Tag Archives: vacation

Day 14…. The Jamestown Settlement Re-creation. A photography ban, some chickens, and a salty character.

 

This was the day we explored the Jamestown Settlement which is part museum and part living history re-creation.

 

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The museum section was large….

 

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But immediately pissed me off with the no photography allowed rule. (I took this one just because I’m ornery.)

We’d spent the last 2 weeks visiting museums filled with amazing artifacts and fine art, but this…. fake trees and cheesy dioramas…. was off limits? Go figure.

Okay….

Fast forward to the full immersion cinema we were learning were common in these parts.

 

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Admittedly, when you’re there?

It’s pretty cool.

 

 

Especially when the smoke starts rolling along the floor.

 

 

Finished with the film, we headed outside.

 

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Past whatever this was.

 

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And into a Native American village.

 

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It was basically the same thing we’d seen at Plymouth Plantation earlier this year.

 

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Except there were no bare chested young Indian men to chat with.

Boo to that.

 

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There were more huts.

 

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And a couple of people making baskets.

 

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And of course, because I find them everywhere…

 

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Chickens.

 

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Aggravated roosters…

 

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And fluffy butted hens.

 

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Next up was the harbor…

 

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And the reconstructed vessels that brought the first settlers from England.

 

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We toured the deck.

 

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The husband chatted up a crew member.

 

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We toured down below.

 

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Where accommodations were small….

 

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And pretty basic.

 

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Unless you were the cook.

 

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Who got his own room.

Of course it was also the kitchen, so there is that.

 

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The husband chatted up another crew member.

 

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And we enjoyed the views.

 

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While marveling at how more than a hundred people could travel together for months on end in these small spaces.

 

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And mind you, we were on the large ship.

 

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The whole time were touring?

There was a soundtrack….

 

 

 

He was quite a character.

 

 

 

 

Portraits continued…. funky hair, warts and finally, food.

 

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Crossing back over to the DeWitt side of the museum, things got a bit more formal.

 

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And a trifle bizarre.

 

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I think a little 18th Century photoshopping was in order here.

 

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Okay then.

 

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I saw the portrait of the gentleman on the left and thought, “What’s with the hair?”

 

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And apparently I wasn’t the only one who asked.

 

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It was an extensive gallery.

 

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And according to George…. will be even more extensive soon.

 

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Another sad statement of the times.

 

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This couple struck me as a little odd.

 

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Is it me or does the wife’s right arm look a wee bit…. off? As in, did the creepy husband chop it off and line it back up for the portrait?

We’ll never know.

At the far end of the gallery there was a video that was oddly mesmerizing.

 

 

And then on the way out there was a chair, which I forgot to photograph.

But George didn’t like it.

 

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Chairs that were no good for sitting.

Excellent.

 

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Through with the museum, we realized we’d not only skipped lunch but were now ready for dinner.

When I asked the husband what he was in the mood for, he said anything… so I picked a well reviewed barbecue restaurant in Williamsburg.

 

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And the husband didn’t like it from the minute we stepped through the door.

Why?

 

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Who knows.

They brought us yummy cornbread to munch while we looked at the menu.

 

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Which he also didn’t like.

Pulled pork sundae? Come on… what’s wrong with that!

I managed to talk him into staying for appetizers.

 

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So he had a chili he didn’t like either.

 

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I went with some spicy steamed shrimp.

 

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And while the rest of the customers were enjoying large platters of succulent looking food, he told me to pick another place because all they had on the menu was barbecue.

Gee. Who woulda thunk it?

People always think I’m the picky one, but when it comes to eating out my husband will drive you to drink.

Which in my case isn’t necessarily a negative…. but still.

 

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The second restaurant that night was Italian.

Everyone raved about Sal’s, so I figured, why not?

 

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He couldn’t complain about the menu being small.

 

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It went on for multiple pages.

 

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The garlic knots were perfect.

(Okay, I ate 4. Don’t judge.)

 

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The salads were fresh and tasty.

