-month extended warranty did not cover damage to or loss of the phone even though I swore I was told otherwise when I was sold the phone.
      "Nope," my rep kid replied, "it only covers replacement if the phone dies for no reason. But," he added in a tone that suggested he might be trying to cheer me up or maybe shut me down, "I see here that you're eligible for a really good upgrade."
"Like what?" I asked, already having given up the fight over my useless phone insurance.
     "Like a $600 smart phone for $199."
     "No thank you," I said curtly. "Please just give me a phone like this one."
     My rep kid left briefly then returned with a post-it note on which were written some figures which, of course, made no sense to me as he attempted to explain them. Something about $129.99 for the phone plus a $40 dollar upgrade fee which would only come to $109 if I opted to pay $27.99 today followed by a monthly installment plan of $4.58 a month for 24 months.
     It made no sense to me. So little sense that I had not the wherewithall to argue.
     "But I don't want an upgrade," I did correctthe youngster, I just want the same phone as I had before.
      "The upgrade fee is to transfer your old phone number to your new phone."
      "I have to pay $40 for you to transfer my old number to my new phone?" That's an upgrade? I wanted to shout, Shouldn't that be, like, free?
      But I didn't. "Fine," I sighed, knowing better than to start any battles in the Verizon store that I couldn't win, knowing there were no battles that I could win, "I'll just take the phone. And the installment plan."
       "Well, here's the thing," he said, "we don't carry this phone anymore."
       "Fine. Just give me the closest phone you have in the same price range."
       "Well, here's the thing, the only phone we carry in that price range is a flip phone."
       Now, I certainly had no desire for a flip phone, and if I'd been in the mood to behave like an adult I'd have accepted the situation and asked to see what was available in touch-screen phones.
         But my inner adult had by now been replaced by my inner child and all I wanted to do was throw a tantrum.
           "Fine," I snapped, "I'll take the flip phone!" In truth I think that on some subconscious but close-to-the surface level I believed that by buying the cheapest possible phone I was punishing - who? - the Verizon corporate robber-baron behemoth? The poor rep kid who was just trying to give me what I wanted within his power and to make a living ?
           "Okay," my rep kid replied as he handed me the phone, "then you'll only have to pay $2.58 a month for this phone." I felt a brief moment of victory in my cheapness.
        So I walked out of the Verizon store in my usual post-Verizon store huff with my new flip phone,

....which took me just one text to realize that I was going to hate, hate, hate using.

Now I feel like a fool who purposely gave up a comfortable home for a wretched hovel with no water or electricity and which won't even be paid off until 24 monthly payments of $2.58 each.
Is it a sin to harbor a death wish for a flip phone?

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Jelly People

8/17/2016

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   (Sigh). Another day, another fifteen shocking headlines about Donald Trump.
    Now, it’s perfectly clear to me why there are so many people in this country who don’t support Donald Trump. And I have enough imagination to get why there are so many people who do support him.   And, there being such a great ocean of Hillary-hatred sloshing around out there, I can even see why there’s a good number of Americans who are undecided, unable to settle on what they see as a choice between the lesser of two evils.
      But what I really have a hard time wrapping my head around is all the Republican politicians who make harsh public denunciations of Donald Trump then tag on that, well, they still support him.

Or they'll offer a variation on the theme, such as they don't support him but they endorse him,

Or they don't endorse him but they support him.

Governor Scott Walker

Or they don't support him or endorse him, but they still intend to vote for him.

Senator Kelly Ayotte

What are they saying? What are they thinking? What do they think they're saying?

     Far and away the weirdest statement of all recently came from Marco Rubio, who verbally thrashed Donald Trump, called him a con man, then announced that he's going to vote for him anyway!
        Marco! Do your hear yourself? You said, in a public statement, that you're going to do your part to put a con man into the office of President of the United States!
       And you're asking people to vote for you for public office?

