Happy Leap Day

In less than one hour we'll have to wait four more years for another February 29th.

We didn't do anything special today to celebrate Leap (Year) Day. Well, I did play the lottery but even though I paid the dollar and have the dream I have no illusions that I will be able to walk into work anytime soon and say it's been fun but ...

Mother Nature did do something special today. She gave us snow.

You may not think this is such a big deal but for an area that usually gets a lot it's been pretty scarce this winter. It was just enough to be pretty and not terribly inconvenient.

Just the way I like it.

Happy Leap Day!!!
 

How (Not) to Support Your Local Economy

So my alter ego was off to a romantic holiday with hubby at an historic Inn in beautiful Vermont.

Or not.

Everything was all set. Car was packed, cat babysitter lined up, we even went to bed at a decent hour.

On the way we took a wrong turn but the GPS handled it with her usual aplomb and in fact re-routed us on a road that took us over (and under) a covered bridge. Covered bridges are cool. This particular bridge is called the Henry Bridge, and the cool factor went way up as we crossed the bridge near dusk. I took some pictures but they did not come out as good as the pictures in the link so check them out.

We had long discussed spending a romantic weekend at an inn but we'd never gotten around to it, and when we received a generous Select Registry gift certificate as a wedding gift we thought it was meant to be sooner rather than later as the old finances were still suffering from recent wedding expenses. (The family who gave it to us did not know we'd wanted to do this.)   

My sweet darling husband decided to take advantage of a long holiday weekend and plan the trip as a surprise. He searched for nearby inns and found one that looked nice and was within our budget. Even better, they had a special package where the third night would be half price, plus the special came with a bottle of champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries and coupons for discounts at local businesses. He decided to do the special because with our gift certificate the whole stay would have come to about $100.00 out of pocket, well within our budget. Since our honeymoon had been pretty disappointing (but we had each other on the trip so we managed!) we thought this would be a nice, romantic way to make up for that.

When my husband booked the trip he used his credit card for the deposit, which was $330.00. He was not sure how the gift certificate would work but he assumed the innkeepers would sort that out as they are long-time members of Select Registry (and proudly displayed the associated plaques at their front entrance) and were probably used to dealing with them. 

Well, here is where we made our first mistake. Tucked behind the gift certificate was a thin piece of see-through paper with a bunch of information, among it a line item that said we should let the inn know we had a gift certificate. We found this the night before we were to leave. Thinking that a gift certificate is a gift certificate we thought okay, well hopefully there will be no issue but just in case I decided to call the inn in the morning (it was too late to call that night). I have never had to call Macy's in advance to let them know I was coming in to shop with a gift certificate, but I understand that everyone is different.   

I also did some searching on the Internet about the gift certificates and the inn we were going to stay at but had no luck. I did, however, discover that many people who stayed there thought the inn was beautiful but the innkeepers not so much. And of course once I started reading the reviews I had to read them all. Ouch. One travel site had a total of 127 reviews to date, approximately 25% of which were terrible to average. The majority of complaints were about the innkeepers and their lack of innkeeper social skills. Uh oh, I thought, this can't be good, but I decided to keep an open mind. We're pretty easy going guests, we keep the volume low on the t.v., tiptoe quietly through hallways when we return late, re-use our towels, and keep our stuff neatly arranged so as not to look like class-less piggies who trash hotel rooms.

And yes, between us we have stayed in many different types of lodging, both in the U.S. and Europe, and while not every experience was totally awesome we've never had one that made us say we'll never stay at this place again.  

I called the inn the next morning and spoke with a woman who seemed surprised that the phone was ringing at 8 a.m. You may be thinking that this is early but since their website says that a hot breakfast is served at 9 and a buffet from 8 - 10 I thought it was safe to call then. The woman answered with an irritated 'hello' so I thought perhaps I dialed the wrong number and meekly asked if this was the Inn at Ormsby Hill. She said yes, and I proceeded to apologetically explain about the gift certificate. There was no discussion at first. She was very insistent that we could not use the gift certificate at all. My heart sank because I know my husband had not budgeted for an almost $700 stay. She then said well maybe we can apply the gift certificate to the balance. I said okay, I will pass that along.

A few minutes later she called me back, this time identifying herself as the owner, and said that they could not take the gift certificate at all because we had gotten a package. I asked why (and the whole time I heard a man coaching her in the background whom I assumed was her husband) and she said because they (the inn) did not get full value for the gift certificate so letting us use it would be like getting a discount on a discount. (This means that as participants in the Select Registry program they forfeit a small percentage of the value of the gift certificate to be in the program. I know this because I called SR to get the scoop. IMVHO this is too bad for them. They chose to participate and that is simply a cost of doing business. If they had not been a Select Registry inn we would never have stayed there and their income for that room from us would have been goose eggs. I should also mention that the inn was not fully booked.) It was early in the morning so my brain just replied um, okay, and she went on to say we could use it if we paid full price. I said um okay once more because she was talking so fast I lost her.

