Project 365+ (Starts June 25, 2009) (I'm a little nervous.)

Did you just roll your eyes? Seriously? No? Ok.

I keep hearing people talk about the 365 day project - it's when you commit to taking a photo every day for 365 days and then post each photo to your blog or your facebook or your photosite or whatever. I guess the idea is to create a kind of a journal of your year. I'm not sure why it appeals to me so much, but it does. All right, I do know, but I'm not ready to talk about it. Anyway. I've been thinking about doing this for months and I keep putting it off, but now I'm just going to do it. I'm just going to dive in. Because if anything, it will force me to be at least a tiny bit creative every day.

This is my goal: Every day for the next year I will take photos of things that catch my eye, things I think are strange or beautiful or ugly, moments that make me happy, people I love, whatever I want. I will take photos every day and then I will pick one, the one that most interests me or best captures my mood or how I felt about my day, and I will post it here and write about it. And if, at the end of 365 days I feel like keeping it up, I will. Because I can.

Now. While I promise to use my camera on a daily basis, I will not promise to post the photos on a daily basis or even on the day on which they were taken. That is just unrealistic. At least while I have four jobs. In fact, I actually started this project on June 25th, so the retroactive posting has already begun. Neener neener neener, I want to hear no complaints. I'll start out a few days behind, and if I catch up one day, then awesome. If not, c'est la vie. Also, I do not claim to be a photographer, so please lower your expectations. This is just for fun. And. While ultimately, I think it would be super awesome if I got to the point where I posted a photo at the end of every day and then continued with the project well past the 365th day, I'm going to start with baby steps. And I'm calling the project:

Project 365+

Can I get a "HELLS YEAH"?

I hereby promise to myself, and to those of you out there who by reading this blog are having a relationship with me that I don't even know about, that I will photograph beautiful moments on a daily basis for the next 365 days, and maybe more, and post the fruits of my efforts within.

Here goes something.

June 25, 2009

I've always been in love with his hands. On our first date, our first real date the second time we tried dating, I sat in his kitchen and watched him cook, sipping red wine and talking about - I don't even know what. I wasn't paying attention to what he was saying because I was watching his beautiful hands. Some of my favorite moments between us, some of our most romantic, most intimate, most profound moments have happened while I was perched in the kitchen watching him cook. No matter what is happening between us, no matter where we are in our lives, no matter how we are feeling, while he cooks and I watch, the world is absolutely perfect.

Bits and Pieces

My parents have been in town for the last two weekends (they spent the week in the Adirondacks) and when they left this morning to go back to Los Angeles I think they took my innards with them.

I can't relate at all to people who don't completely adore their parents. I am so crazy about my parents that I invited them to join me and my husband for half of our honeymoon. My husband will be the first to tell you that the week my parents spent with us was infinitely more fun than the week we spent alone.

Every time I start to think that New York feels familiar and home-like I am reminded that Los Angeles will always be where my heart is. El Lay might be full of vapid blondes with fake boobs, and maybe every single solitary person you know including your doctor, your mechanic, your lawyer and your therapist are actors too, and even though it is smoggy and expensive and as I've been told it "has no soul", it is where my family is. Where my roots are. You can take the girl out of The Valley but you'll never take The Valley out of this girl.

So while I am scraping the remains of my heart off the floor, the pieces that fell out of my mother's suitcase when she snapped it shut, and the bits that slipped from my father's pockets when he hugged me good bye, I'll entertain you with some photographic highlights of their two weekends here. The pictures don't even come close to capturing how wonderful those six days were, but they try.

The parents and a nice Jewish girl at

Sammy's Roumanian Steak House on the Lower East Side.

I know this photo is blurry, but it perfectly

demonstrates the vibe at this fabulous restaurant.

At HighBridge Park, my favorite spot in Sugar Hill.

Mike gives Mama a Tarot reading

How do you spend a perfect Sunday in NYC?

At the NYC Gay Pride Parade.

My beautiful Mama and my gorgeous Papa,

dancing at Gay Pride.

And this? This last photo here? This was my father's idea.

And even though I felt really embarrassed, because omg how embarrassing is it when your dad wants to take a picture of you in front of a landmark on the street as if you're a tourist when you totally aren't, I let Papa take a photo of me in front of The Actors Studio. Then I told him:

"When I'm a member, I'll let you take my photo inside, ok? And I'll give you a tour and everything."

And then he grinned, which made feeling embarrassed for thirty seconds totally worth it.

I'm practically peeing my pants.

It has been a very exciting week, Internet Friends. Very. Exciting. I have about a hundred-eighty-three projects (that's an exact number) going right now, including the editing of a brand-new film reel, the writing of a children's book (What-what?), auditions and call-backs gallore, and a garden. I have a garden. I live in Manhattan and I have a garden.

Ok, it isn't really a garden. It's more of a collection of potted plants that I can eat when they're done growing. BUT STILL.

Do you remember when I posted all about sustainable eating and community supported agriculture and how I lusted after large open spaces where I could grow vegetables? Well, dreams come true, folks. They really do come true.

This past Tuesday Mike and I were the proud recipients of our very first CSA share. We are members of the West Harlem Community Supported Agriculture Program, which means that every Tuesday we get a big box of organic, locally grown fruits and vegetables. AND IT IS LIKE CHRISTMAS, IT IS THAT FUN.

Look what we got this week:

Is this not the Most Beautiful bok choy you've EVER SEEN?