 

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My veal Marsala was tender, perfectly cooked and filled with wine soaked mushrooms.

 

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He certainly couldn’t complain his chicken parmigiana was a small portion.

Good God, it was huge.

But you know what? He didn’t like this place either.

And heck, I’m the one who should have been complaining….there were no cocktails!

 

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A study in portraiture, some funky hairdos and a watermelon on wheels.

 

The portrait gallery was large…. and filled with strange and marvelous things.

 

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Can’t say I’d enjoy having her as a Mother in Law.

 

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They are smiling?

 

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Perhaps the weight of that elaborate hair is pulling their lips down.

 

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Oh my.

They say all babies are cute, but I beg to differ.

 

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This is a girl.

 

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And this is a boy.

No, I haven’t had too many margaritas.

It was explained to me that folk art paintings of little girls have cats… and folk art paintings of little boys have dogs. The hoop is also a boy’s toy, never played with by girls.

 

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Yes, another boy.

Could have fooled me.

There were a few sad paintings, like this one….

 

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Since all the family members in black are dead.

But there’s a chicken, so it’s not all bad.

 

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And while these two portraits aren’t the most skillful, they had the saddest story of all.

 

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Jonathan Bartlett was a black man who chose to portray himself as white…. in a heartbreaking statement of life in his time.

 

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Lightening the mood, there was George again….

 

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And whatever this was –

 

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I can’t even do a Name That Crap because I have no idea…

 

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Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Folk Art Museum.

 

This was what I’d come to see.

 

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And with a nod to Abe, we entered.

 

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By definition:

The DeWitt continued…. George Washington, creepy dolls, weavings, and more Name That (not) Crap.

 

Aside from all the decorative items, the Dewitt had some pieces of historic interest as well.

 

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Here’s the father of our country casually leaning on a cannon. And if you look closely, you’ll see this…

 

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Yes, they even have George Washington’s jewelry…. which had been lost for nearly two centuries. It was rediscovered in 1990, when the daughter-in-law of a Virginia Beach woman descended from Supreme Court Chief Justice John Marshall found it in her dead mother-in-law’s jewelry box.

Just think… it could have been put in a yard sale. Or donated to Goodwill.

Damn. Another missed opportunity.

 

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Continuing past the silver, there were vast collections of porcelain and pottery.

 

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Complete with creepy ass vintage dolls.

 

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If you invite this little chicka to a tea party?

She’s going to nibble your fingers like biscuits.

 

 

By the amount of tankers on display, there was some serious beer drinking going on in the 18th century.

 

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Have I mentioned this place went on forever?

 

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It was fabulous.

 

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There was a section dedicated to indigenous art as well.

 

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And these were quite special.

 

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Even the husband was intrigued.

 

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Each piece had a story.

 

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But I’ll just give you one example.

 

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Two years?

 

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Damn. That’s dedication.

 

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George showed up again, though in iron this time.

 

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“Dumb” stoves?

I’ve cursed a few in my lifetime, but never knew they were actually a thing.

After George,  I knew I’d lost the husband.

 

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Because this is his idea of heaven.

They weren’t rusted, but these are just the sort thing he likes to fill our barn with.

( And if his were in good shape and displayed artfully like this? I wouldn’t half mind.)

 

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And because you know I can’t pass up an opportunity, let’s play Name That (not) Crap again.

 

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What is it …. #1?

 

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What is it… #2?

 

 

 

 

 

DeWitt Decorative Arts Museum…. a whole lotta silver and Name That (not) Crap.

 

I’ve visited a large number of museums in my day and tend to be jaded…. but I have to say, the collection of sterling silver in Williamsburg impressed even me.

 

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Some were simple.

 

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Others elaborate.

(Goose feet! I loved it.)

 

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Some embellished your shoes.

 

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Cases as far as the eye could see of master craftsmanship.

 

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The thought of polishing all these beauties left me quaking….

 

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But honestly…

 

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Wow.

 

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There was a cover for your honeycomb…

 

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A ceremonial scepter.

 

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And countless teapots.