    Why, people, why?
    It seems those of the psychologically bifurcated, "I--want-nothing-to-do-with-Donald Trump-but I'm with-him" cohort generally give two reasons for why they cannot stand with one conviction or another.
    The first reason they give is that Donald Trump if elected will appoint conservative Supreme Court justices who'll advance conservative social values. Or so they trust. Or so they wishfully think.
    In truth, who knows who Donald Trump would appoint to what, the wishes of his so-called fellow conservatives being the least of his priorities? The wishes of anybody but himself being the least of his priorities?   Might not The Donald treat the Presidency as a continuation of the daily reality show starring himself that his campaign has been up to this point, leaving every appointment, every decision, every Presidential duty to the circle of advisors he chooses to surround himself with?

   Seriously, would anyone want to bet their life on what might be end up being the prevailing ideology within a Donald Trump-appointed Supreme Court?
     The second reason Donald Trump's non-endorsing supporters (or non-supporting endorsers) give for giving him their vote is the shrugging excuse that they are obligated to vote for their party's choice whether they like it or not. Which sounds like the pusillanimous second cousin of "I was just following orders".
      Maybe they'll soon be saying that the Devil made them do it.
      But if I had to take a guess I'd venture that the real reason those among our supposed leaders who can't find the courage of their convictions are in that unhappy place because fear has turned them to jelly. Fear of Donald Trump. Fear for their political futures.
      But to these Jelly People I would say, firm up and take a stand on either one side or the other.
      Either stand up bravely for Donald Trump,

...or stand up bravely against him,

...and recall the words of Revelations 3: 15-16: "I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot; I would you were cold or hot. So then because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth."
Otherwise come November your constituents might be feeling the same.

References:

http://www.miamiherald.com/news/politics-government/election/marco-rubio/article95752532.html

http://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2016/08/where-republicans-stand-on-donald-trump-a-cheat-sheet/481449/

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...And An Old Spirit, Still Alive

8/15/2016

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...Continued From Yesterday:
Tom and I started Tuesday morning with a breakfast rendez-vous with some of our friends at the restaurant of the Four Points Hotel, which I had re-named the Three Points Hotel (see post from 8/9/2016 for the reasons), where some of our group were staying while in Asheville for the University of Dayton Appalachia Club reunion.

In view of our overall experience at this hotel, I suppose it should not have come as a surprise that the breakfast buffet, which at 99% of hotels is included in the price of the room, cost $12 here.

Tom and I found it to be a run-of the mill breakfast buffet except for the fact that the hot food was cold and from where I and a few others were sitting there was a distinctly unpleasant smell redolent of burning plastic.

Thus we further demoted the name of the place to the Two Points Hotel.

In truth, though, our enjoyment of the day was in no way lessened by the sub-par breakfast and the water being shut off in the hotel that day from
11 am - 4 pm.

After our morning-long re-visit to the ghost sites of the Montford area of Asheville (see yesterday's post), Tom spotted what turned out to be a great lunch venue,

...The City Bakery Cafe, which made the best sandwiches.

Tom had the delicious Turkey Day Turkey sandwich with turkey, swiss, cranberry relish, mayo, lettuce, and red onion on French bread,

...while I had the indescribably yummy Avo Melt made with
avocado, goat cheese, tomato, spinach, and fresh basil on multigrain bread.

The desserts looked absolutely ethereal,

...yet we somehow manged to resist,

...wanting to save plenty of room for the Appalachia Club Reunion picnic that evening,

...along beautiful Lake Julien,

..also arranged by our super local hostess and Appalachia Club alum Sharon.

The food from a local caterer was great:

Super moist and, tender barbecued ribs,

...yummy greens and savory corn pudding,

...lots of tasty sides cleverly served up in an ice-filled baby pool,

...as were the drinks,

...burgers and dogs on the grill,

...and the most luscious desserts.