What the F is this? I can't even tell you. But it was delicious.

(It's called Kohlrabi)

And it comes in red, too, in case you were wondering.

Also, in case you can't tell by my husband's beard, we are hippies now.

This is a garlic flower. Did you know that garlic flowers?

And you know what it tastes like? GARLIC.

It's beautiful and wonderful and grown in New York state.

And here is a sneak-peak of our bedroom. (It's not done yet.)

Those flowers? They came from the CSA also.

F-ing-A. How happy am I?

And this? This?

LIVE HERBS WERE ALSO A PART OF OUR CSA.

Oregano and Thyme.

How badass is that?

VERY VERY BADASS.

We also got a sh** ton of kale, swiss chard, strawberries, and other stuff I am too excited to remember.

The other thing that was freaking awesome was that four days before we picked up our CSA share, our good friends Josie and Johnny came over for dinner and brought us this house-warming gift:

Basil, sweet basil and cilantro

A TOMATO PLANT! AAAAAHHHHHH!

I am ridiculously excited about the tomato plant. RIDICULOUSLY. EXCITED. And since I took this photo, our little tomato plant has grown even bigger and is even more beautiful and holy crap I am growing a vegetable. It is my very first time ever growing a vegetable or herbs. And forever and ever, wherever I live, wherever I roam, whenever I grow vegetables and herbs I will think of Josie and Johnny because they got me started.

I am so freaking happy right now. Who knew that vegetables and herbs could make a girl THIS happy? It is the little things in life, truly.

*very*happy*sigh*

From Kim's Kitchen Sink to mine

My friend Kim, over at Kim's Kitchen Sink, is suffering from a kitchen conundrum. She has a small kitchen and a lot of kitchen stuff and she wonders how best to organize it all. Seeing as how I'm very used to teensy, itsy bitsy kitchens, thanks to two years in NYC, I thought maybe I could help her out.

Below you will find photographs of the kitchen in Rachel, our Fabulous New Apartment. (Remember when I named our apartment?) And I just want to remind you, before you nose around these photos, that this kitchen is a MASSIVE improvement over the bitchen in the tenement.

Photo 1:

Hi! Welcome to our spacious kitchen! If you are seeing this view, you are standing with your back up against the far wall of our entryway. From here you can see, on the far right, our pet hutch, where we keep the pet bowls, pet toy box, flea meds, etc.; above the pet hutch you'll see a shelving unit we picked up at Ikea for like, ten bucks; to the left of that you can see the kitchen counter complete with a stool for me to perch upon while Mike cooks dinner; and on the far left, the side of the fridge. In the background you can catch our enormous kitchen window, and the various items we've purchased and installed to make the kitchen more, erm, useful. Hmmm... that looks like an awfully narrow passageway between the fridge and the counter, doesn't it? THAT IS NOT A TRICK OF THE EYE. IT IS THAT NARROW. Our kitchen encourages healthy eating because if you don't eat healthy, you won't fit in it.

Photo 2:

From this angle, you must be standing in the entrance of the kitchen. And you are probably wondering whether or not you can squeeze your body between the fridge and the counter. You are also probably opening your mouth to say, "Isn't there ANYWHERE ELSE YOU COULD HAVE PUT THE FRIDGE?" To which I will reply, "How original. I think you might be the first person to ask that. As a matter of fact, no. There isn't. We tried. I suppose we could have put the fridge in the entryway, but then we would have a kitryway instead of a kitchen and entryway, and I refuse to ever again live in a place with combined rooms. I've had enough of that, thank you. If you can't fit in our kitchen, well, you can just perch on that there stool* and look into the kitchen."

*stool not pictured in photo 2.

Also in photo 2 you can see how narrow the actual kitchen really is. It's more of a hallway, than a kitchen, if we're going to be honest here. It is a one-person kitchen. Which is fine, really, since Mike does all the cooking while I do most of the eating. On the back wall of the kitchen you'll see the set up Mike installed, which I will further describe in the close-up photo below.

Photo 3

Taa-daa! Close-up. Ok. First, we've got the Ikea Ekby wall shelf brackets, and the Ekby Stilig solid birch shelf. That is where we keep our mason jars with grains, salt and pepper shaker, butter dish, mug tree. Mike hung it at the perfect height to also be used as a little breakfast counter, and you will often find me perched upon my Ikea Bekvam step stool, eating cereal off that little shelf. Also, it is quickly cleared in case we need extra counter space for rolling out pie crusts or decorating sugar cookies. We have very little counter space (as you're about to discover) so Mike wanted to make sure I'd have space for my baking. (I love him so.) Above the shelving unit is the Ikea Grundtal wall shelf, with corresponding hooks for hanging my pot-holders and vintage place-mats. Also, we have a magnetic knife block hanging on the wall for Mike's most frequently used knives, and on the far right, a pot lid holder that we bought at Ikea for $4, but that I can't find on the website. It's wonderful how much space we saved in our cabinets by hanging so much of our stuff on the walls. I'll let you in on a little secret: Most of our cabinets are only half-full and it's ONLY because we hung so many things on the wall. Apparently, Sweden has small apartments too.

Photo 4

I just included this photo in case you couldn't tell before how TINY our kitchen is. See how small it is? It's very small.

Photo 5

At the tippy-top of this photo you'll see how Mike installed cabinets above the kitchen cabinets, to store all the stuff we don't use on a super-regular basis. I wanted to just pile stuff on top of the cabinets that the apartment came with, but Mike insisted we could actually store more things in a more efficient manner if we had more cabinets. He was right. Those cabinets were our linen cabinets in the tenement, and they were originally found in a dumpster. I'm telling you, we are super classy.

