At this point in my life, you think I’d understand how two months can fly in what seems like a matter of minutes – in afterthought, at least; not necessarily while it’s happening.
But I don’t. It’s been two months since my last post and I’ve had a lot of journeys and made a lot of discoveries, but mostly I’ve missed the release of the blog.
Around mid August I fled to the Great Smokey Mountains for a short getaway in Asheville, NC. I stayed at Princess Anne Hotel in the Chestnut Hill National Historic District. It was built in the 1920s and over the years it’s been a hospital, retirement home, and apartment building. That always kind of creeps me out a little. Wondering who may have died in the space where I’ve come to rejuvenate myself, or how they might have suffered in the same space where I laugh and call friends and family to tell them what magical land of relaxation I have found.
But, each morning, as I rose early to make the 8 a.m. breakfasts where I was served such delight as blueberry blintzes with orange butter sauce, French stuffed toast with apple-smoked bacon, blueberries and strawberries so fresh you’d swear there were heavenly fruit vines swirling around the kitchen – during this aromatic beginning to my morning I also thought of the life that may have once lingered here.
Each morning as I began my spiral decent down the spiral staircase, my sleepy self was greeted by the sweet sounds of jazz from the '20s, '30s, and '40s – Louie Armstrong, Bessie Smith, Charlie Parker, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Cab Calloway. Those moody songs with a sense of humor and punch of pathos and all kinds of lovin’ took me back to a time I could only imagine. The Great Gatbsy, old movie posters, Vanity Fair and Vogue covers — it was all as real as fiction to me and I reveled in it.
By the second day, I was calling my hotel room my “apartment” and found myself wanting to return to it rather than browse Malaprops, the local independent bookstore, or belabor truffle and bon bons selections at Chocolate Fetish, or marvel the furnishing designs at Mobilia.
By the third day, I had forgotten what it was I had come to escape.
Click here for more photos from my Asheville visit.
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