Upon the cake was super-imposed a photo of the house that Tom bought back in 1971 for $2400 in Salyersville, Kenutcky, where the group did its volunteer work, as a place for the UD students to stay while they were volunteering (see post from 3/10/2016).

Here's a photo of the house in winter time.

Before Tom and I were married as a gift to Tom I had an artist paint a picture, which still hangs in our family room, from the above photo.

But anyway, the best part of the evening was getting together with old friends and meeting other groups of fellow volunteers who'd worked in withe the UD Appalachia program in the early 1970's.

...recalling the old times,

Sharing our memories of those times,

...thankful for the gift of being there then,

...and being here now.

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The Naughty Ghosts Of Asheville

8/13/2016

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...Continued from yesterday:

Our lovely, awesome friend Sharon,

...who organized the University of Dayton Appalachia Club reunion

in beautiful,

...funky,

...downtown Asheville, North Carolina,

...home of O. Henry, by the way,

     ...also arranged for us on Monday night a ghost tour of Asheville.
    Now, I was thinking, as I'd imagine the others in our group were, that we'd be riding around in a bus while being told ghost stories connected to specific sites around the town.
     Which is basically what the tour turned out to be.,,but with a twist.   Kind of a twisted twist.

First of all, there was the exterior of the tour bus,

...and the interior, which was unexpectedly colorful,

...as was the wiry, nimble-limbed, youngster who was our emcee,

...and who right away had us all in stitches with his
hilarious and low-end- -of- raunchy comedy stylings.

At one point he handed me this piece of dental floss and told me it was for me since it was almost bikini season. That was about the cleanest joke of the evening

However after his opening act he exited the bus and scurried away, his movements evoking a silly over-sized spider.

He was replaced by our tour guide, a "mad doctor" with a Count Dracula accent named Dr. Choparmsandlegsoffsky (or something close), and our driver, whom The Doctor introduced as Cyborg Randy.

The Doctor then gave us a hilarious R-rated tour of Asheville's historically creepy, purportedly ghost-inhabited sites, stopping now and then at the sighting of a resident ghost who would then climb on board the bus to crack some funny, baudy jokes,

...such as the Pink Lady who is said to still haunt Asheville's Grove Park Inn,

...whose original owner, Wiley Grove, made a fortune in the early 1900's selling his health "tonic":

Then we met the ghost of Zelda Fitzgerald, who died in a insane asylum fire in Asheville (and who shared with us that she used to F. Scott Fitzgerald),

...and an angry Raggedy Andy, who we picked up as he was stomping down the street near the site of a defunct doll asylum (where years ago people would bring old dolls they no longer wanted - go figure).

Turned our he'd caught Raggedy Ann with G.I. Joe.

    Comedy aside, it was an interesting, enjoyable tour, though surely not for the easily offended.
    Tom and I agreed that our favorite leg of the tour was through the historical Montford area, a neighborhood of palatial old homes with spacious porches that used to be tuberculosis sanatoriums, the belief being that it was beneficial for patients to sit outside on these porches, called "breathing porches", to take in the fresh air. Of course tuberculosis being a bacterium, the fresh air was no cure and most of the TB patients died, thus this neighborhood, according to legend, being the site of many ghosts.
   Also in this neighborhood was located the asylum in which Zelda Fitzgerald died,

...here was her "ghost" doing an interpretive dance of the event on the site of the old asylum - tasteless, I know,

We also passed the haunted-castle-looking residence of the asylum director.
So much did Tom and I like this part of the tour that the following day, though we'd considered visiting the Biltmore Estate outside Asheville, said to be a must-see area attraction, our enthusiasm waned big-time when we learned that the admission price to the estate was $60 per person and we decided instead to return to Montford for another look - for free - in the day light at the gorgeous homes that used to be the TB sanitoriums.

And here's the spooky former residence of the director of the old insane asylum.

We did enjoy seeing these buildings in the light of day. Still, we had to admit it just wasn't the same without the creepy commentary and the dirty jokes. ;)
To be continued...

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