Above the stove is a shelf Mike built to hold the spatula jar, olive oil, etc. Also, to the left of the stove is our spice rack, which was about $7 at The Container Store. Mike built our pot-rack out of a packing crate he found. We couldn't believe how gorgeous the wood was once he had sanded and varnished it. You can also see here what is essentially half of my counter space. All of my teas are at the back of the counter, because I like to have them out where I can reach them easily. Hanging above my teas is another Ikea Grundtal item, the Grundtal paper towel holder.

Photo 6

This is essentially all the counter space in our kitchen, except for the birch shelf Mike installed. Tea on the left, coffee on the right. The real space saver is the Grundtal series. It's a rod Mike installed above our sink and hanging from it is our paper towel holder, dish rack, and cutlery caddy. I also hang my dish cloths from that rod. If we had to keep all that stuff on our counter, we'd really be screwed. The dish rack was pricey, $25, but SO WORTH IT. It's beautiful, for a dish rack, and it folds up nicely when it is empty. I couldn't be happier with it.

Photo 7

See how nice??

I am almost 100% happy with how our kitchen turned out. As soon as we scrounge the money together to purchase some potted herbs for the kitchen window sill, and as soon as we get our worm bin*, then I will be 100% happy. As for the rest of the apartment? It still looks like we just moved in, mainly because where there ought to be furniture there is large empty spaces. We're taking it one day at a time.

I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here and say I think this might be the most fascinating post I've ever written. I'm sure you're absolutely titillated. I do what I can, folks. I do what I can.

*Have I not told you about the worms we're adopting? Don't worry. I will.

UPDATE:

This is what happens when two people try to work in the kitchen. We've named what goes on here 'The Kitchen Dance'. It has it's own song and everything.

Go Fetch

The last couple of days have been particularly windy in the NYC. And when I say windy, I mean that even with an extra ten pounds of meat on my bones* I am having a hard time keeping my feet on the ground. It's been several days since the dogs have had any real exercise because, lets face it, I'm a lazy slob. Or else I just don't love them. I do, after all, let them fish their food out of the litter box. Hey, you know? Poop is like their chocolate. Who am I to deny them such a decadent pleasure? If that's not proof of my interest in their well-being, I don't know what is. 

This morning I was feeling livelier than usual so I decided to peel myself off the sofa and take the dogs to the park to throw a tennis ball around. Of course I forgot our tennis ball, so I was forced to throw one of the matted, feces speckled tennis balls already in the park.  You know the kind. It's been slobbered over and chewed on by so many different dogs it's hardly recognizable as a ball anymore. It's lost it's circular shape and most of  it's green fuzz. If it were a velveteen rabbit, it'd be real. This seems to make the ball all the more appealing to Valentine, and she's jumping around in circles, eagerly anticipating my throw. I draw my arm back and Valentine races towards the other end of the park. She likes to get a head start on the ball. I swing my arm forward and release the ball. But the thing is, not only do I throw like a girl, and not only has the chewed on lump of rubber lost all the qualities that once made it aerodynamic, it's really windy out. Really windy. The ball does not head in the direction I've thrown it. Instead, it launches right for Valentine and conks her in the back of the head.  She reels forward and all four legs go out from under her. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I cry out. I jog over to her and crouch down to make sure she's all right. She responds by wagging her tail and nibbling my nose. Let's try that again, I think. I pick up the ball, she does her happy dance. I hold the ball over my head and she races to get her head start. I launch the ball into the air, the wind picks it up, carries it right to her, and she gets another smack in the head. "Baby, I'm so sorry!" I call out, as if she understands English. I rush over to her and stroke her face, scratch her ears, apologize. She nibbles my nose and my ears and wags her tail to let me know all is forgiven. I reach for the ball slowly, not sure she's still up for the game. The tail-wagging doubles in time. I  stand up and bring the ball over my head and this time, she hangs back behind me. Girl catches on quick. I raise the ball over my head and launch it. She stands about a foot behind me and watches as it sails through the air. "Go get the ball!" I say, excitedly. And then she turns and looks at me and I swear to God, if she had the proper set up she'd have said, "You get the ball, Bitch."

*We'll talk about that later. 

Happy Birthday, Adam.

I remember exactly the first time I laid eyes on the man I would marry. I remember the first time I saw the girl who would become the best girl friend I'd always dreamed of. But I can't tell you anything about the first time I met Adam*. My first memory of him takes place after we'd already met and become friendly, sometime during our first year at Cal Arts. It was dinnertime and we were sitting in "the caf" at a table in a little alcove that looked out over the balcony. There were probably five or six other kids at the table - it was our usual dinner group. I must've been eating stir fry that night because at one point I thought it would be funny to fling a spoon full of rice at Adam's face. Not that stir fry makes me want to fling rice, I'm just saying I had rice available and I thought it would be funny to fling it. That was right around the time that everyone thought it was funny for Amanda to call me "Bitch" instead of "Tricia", so I figured everyone would think it was funny if I threw food around. Turns out I was wrong. Adam was so mad he jumped up from the table and stormed off. He didn't even finish his cheeseburger and fries. I felt like a world-class jerk. I was afraid he'd never forgive me.

