|A great shot by Anthony Rau, photographer extraordinaire|
|Anthony Rau photography|
|Follow him on Flickr|
|AR -- we got pics of trees but not butterflies because trees don't fly|
|Note that the sign faces the grass we are supposed to keep off. We were on the grass when we read the sign.|
|And we were on the grass when we took this picture.|
|AR who loves a great sepia shot|
|This is how my brother plays tennis.|
|Standing where TR stood when he gave speeches|
|AR who also loves a black and white|
My brother the history teacher piped up: Henry Cabot Lodge?
Yes! Yes! Who said that? Yes!
I pointed to my brother and he raised his hand and she said, Thank you, my friend! Yes! Henry Cabot Lodge!
Fast forward to the final top floor where the guest bedroom is. She asked from across the hallway, Where's my friend? Guess who stayed there!
My brother the history teacher suggested: Henry Cabot Lodge?
Yes! Yes! And what did Henry Cabot Lodge say when he stayed here?
An odd question. My brother the history teacher guessed: Good night??
The lady in front of my thought that was the most hilarious thing she'd ever heard. Henry Cabot Lodge apparently said that he hated staying in that room because the house was too noisy with lots of people always running around on the uncarpeted floor. One of the other women on the tour remarked that the carpet looked new since the last time she'd visited, and the guide said they'd put new carpet down during the restoration. I asked my brother why you would come here twice since the history stays the same.
The tour finished with another woman behind me telling me to tell the guide to slow down. I don't know why I was in charge of that, so I didn't tell her to slow down because the tour was over and the next group was already in the house. Tours are limited to 14 people, so slowing down really isn't an option.
On the way out, the guide thanked her new friend, my brother, and I remarked that you can always rely on a history teacher.
After we ate lunch on a bench, we headed out to West Egg. One of my poems appears in a new anthology from Silver Birch Press called, simply, The Great Gatsby Anthology, and the press is doing writer profiles with photos of the writers with the book. Since I'm local to Gatsby's locale, I figured taking a picture from West Egg looking over the water into East Egg would be great.
|For those of you who have no idea of what kind of eggs I'm talking about.|
Plan B, we headed over to a park my brother knew about that we were allowed to enter even though we are lowly plebians, and we found a hill that overlooks Manhasset Bay, kinda. Like, it's in the background through some foliage. Okay, a lot of foliage. But we made it after circling through and around each Egg.
My brother mentioned that he should have brought some jazz along to listen to on the ride. Instead, we'd been listening to Billy Joel, and that's pretty much as Long Island as you can get. So we listened to more of him on the way back all the way through the Valley of Ashes.