 

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Morbid jewelry?

Check.

 

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Giant turtle?

 

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With a slightly bored husband mimicking the facial expression of the fellow over his shoulder?

Check.

 

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There was even a piece perfect for my Name That Crap game…. although it’s far from crap.

Let’s play!

What is it?

Colonial Williamsburg museums…. Folk Art tree, vintage weapons, furniture and an 18th Century catwalk.

 

There are two distinct collections in what used to be the lunatic asylum building… The Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Folk Art Museum and the DeWitt Wallace Decorative Arts Museum.

It’s a bit fluid when you enter…

 

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And since it was the Christmas season I wasn’t surprised to see one of these.

Please note there’s a chicken instead of an angel on the top. I’m not sure what that means, other than there might be a secret cult of barnyard fowl practicing nearby. Which lead me to Google image search ‘religious chicken’ and then I was off….

 

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Yes….

 

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I’m easily distracted… but you have to admit,

 

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This architect had a sense of humor.

And now back to your regularly scheduled program:

 

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The story behind it was interesting.

 

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Me like.

 

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Though I doubt I’ll be making my own or buying the book.

 

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And opposite the festive tree?

 

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Implements of death….

 

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Because nothing says holiday cheer like various ways to kill each another.

 

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But even I have to admit they were beautiful specimens.

 

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And if you look closely, you can see the scowling face on the bottom of the grip.

I read the DeWitt has the largest collection of southern furniture in the world…

 

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And I believe it.

 

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There were rows and rows of unique examples.

 

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There were also some fabulous fashions of the day.

 

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And yes…

 

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Shoes!

 

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And if that wasn’t wonderful enough… there was 300 year old fabric.

 

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And a vintage runway.

 

 

 

Those little harlots.

Did you see how much ankle she was showing?

Shameless!

Colonial Williamsburg…. where River visits the insane asylum and is lucky to get out alive.

 

On my list of must see places was the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Folk Art Museum. She was an early collector of the form and I’d heard tell the place was filled to the brim with treasures.

 

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What I didn’t know was the building’s original use.

 

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Half museum, half insane asylum.

Color me intrigued.

 

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Well, that doesn’t look at all comfortable.

 

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But at least there’s a cushion.

*gulp*

 

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This certainly gives new meaning to the term “time out”.

 

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While revolting….

 

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I have to say the peek into early treatment of mental illness was fascinating.

 

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Yikes.

 

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Seems like there was a whole lot of restraint … and not much actual treatment.

 

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It was about this time the husband told me he read about men committing their misbehaving wives for little more than disagreeing with their authority.

 

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Uh oh.

 

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Early shock therapy looked rather primitive.

 

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Am I the only one who’s reading “restored” as irreparably brain damaged?

 

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One can only imagine the horrors those poor people suffered at the hands of their supposed healers.

 

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Though they did have some pretty snazzy syringes.

On a lighter note, the husband was tickled to see one of these on display.

 

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He bought a whole box of these slides at a yard sale years ago. They’re pretty valuable as a few of them show pre Civil War life with slaves… but he’s never found the actual lantern for sale.

 

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If you ever see one? Let me know….

It would make a great birthday gift and rise above his usual level of rusty crap.

Day 13….. Colonial Williamsburg, the Rockefellers and Bassett Hall

 

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The day started with biscuits and gravy for me and two plates of chipped beef on toast for the husband. The waitress thought he was kidding when he asked for a second helping… but no, he was serious.

 

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Technically no, that’s made with hamburger.

But I digress…

Since the weather was beautiful that day we headed back over to Colonial Williamsburg to finish exploring.

 

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First up, Bassett Hall. Home to John D. Rockefeller Jr and his wife Abby Aldrich Rockefeller. I was completely unaware that the Rockefellers were the ones responsible for the restoration of Colonial Williamsburg and the idea of opening it to the public.

For a wonderful history of how and why, watch this:

 

 

 

Seeing the interior of the house meant taking the tour…

 

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And this distinguished gentleman was our guide. He was a font of knowledge as well as legally blind.