Ten years later he is the only person from that table I still talk to, and yet, I can't remember how we met. I can't remember how I got him to forgive me for that rice incident (though I can say that he absolutely HATES it when I tell that story - sorry Adam!) and I can't remember anything about how our friendship grew over that first year in college. But I know that by second year, we were inseparable. I remember long nights playing solitaire on his computer, sitting on his lap and laughing for hours. I remember karaoke at Mulligan's, the only place in town that didn't check ID's. Even back then, and still to this day, when he sings I go weak in the knees. I remember movie nights and deconstructing Shakespeare together and driving around Stevenson Ranch aimlessly. We did two shows together that year and we were in all the same classes. He gave me the worst haircut I've ever had in my life and then he called his boyfriend who came over and gave me the best haircut I've ever had in my life. He was one of the only people I could count on to steer clear of drugs, but he didn't judge me when I experimented. He showed me the beauty in real designer bags. He stood up as my best man when I married a gay boy and then he held me together when my heart was crushed into a million pieces (multiple times). He threw me one of the best birthday parties I've ever had. I've lost sleep over his broken hearts and tended his black eyes and cooked his dinner. He's treated me to cocktails and defended my honor and soaked up my tears with his sweater. When I married my soul-mate, he accepted this new man as his brother. When I was getting ready to move across the country he came over and cleaned my apartment just so we could spend a few extra hours together. We know how to push each other's buttons and we know how to admit it and apologize when we've hurt each other. He's the perfect friend for a wild night on the town or a cozy night on the couch. He is as loyal and protective as a mama bear. When we're together our bellies ache from all our laughter. He waits outside the bathroom for me when we're out and he doesn't answer his cell phone when we're spending time together. We worry over each other and confide in one another and adore each other. We are so alike that sometimes I would swear we share the same genes. When he moved to New York, I told him he was God's gift to me. He cried and said no one but his mother had ever called him a gift from God. But that is what he is.

I don't know why I can't remember meeting Adam. It seems almost as if one moment I did not know him, and the next moment he was so absolutely enmeshed in my life it was as if he'd always been there. As if all of my life before, there had been an Adam-shaped empty space and when we finally collided, we fit together so perfectly that there was no need for a recognition of a specific moment of meeting. We just joined hands and kept going, laughing all the way.

Adam, you are my brother. Happy Birthday, beloved.



*Adam is Archie from this story. When he read it he was all, "Why didn't you use my real name??" He's even as much of a narcissistic exhibitionist as I am. I love him.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Again.

Mike has been bugging me for the last few days to "take down that damn fire-hazard, already". He's afraid we're going to end up those people who still have their Christmas tree up in April. But that little tree has made me feel so happy and cozy for the last few weeks, that I couldn't bear to take it down! Until he told me that his ex-wife used to leave the tree up for weeks after Christmas and in my ongoing efforts to out-wife her, I decided to take it down today.

We had such a lovely, quiet, comfy little Christmas. And I realized that without even trying, we've already developed some of our own little holiday traditions that I will look forward to year after year. Like my (now) traditional mangled and mutilated gingerbread people.

And my (now) traditional blackberry Christmas pie.


And the new tradition of having brown paper packages delivered to my door all week before Christmas, full of gifts from family in California. And without realizing it, just in one Christmas, we accumulated a whole box-full of Christmasy decorations that we can put up next year. This is all very exciting for me and I reflected on all of this as I stripped our little tree and thanked her for giving me weeks of happiness this year.

In other news, our New Years Eve was spectacular, thanks in part to the lovely dinner that Joe threw at his and Adam's apartment.


But mostly it was spectacular because, as you all know because I can't shut the F up about it, MIKE SENT HIS NOVEL TO DAW PUBLISHING HOUSE AND THEN HE QUERIED TEN LITERARY AGENTS.

(Valentine and Theo pose with the manuscript, moments before it was taken to the post office and sent off to Daw.)

God Speed, Shadowline. May the force be with you.

I hope you, too, had a wonderful holiday and a happy new year. May we all thrive, evolve, love, live and learn in 2009.

That Time I Partied Backwards.

These kids are my BFF's. For cereals., originally uploaded by Pretty Poo Eater.

Shame on me for never telling you all about my trip home to Los Angeles this past May. I'm a naughty blogger.

It was a really wonderful trip home, though really too short. Poompy and I got to spend time with my friend Mich and her husband and their 8 week old baby. (He won't admit it, but Poompy totally got all weepy-eyed when he held the infant in his arms.) We spent lots of time in our jammies visiting with my mama. We broke bread with friends and family multiple times. We stopped by our beautiful Hollywood bungalow and visited with our old neighbors. We took a road trip to Huntington Beach with Dopey to spend more time with family. We spent an afternoon on the Santa Monica Pier with more family. I went horse-back riding with my neice and nephew while Poompy ate at our favorite sushi place with his big brother. (After which Poompy gloated for hours about how awesome the sushi was and how NY sushi "sucks major balls" in comparison.) But I think the very best story of all comes from our second night in town, when my best fried Dopey threw us The Most Awesome Welcome To LA Party EVER.

