November 9, 2008
I don’t even know what some of those words mean, speared by edith
Day Forty Nine
"A gossip is one who talks to you about others, a bore talks to you about himself, and a brilliant conversationalist talks to you about you."
- Lisa Kirk -
"Sitting next to Gladstone, I thought he was the most important person in the entire world. Sitting next to Disraeli, I thought I was the most important person in the world."
- Lady Marlborough, when asked what it was like to dine with two of England's most prominent men -
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I woke up earlier than I wanted so I went downstairs for breakfast where I found Susan, Hewes, and Paul already gathered. I joined them for one last meal before their departure.
A few more pictures before saying goodbye.
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Just curious.
2 months ago
2 months ago
In this case the stoker's mirror can be considered as an additional safety measure (and can also double as Susan's make-up mirror :) ).
2 months ago
Back upstairs, I briefly scribbled in my journal, then promptly fell asleep until noon.
DeFuniak Springs is a charming relic of a town built around a small, almost perfectly-round lake which is fed by a spring. The name of the street circling the lake is, appropriately, Circle Drive.
Circle Drive is lined with a number of ancient trees and historic homes. I picked up a brochure detailing a walking tour around the lake with a description of each of the homes. Some of the houses have interesting features... double wrap-around verandas, reverse mansard eaves, petronite construction, three-story square bay, and one even has an octagonal shape. I don't even know what most of those words mean, but I liked looking at the houses nonetheless.
Circle drive is dotted with magnolias, one of which is particularly grand. It has a spreading crown of 78 feet, is 60 feet tall, and has a trunk circumference of just under 14 feet. It's the eighth largest magnolia in Florida which, considering the number and size of the trees in the state, is impressive. This particular grandfather is over a hundred years old.
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On the way back I stopped for some barbecue then went back to my room.
That evening I ordered a pizza and had it delivered to the hotel lobby. While I was waiting for it to be delivered the woman at the front desk struck up a conversation with me.
Her name is Edith, an 80-year-old transplant from Scotland whose daughter owns the hotel and the hotel's restaurant, Bogey's. She's been in America since her early twenties.
She regaled me with stories about her childhood, such as how she and her friend used to "borrow" bikes from the miners so they could ride into town and back.
When she was in her early teens a friend of hers moved to Boston and through their correspondence Edith fell in love with America. Her parents wouldn't let her come until after the war because a German submarine had torpedoed a ship with civilians on it, sinking not only the boat but her dreams of emigrating.
In 1949, she enlisted in the military for four years, after which she moved to London for two years, then eventually to the US.
Ironically, after moving to America, she never saw her friend in Boston.
Upon her arrival, she worked as a nanny for a Jewish family in New York. She despised the bratty children and their parents and left after six months by marrying her first husband, a Merchant Marine. He had actually heard of the small town in which she grew up, and that was all it took for her to fall in love.
From New York, she moved to Florida, Tulsa, New Jersey, and California. Edith told me she didn't see a dead person until she was 70.
At one point in her young working career she worked for a guy in the mafia, but made me promise never to repeat his name. It's an uncommon name, so I did a google search but found no mention of anyone with that name who appeared connected to the mafia. I did, however, find a minor league baseball pitcher (bats left, throws left), a columnist who writes about sports cars, and a professional photographer in Phoenix. It's possible it's one of them, but... meh...
So far, I haven't met anyone who doesn't have a strong opinion on the election, and Edith is no exception. Without any prompting, she eventually got around to talking about Obama. She said she's afraid of him because of his friends.
"My mother used to tell me, 'You can always tell what kind of person someone is by the friends they keep.'"
I was never able to ascertain which friends she was talking about, just that they're Muslim. Then, as an afterthought, her eyes got wide and she gasped,
"You're not Muslim, are you?"
Without waiting for an answer, she continued,
"My daughter is always telling me not to talk about religion or politics, and I always tell her I won't."
She flashed a disarming smile, one she's been perfecting for the past eighty years, and added,
“Really, though, I’m EIGHTY years old, and I think I can talk about whatever I want.”
“And…” (here her eyes sparkled as she raised an eyebrow), “If I say something silly or wrong, I just tell people I have Alzheimer’s.”
Just minutes before my pizza arrived Edith taught me a new word: "spearing." It's the art of obtaining information about someone through casual conversation, and she said she's pretty good at it. It’s easy for her because she's never met someone she didn't like, and as a result they seem to open up to her. When sitting next to someone on a plane, for example, by the end of the trip she'll know just about everything there is to know about them.
After she told me what it meant, she paused, narrowed her eyes at me, and said, "You're from Idaho, aren't you?"
"Iowa."
"Right! I KNEW it!"
I guess I've been speared.
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distance: 3 miles
average speed: 5.2 mph
maximum speed: 23.6 mph
time on bike: 18:32
cumulative miles: 2424 miles
Today's ride: 3 miles (5 km)
Total: 2,419 miles (3,893 km)
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2 months ago
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