 

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It was a lovely home.

 

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Comfortable….

 

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And not nearly as grand as their other residences.

 

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They relaxed here.

 

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Didn’t entertain socially.

 

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And enjoyed time with family.

 

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In their eyes it was a country home.

 

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And hey….. there was a chicken over the mantle, so maybe it was.

 

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I’m sure Abby didn’t spend much time in here….

 

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But I liked the funky sinks….

 

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And the high tech for the time fridge.

 

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Next to the kitchen was the servants quarters…

 

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Which didn’t look too bad either.

 

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Done with the tour….

 

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We began to roam the grounds….

 

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But not before my husband managed to start a political discussion with our guide. I imagine they’re instructed not to engage…. and he remained as neutral as Switzerland. Very diplomatic.

 

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The gardens were a bit bare since it was December.

 

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But the shrubbery was impressive.

 

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And who wouldn’t love a private tea house in their backyard?

 

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How sweet is that!

 

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We happily strolled around….

 

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Enjoying the beautiful day…

 

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And felt like Rockefellers.

Minus the large sums of cash and thinking hey…

 

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That garage would make a pretty nice house in itself.

 

 

 

Day 12…. otherwise known as Christmas.

 

So we got up bright and early to make the almost 5 hour drive down to North Carolina.

 

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                                                         Required Christmas selfie.

 

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And as we were walking down the sidewalk of our resort it struck me…..

 

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I might not be the only one who cursed my husband’s choice of the behemoth rental car.

It was an uneventful trip.

 

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But we saw lots of cotton.

 

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Really, a whole lot of cotton.

 

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And absolutely nothing else. Nothing for miles and miles… except cotton… and I was starting to sweat the steadily dropping level of gasoline.

Behemoths be thirsty.

I also took issue with Apple maps when the GPS put us in the middle of a National Forest and told us to turn around.

 

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WTF?

When the rental beast was pretty much running on fumes, we finally found a service station to fill it…. and us, since we skipped breakfast. The only choice was Subway, where I ordered a rotisserie chicken wrap and managed to leak half of the sauce on my blouse resulting in a large greasy stain.

My first words upon arrival in N.C. weren’t “Merry Christmas!”  but….. “Let me raid your closet.”

 

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My second words were “What you would like to drink?”  as I unpacked my carton of holiday cheer.

Destiny chose a bottle to match her sweater, because coordination is everything.

 

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We gave them our gifts…. and Gracie liked the books.

 

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Though I think she liked the pig a little bit more.

 

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We spent time with our daughter of the heart’s step children, John being home on leave from the Army.

 

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As you can see they aren’t young enough to be hers…. because like me, she married an older man. Which her mother thinks I’m responsible for and never lets me forget, but hey.

It worked for me.

 

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An old Marine Corps buddy of the husband’s came with us….  and it was a laid back country Christmas with lots of love and laughter.

A few highlights:

 

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My bartending skills were highly rated.

 

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And strange toys were questioned.

Does a llama really need to shake her booty?

But more importantly, why was this horror voted toy of the year in Australia?

Watch  the bizarre commercial that looks like a Saturday Night Live skit  and decide for yourself.

 

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Numerous pictures were taken.

 

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Some with prominently placed bows. (These may have been alcohol induced)

 

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Rick posed with his namesake shirt.

 

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Dogs with serious underbites begged for treats from a wonderful brown sugar glazed  ham dinner I completely devoured and forgot to photograph.

Sorry Martin.

Blame the carton of alcohol, not me.

 

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Animated discussions of politics took place….. (Which might also have been alcohol induced)

 

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But my husband smiled wider and laughed more than he has in a while, and that made my heart full.

 

Then before we were ready, it was time to say goodbye.

Hugs and tears….

 

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And we were back on the road.

For the longest almost 5 hour trip ever.

 

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The only bright spot?

 

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This house…

 

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That gave new meaning to the term holiday decorating.

 

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Truly an extravaganza.