Hub and I were staying at a bed and breakfast of sorts. It was a palatial rectangular box, a pale green stucco estate with small white windows on a golf course-sized setting. As we found our way thru the tall corridors, we discovered, most of the house was closed off. The rooms were formal-sterile, tall beds, stale air, a lot of lace and pale colours.
There was something of a dining room buffet. The lady of the house was ensconced in a deep chair at the edge of the formal dark woods of cafe dining tables. With a waiter and crystal and linens, she aimed to turn what remained into something self-sustaining. There were little canapes in the hall and a lot of echo.
We seemed to be the only guests for something set up for dozens for breakfast. She assured us others would come. She explained she was divorced years ago and banned her husband from seeing their 3 kids. Shortly after their divorce she sent them away to private school. She preferred not to have the place to herself for economic reasons only.
I wandered to the grounds which has low swells of hills but were being covered in dandelions. There was a long red wooden bridge over what looked from a distance to be a dry man-made lake. Coming closer, it's bottom was flagstones with little ecosystems between the cracks and a thin veil of water in the deeper parts. Turtles and frogs and rocks were scattered over it. The shoreline was naturalized, or gone to nature. Dandelions grew out of the water taller than on land.
Reflections on publicity
1 week ago