Dopey had planned this rad party for us and she'd sent out invitations to all our friends and I was super excited about it. So excited about it that the first thing I did when I arrived at Dopey's house to help her prepare for the party was pass out on the pavement next to her pool. Why? Who knows. My brother suggested that perhaps I shouldn't have started drinking so early in the day, but what does he know? Anyway, the next thing I did was spend a couple of hours stretched across Dopey's bed, holding my stomach and groaning. About forty minutes before guests were supposed to start arriving, Poompy managed to convince me that it would be a good idea to stick my finger down my throat. I won't go into the gory details except to tell you all about how you can tell someone really loves you when they sit on the floor in the bathroom holding your hair and rubbing your back while you wretch and sob and say things like: "blaaaaagh*wretch*gag* I'm dying! *sob*bleeegh*gag* I think I'm dying please *wretch* make it stop! *gag*blegh* I don't want to die! *wretch*sob*gag*" Throwing up is gross. And it sucks. And it is NOT dignified. Certainly not when I do it.

I barely had time to brush my teeth before the guests started arriving and by then, well I just felt so much better that I drank two gin martini's and spent the rest of the night dancing on Dopey's coffee table before getting completely sober and driving home while working on next years taxes. I know how to have a good time, you know?

Cade and Meph

Cade and Meph, originally uploaded by Pretty Poo Eater.

I can't look at this photo without feeling like my entire body is melting, starting with that lump of black coal otherwise known as my "heart". I miss both of these guys so much that I can't even find words to talk about it.

Bump in the Night

I have always had a love/hate relationship with the supernatural. On the one hand, I'm COMPLETELY FASCINATED by the paranormal. And on the other hand? I'd rather eat a plate of steaming shit than have to face a real, honest-to-goodness ghost.

As a little kid, I often spent long weekends with my beloved Aunt Sue, who regularly communicated with the Great Beyond. (She also had weekly phone chats with Santa Claus, and I had her to thank for asking the Tooth Fairy to give me a raise - but those are other stories for other posts.) The two of us would stay up late together and watch Unsolved Mysteries, America's Most Wanted,  and other creepy weekend specials about ghosts, murderers, kidnappers, aliens and phantoms and then, like clockwork, every night at 11:45 she'd look over at me and say, "It's almost midnight. Doo yooou knoooow whaat thaaat meeeeans? Midnight is THE WITCHING HOUR! Quick! Off to bed before the witches come out!" And with my wee little heart thumping in my chest, I'd race off to her bedroom and dive under the covers for safety. And while I was at once terrified by the thought of what I might see once that clock struck 12, I was also thrilled by it.

When I planned Poompy's birthday trip to Gettysburg, I booked us two nights at a self-proclaimed "haunted" Bed & Breakfast. The Farnsworth House Inn was built in
1810, followed in 1833 by the brick structure that still stands today. The walls, floors and rafters are all original - one can only imagine what they've seen and heard in 175 years. During the battle of Gettysburg the house was owned by the Sweney family. The wife and daughter fled their home before the battle began, but Mr. Sweney chose to stay. He was basically forced to spend the three day battle hiding in his cellar because on the first day of battle, after Federal units retreated to Cemetery Hill, the 2 1/2 story brick house became a shelter and hide-out for Confederate sharpshooters. The house was strategically located very near Union lines and the garret window (photo of window from inside the garret below, right) offered a protected site for the Confederate sharpshooters as they maintained a deadly fire on the Union forces on Cemetery Hill. The side of the house (pictured above left) bears over 100 bullet scars from Union riflemen firing back at the Confederates.

When we checked into our room in Gettysburg, the first thing I noticed was a pretty little journal on the dresser. Curiosity got the best of me, so I opened it. Apparently, hotel staff leaves that little journal so guests have a place to write about their supernatural stories. There wasn't anything too scary written in it, mostly it was people who'd written to say that nothing weird happened while they were staying there, thank goodness. Though there were a couple of stories about groaning walls and bumps in the night - the kind of thing which, in my opinion, one should expect in a house with 175 year old walls and floors. Later, we found out that the room next to ours has "the most spirit activity in the whole house". But I wasn't going to let that bother me because at least it wasn't the room we were staying in. Just the room next-door. Despite my resolve, I did not sleep a wink. I laid awake ALL NIGHT LONG straining to hear strange noises while simultaneously trying not to hear anything at all. And I couldn't stand that I was wide awake and Poompy was fast asleep, so I kept elbowing him in the ribs, hoping that he might wake up and keep me company, but to no avail. All the hardest nudging in the world gave me nothing more than a muffled "hrrrgmf" or two. The next morning at breakfast, the guy staying in the room next-door tried to ask me if I'd heard strange footsteps in the hallway the night before, but I interrupted before he had a chance to get the question out and said, "that was probably just me and my husband coming in for the night!" I didn't want to think that he'd heard anything strange. I just couldn't handle it.

