Somebody's Going Someplace

Random thoughts about travel, my head in one place, my heart in another

Where was I headed? I dunno. Too many photos in my archive have no information on the back.

Where was I? Maybe on Headley Avenue or possibly at my grandparents’ house, both in Lexington, Kentucky.

Why was I there? To stand still for the camera, obviously.

Today it’s winter again. We’re still waiting to see what the monster storm that’s crossing the country will bring to Waldo County. My wood stove’s kept the house toasty all day, and I’ve spent a good number of hours moving photographs around from old photo albums to newer ones.

This organizational thing with family history has been an off and on pursuit for the past six years and I’m still nowhere near the end of putting images and documents into an archival storage system that’s actually fun to visit. Fun in a way that is narrative, and has pages that turn and memories that resurface. In my snow outfit with my grip, for instance, my mother liked to call me Angeline at the Seelbach. Angeline was the protagonist of a book that I believe was a knockoff of Eloise at the Plaza, but if such a book ever existed, it seems to be lost to internet history.

Instead, Wiki remembers the author Cordia Greer-Petrie, the woman who wrote about an older and more rural Angeline. Greer-Petrie appears in a compendium of Kentucky authors that includes everybody’s favorite, Wendell Berry. It used to fascinate me when my own grandparents, who came from a rural community not all that different from Port Royal, called a suitcase a grip and a closet a press. A few years ago I was enchanted to find Berry’s character Andy Catlett allow the following about himself:

“Now as, looking back, I see myself standing with my grip in my hand, watching the wagon pull away toward the lot gate and the barns and shed beyond, the little fluster of snow having sped away over the horizon, I feel again the wind’s suddenly surrounding chill, and I know that I once huddled between Dick and Grandpa in the joy of trust and warmth.” Andy Catlett, p. 31 

Since that’s not where I’m headed, let’s pick another doorway. I don’t have my bag packed yet, but I’ve got my ticket, got my reservation, and in a few weeks will board a flight for Málaga. I won’t be writing much while I'‘m there. Do stay tuned for photos on the spot and a full account when I’m back home.

In the meantime this is where I am, keeping warm by the fire. I hope it’s warm where you are too.

Eloise was a trouble maker of the first order which is so not me. I’ve always preferred to practice my iconoclasm sub rosa. But if you like things spicy, the Seelbach Hotel has various connections with gangsters, presidents, rock stars and Jay Gatsby. Read about Eloise here and the Seelbach’s denizens here.

Does anyone else remember the book about Angeline the Eloise imitator? Find more about the other Angeline, her author and other Kentucky women writers in the archives of the Filson Club.

Languages fascinate me. Archaic words like grip, or brand new ones in new to the learner languages, all expand the range of human cognition. Are there words you remember your grandparents using that have fallen out of fashion?

I’ve added something new here - a tip jar! Green for the planet, green for growth, green green our world is green. If you’d like to support my writing with a one-time donation, this is how you do it, and I will be most grateful!

Did you know that you can join my community in your browser or in the Substack app? Substack is ad-free, has no paywall, and you can read all my posts in one place.