Our second night in Gettysburg we went on a Ghost Walk that promised to fill us with thrills and chills, a Ghost Walk led by phantoms in period dress, a Ghost Walk we would never forget. Well, it turned out to be the lamest Ghost Walk EVER. The guides, in their Rite-Aid brand pirate costumes, spoke to us, a group of 25 adults, as if we were kindergartners with IQ's below 40. When once I got a little behind the group because I'd stopped to take a photo of a dead bird, I was screeeeeamed at by the guide for falling out of line. (Yeah, I said "line". She made us stand in a line. Like kindergartners.) While our guide did provide us with some interesting town history, she did not tell us any real ghost stories. I'm sorry, but a real ghost story doesn't end with a punch line. And I have a hard time appreciating the history lessons she provided, because she couldn't open her mouth without rolling her eyes in boredom and hacking her left lung out of her chest. The scariest thing about the entire walk, actually, was her phlegmy, body wracking cough. It was so scary I had to stay at the back of the line the whole time.  But, I'm not being altogether fair. She did tell one story that made the Ghost Walk worthwhile. She took us into the garret of the Farnsworth House and, in between eye-rolling and body-wracking, lung-launching, phlegm-spraying coughs, she told us the story of what Mr. Sweney found in his garret after the battle of Gettysburg ended. Story goes that when he finally felt it was safe to come out of hiding, he began to explore his home to asses the damage caused. He made his up into the garret and discovered the bodies of six dead Confederate soldiers piled in a corner opposite the garret window. (As I type this, I keep spinning around to look behind me because I'm getting the creeps so bad.) The floor was thick with congealed blood, and the walls were crawling with lice from the dead bodies. It seemed as though each time a sharpshooter posted at the garret window was shot, his buddies would drag him across the floor and leave him on the other side of the garret while another guy took his place. By the way, that floor? The one that had a thick layer of congealed blood on it? It's still there. I walked on it. And to make matters better? The very room where Poompy and I were staying was DIRECTLY UNDER THE GARRET. But not under the entire garret, oh no. JUST UNDER THE SIDE OF THE GARRET WHERE THE BODIES WERE PILED. Yuck, yuck, yuck. Creepy, scary, gross.

The ghost walk ended at about 11 p.m. and Poompy and I headed back to our room to pack our suitcases and catch some sleep. We needed to get up and hit the road by 6 a.m. if we would make it to work on time the next day. As we prepared for bed, I said a little prayer that I'd fall asleep FAST - I was exhausted because I hadn't been able to sleep a wink the night before. We crawled into bed and before I even turned the light off, Poompy was snoring. I stuck my elbow in his ribs. Nothing. Not even a "hrrrgmf". I elbowed him harder. Still nothing. The man was OUT. So I lay there, in the dark, trying to fall asleep, trying NOT to stare at the ceiling over my head because I was afraid I might see ghost-blood spread in a pool over my head. I heard the grandfather clock downstairs strike 11:30, then 11:45. When I heard it strike midnight a little voice in my head whispered, "Now it's the Witching Hour!" And I thought, Dear GOD HELP ME SLEEP. I heard the clock strike 12:15. Then 12:30. And then I heard footsteps. In the garret. The very clear and very distinct sound of someone pacing in the garret above my head. The footsteps were heavy, precise, intentional. And then I heard an enormous bang, and then silence. Complete silence.

I spent the rest of the night wide awake, sweaty and trembling. But I never heard or saw anything strange after that. When Poompy woke up in the morning I told him everything. He looked at me, his head cocked to one side, his brow furrowed in skepticism. "Seriously?" He said. "It was just staff cleaning up for the night. You're being ridiculous." Except, if it was staff, if it was HUMAN, I would've heard footsteps coming down the creaky garret steps into the hallway outside our room. I would've then heard those footsteps going down the creaky steps to the main floor, to make their way out of the Inn. Unless there is staff who sleeps in the garret at night. Which I HIGHLY DOUBT.

I will NEVER stay in a haunted B&B again. EVER.

If given the opportunity, he absolutely would eat my face.

I've had this huge blister on my left heel for WEEKS. It was completely painless, just this annoying bubble of flesh on the bottom of my foot. I've been dying to cut it open and trim all the dead skin off, but I knew it would be stupid to mess with it, so I've exercised incredible restraint and just left it alone. It finally ripped open last night and the first thing I did was grab my little nail scissors and trim the quarter sized piece of skin off the bottom of my foot. And then, just because... I don't know... maybe because I'd recently consumed 8 or 14 oz of gin, I gave the piece of skin to Theo. I mean, he was sitting at my feet, gazing up at me with that pretty tail of his thump-thump-thumping the linoleum. When I held the flap of skin out to him, he literally started jumping in circles. How am I supposed to resist the jumping in circles thing? So I handed him the piece of me and he ate it. Just gobbled it right up. Then looked up at me as if to say, "Got any more?"

Second Day of Battle

Today is the 143rd anniversary of the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg. FYI: This post is probably the most informative thing I've EVER posted. I gleaned (read: copied and pasted) all of this information from Wikipedia.org. All of the links I've provided shoot you straight over to a photo of our trip. I know. You're salivating with excitement. So am I. Only I really am, whereas you probably really aren't.

On the second day of battle, the Union line ran from Culp's Hill southeast of the town, northwest to Cemetery Hill just south of town, then south for nearly two miles along Cemetery Ridge, terminating just north of Little Round Top. The Union line was shaped like a fishhook and the Confederate line paralleled the Union line for about a mile to the west on Seminary Ridge, ran east through the town, then curved southeast to a point opposite Culp's Hill.

We stayed at the Farnsworth House Inn, which sits on the edge of town. After Union lines retreated through town on the first day of the battle and settled on Cemetery Hill, the Farnsworth House was occupied by Confederate sharpshooters. At the time of the battle the house was owned by the Sweney Family. Wife and daughter fled from the town before the battle began, but Mr. Sweney hid in the cellar for three days. The house happened to be very close to Federal lines on Cemetery Hill and the garret window you see up there at the top provided a protected site for the Confederates during the next two days, while they maintained a deadly fire against the Union forces on Cemetery Hill. Look closely - you can see over 100 bullet scars - proof that the Union riflemen worked hard to overcome this Confederate stronghold.

On July 2, Lee wanted Longstreet's men to stealthily attack the Union left flank, and to roll up the Federal line. The attack sequence was supposed to begin with Maj. Gens. John Bell Hood's and Lafayette McLaws's divisions, followed by Maj. Gen. Richard H. Anderson's division of Hill's Third Corps. This attack is called "en echelon" and Lee believed it would prevent Meade from shifting troops from his center to bolster his left. At the same time, Maj. Gen. Edward "Allegheny" Johnson's and Jubal Early's Second Corps divisions were ordered to make a "demonstration" against Culp's and Cemetery Hills (again, to prevent the shifting of Federal troops), and to turn the demonstration into a full-scale attack if a favorable opportunity presented itself.

Lee's plan, however, was based on faulty intelligence, exacerbated by J.E.B. Stuart's continued absence from the battlefield. (Stuart had been joyriding for days, more interested in getting his name in the papers than fighting a battle.) As a result, things did not work out at all the way Lee intended. Instead of moving beyond the Federals' left and attacking their flank, Longstreet's left division faced Maj. Gen. Daniel Sickles's III Corps. Sickles was dissatisfied with the position assigned him on the southern end of Cemetery Ridge. Seeing higher ground more favorable to artillery positions a half mile to the west, he advanced his corps—WITHOUT ORDERS—to the slightly higher ground along the Emmitsburg Road. The new line ran from Devil's Den, northwest to the Sherfy farm's Peach Orchard, then northeast along the Emmitsburg Road to south of the Codori farm. This created big problems. Brig. Gen. Andrew A. Humphreys's division (in position along the Emmitsburg Road) and Maj. Gen. David B. Birney's division (to the south) were subject to attacks from two sides and were spread out over a longer front than their small corps could defend effectively.

Longstreet's attack was to be made as early as practicable; however, Longstreet got permission from Lee to await the arrival of one of his brigades, and while marching to the assigned position, his men came within sight of a Union signal station on Little Round Top. Countermarching to avoid detection wasted much time, and Hood's and McLaws's divisions did not launch their attacks until just after 4 p.m. and 5 p.m., respectively.

Attacks on the Union left flank:
As Longstreet's divisions slammed into the Union III Corps, Meade was forced to send 20,000 reinforcements in the form of the entire V Corps, Brig. Gen. John C. Caldwell's division of the II Corps, most of the XII Corps, and small portions of the newly arrived VI Corps. The Confederate assault deviated from Lee's plan since Hood's division moved more easterly than intended, losing its alignment with the Emmitsburg Road, attacking Devil's Den and Little Round Top. McLaws, coming in on Hood's left, drove multiple attacks into the thinly stretched III Corps in the Wheatfield and overwhelmed them in Sherfy's Peach Orchard. McLaws's attack eventually reached Plum Run Valley (the "Valley of Death") before being beaten back by the Pennsylvania Reserves division of the V Corps, moving down from Little Round Top. The III Corps was virtually destroyed as a combat unit in this battle, and Sickles's leg was amputated after it was shattered by a cannonball. Caldwell's division was destroyed piecemeal in the Wheatfield. Anderson's division assault on McLaws's left, starting around 6 p.m., reached the crest of Cemetery Ridge, but they could not hold the position in the face of counterattacks from the II Corps, including an almost suicidal counterattack by the 1st Minnesota against a Confederate brigade, ordered in desperation by Hancock.

As fighting raged in the Wheatfield and Devil's Den, Col. Strong Vincent of V Corps had a precarious hold on Little Round Top, an important hill at the extreme left of the Union line. His brigade of four relatively small regiments was able to resist repeated assaults by Brig. Gen. Evander Law's brigade of Hood's division. Meade's chief engineer, Brig. Gen. Gouverneur K. Warren, had realized the importance of this position, and dispatched Vincent's brigade, an artillery battery, and the 140th New York to occupy Little Round Top mere minutes before Hood's troops arrived. The defense of Little Round Top with a bayonet charge by the 20th Maine was one of the most fabled episodes in the Civil War and propelled Col. Joshua L. Chamberlain into prominence after the war. Col. Strong Vincent was one of many men who died that day on Little Round Top. 

Attacks on the Union right flank:
About 7:00 p.m., the Second Corps' attack by Johnson's division on Culp's Hill got off to a late start. Most of the hill's defenders, the Union XII Corps, had been sent to the left to defend against Longstreet's attacks, and the only portion of the corps remaining on the hill was a brigade of New Yorkers under Brig. Gen. George S. Greene. Because of Greene's insistence on constructing strong defensive works, and with reinforcements from the I and XI Corps, Greene's men held off the Confederate attackers, although the Southerners did capture a portion of the abandoned Federal works on the lower part of Culp's Hill.

Just at dark, two of Jubal Early's brigades attacked the Union XI Corps positions on East Cemetery Hill where Col. Andrew L. Harris of the 2nd Brigade, 1st Division, came under a withering attack, losing half his men; however, Early failed to support his brigades in their attack, and Ewell's remaining division, that of Maj. Gen. Robert E. Rodes, failed to aid Early's attack by moving against Cemetery Hill from the west. The Union army's interior lines enabled its commanders to shift troops quickly to critical areas, and with reinforcements from II Corps, the Federal troops retained possession of East Cemetery Hill, and Early's brigades were forced to withdraw.

Jeb Stuart and his three cavalry brigades arrived in Gettysburg around noon on July 2. A day and a half too late. In my opinion, Stuart failed Lee, and the fact that he wasn't punished is unbelievable to me. 

First Day of Battle

Today is the 143rd anniversary of the first day of the Battle of Gettysburg. Poompy and I began our Gettysburg tour on Seminary Ridge, where Poompy gave me my first history lesson of the trip:This is Seminary Ridge. The road is approximately where Bufords men were lined up. Poompy is pointing to where the Confederates were marching from, but while they came from that direction, they looped behind Poompy and attacked from the other side.

This photo shows a little better where the Confederates actually attacked from. Imagine the Union men lined up where that road is, facing that open field. Suddenly, the Confederate units burst through the woods, marching across this open field. This is where, at approximately 7:30 a.m., the first skirmishes of the battle began. I CAN'T BELIEVE I WALKED AROUND HERE. Story goes, that the Confederates were only in town to get new shoes. Most of the men were barefoot and they'd heard that there was a large shoe factory in Gettysburg. But when they arrived, they bumped into Union cavalry and ... well .... the rest is history.

This is Gen. Reynolds monument, erected on the ground where he fell. It was still early on the first day and he'd only just arrived with his men. As he was directing troop and artillery placements just to the east of the woods you are looking at, he fell from his horse, struck by a bullet just behind his right ear. His men said of him, "wherever the battle is fiercest, he is there." He was a great general.

I took this photo standing on McPherson's Ridge. My camera is balanced on Union cannon, looking towards the Confederate line. It is difficult to imagine what it must have looked like that day, 143 years ago. Probably not much, for all the smoke in the air.

Opposite view: you are looking at the Union lines from the perspective of the Confederates.

As the day wore on, the Union units were pushed back into Gettysburg town. By early afternoon, the Federal line ran in a semi-circle west, north and northeast of Gettysburg. As Federal positions collapsed both north and west of town, Gen. Howard ordered a retreat to the high ground south of town at Cemetery Hill, where he had left the division of Brig. Gen. Adolph von Steinwehr as a reserve. Maj. Gen. Winfield S. Hancock assumed command of the battlefield, sent by Meade when he heard that Reynolds had been killed. Hancock was ordered to take command of the field and to determine whether Gettysburg was an appropriate place for a major battle. Hancock told Howard, who was technically superior in rank, "I think this the strongest position by nature upon which to fight a battle that I ever saw." When Howard agreed, Hancock concluded the discussion: "Very well, sir, I select this as the battle-field." Hancock's determination had a morale-boosting effect on the retreating Union soldiers, but he played no direct tactical role on the first day.

Gen. Lee understood the defensive potential to the Union if they held this high ground. He sent orders to Ewell that Cemetery Hill be taken "if practicable." Ewell chose not to attempt the assault; this decision is considered by historians to be a great missed opportunity.

In this photo Poompy is standing approximately where the Union lines were on Cemetery Hill, in preparation for the Confederate attack that Ewell chose not to attempt. This land is now Gettysburg National Cemetery. Behind Poompy you can see Evergreen Cemetery - the reason the hill is called Cemetery Hill.

The first day at Gettysburg, more significant than simply a prelude to the bloody second and third days, ranks as the 23rd biggest battle of the war by number of troops engaged. About one quarter of Meade's army (22,000 men) and one third of Lee's army (27,000) were engaged.

Here we are, on an observation tower on Culp's Hill overlooking the town of Gettysburg and just beyond that, the blood soaked fields of the first day of The Battle of Gettysburg.

Gettysburg: Part Uno

We've been home from Gettysburg for a week now and I still haven't really had a chance to write about the trip, even though I'VE BEEN DYING TO. We had such a fabulous time and we both felt like we squeezed a week long trip into two days. Which is a good thing. At least in our opinion.

Anyway, since there are a weeks worth of stories to tell, I'll try to break this up into a few parts. I can be pretty verbose as it is and I don't want anyone's eyes to drop out of their heads before we get to the part about the ticks. So here, for you, is Gettysburg: Part Uno.

Day one in Gettysburg was AWESOME. We couldn't have asked for better weather, really. It was raining when we first arrived in town, but it didn't matter because the first thing we did was hit the brand new Visitor Center which is home to a HUGE new museum. We got to see tons and tons of relics - relics that were known to have personally belonged to famous generals as opposed to just, you know, random relics. Have you ever seen this flag?



Badass, right? It was carried into battle by - uh, I totally forgot who - but it's pretty cool, huh? Each star represents a Union state or territory.



This is the very stretcher that carried Stonewall Jackson from the battlefield at Chancellorsville when he was accidentally shot by his own pickets. The blood stains you see? Totally his blood. Does that mean we could theoretically, potentially clone Stonewall Jackson? I wonder how he'd wear his facial hair nowadays

We finished up at the museum at about 2:55 p.m., but before we headed to the B&B I wanted to stop by the Visitors Information booth to ask about any special events that might be happening in the next two days. Poompy sort of went along with me because he couldn't go to the B&B without me, but he wasn't really interested in knowing about any special events. We ended up talking to the COOLEST park ranger EVER for about a half an hour. This guy had to be in his seventies, is a TOTAL Civil War buff and had some really cool suggestions for things we could do that most people don't know about. We had to endure a lecture on NOT hunting for relics, because I made a joke about a metal detector, but other than that it was super awesome. He even told us all about the history of the Iron Brigade - the brigade from Poompy's hometown. The brigade he would have been a part of if he had been born in the 1840's or 50's. Weird, huh?

TO BE CONTINUED....