We got to the inn around 6:30 p.m. and the innkeeper gave us a very rushed rundown of things then showed us to our room. It was small but looked cozy. On the bed was the bottle of champagne and the strawberries, as well as the discount coupons. Almost immediately he asked us what we wanted to do and we asked him to explain again. The bottom line was that we could pay full price for the three nights and they would take the gift certificate, or we could get the package and not use the gift certificate. My husband said then you'll reverse the credit card charge and apply the certificate and we pay the difference, right? And the innkeeper said no, we cannot do that, we'll just apply your balance to the gift certificate and make a note on it of how much is left. He was very firm. And after having read the reviews describing various negative experiences with this man plus the inn's very stringent cancellation policy, we knew we were stuck, especially since we were going to be there for three nights. 

Either way the romantic getaway was going to cost a lot more than we'd planned for. If we'd known that we would not have stayed there.

We decided to go with the full price option. Immediately, and I do mean immediately, upon this decision our gracious host scooped up the champagne and strawberries, then grabbed the coupons as well. His demeanor was abrupt and irritated, and after grabbing up the extras he quickly left the room. We felt humiliated and a lot poorer.

Now, we do not drink and I don't like strawberries so that was no great loss. But he took the coupons! I mean, seriously dude! What a way to show support for your fellow business people! I was kind of shocked. I still am. (And now I wholeheartedly agree with the negative reviews of the lack of innkeeper skills displayed by this innkeeper.) 

Here's why. First, we take full responsibility for not reading the fine print. However, anyone possessing an ounce of good customer service skills would have tried to make the best of the situation for both parties. After all, I am sure that the innkeepers would love to have repeat customers and positive reviews. Best case for us he could have reversed the credit card charges and applied the full value of the gift certificate, or on his part let us keep the package and still use the gift certificate. We would still have paid more but not nearly as much as we ended up paying. He would not even consider this. 

Second, as we were now paying full price leaving the champagne and strawberries would not have dented his bottom line one bit, regardless of whether or not we drank (and the innkeeper did not know this). It would have been a gracious gesture from a gracious host. This place is very expensive, and he knew that we wanted to use the gift certificate and were disappointed when things did not work out. Way to make an effort!

And third, taking the freaking coupons! Wow, I am still stunned by this. The area we stayed in is surrounded by a few big ski resorts. As everyone knows, snow has been pretty absent this year and the local economy is suffering. For a holiday weekend and winter school break the area, which also has shopping outlets, was pretty dead. Here are two people visiting your beautiful area, and knowing that we are now paying more for our visit than we planned means less money to spend in your area, well, sorry but that was petty and mean. Petty in attitude and mean to your fellow business people because you robbed them of a potential sale. Coupons should not be part of a package, they should be given to ALL of your guests to help support the local economy if you have access to them. 

Sadly that was not the end of the disappointments. We decided to make the best of it and aside from eating (cheaply :) ) do fun free stuff (I will dutifully report on that later as well as some oddness in our room). Breakfast would be easy enough because our stay included breakfast. Breakfast of course had a few rules. Mrs. Innkeeper is purported to be an accomplished chef and makes a hot breakfast for the guests, provided you arrive promptly at 9 a.m. and sign up by 8 p.m. the evening before. Otherwise there is a buffet from 8 a.m. to 10 a.m. And if there are not a lot of guests then there is no buffet and you don't have to sign up the night before. Plus there is only one selection, so take it or leave it. Got that?

The choice for Monday's breakfast was not that appealing so we decided to do the buffet. The next morning we walked into the dining room around 9:20 a.m. and there were about 14 people seated and eating. A woman (whom we found out later was Mrs. Innkeeper) was busily flitting from guest to guest cheerfully asking if anyone needed more coffee and how was everything? She looked up at us and said not a word. No hi there, good morning, have a seat, here's the coffee, how are you, welcome. Just a look. A long look. And then we were ignored. Wow, way to make the new guests feel uncomfortable and awkward. We wanted to leave but since the budget plan was blown to bits we stayed hoping the buffet would tide us over for a good portion of the morning.

The buffet turned out to be three different kinds of cold cereal, pound cake, fruit salad that was homemade but turning brown, and stale English muffins. I opted for a toasted stale muffin, hubby had pound cake and a muffin. After we toasted the muffins (one toaster and two muffins, so you do the time period), got some orange juice and sat down at the communal table, Mr. Innkeeper came out and greeted us. To his credit he offered us the breakfast selection as there was some left but we declined with thanks.
  
We continued to feel awkward during breakfast. None of the other guests spoke to us other than a quick nod in our direction. Perhaps we were being shunned because we did not partake of the hot breakfast prepared by Mrs. Innkeeper. Perhaps Mrs. Innkeeper thought we'd signed up for her culinary morning repast and had dared to be late. Oh well, we're very nice people so it was their loss.

After the gift certificate fiasco the breakfast snubbing ruined any chance of redeeming the rocky start. We really did want to just go home at that point. It was that uncomfortable, trust me. We ate quickly and left the inn to go do stuff.  

We decided to try the hot breakfast the next morning. The folks at this seating were very nice. We started with a lemon poppy seed pound cake that was okay (although I was still picking poppy seeds out of my teeth two hours later), the pears I passed to my husband (not a pear person), and the French toast (described by the host as Vermont bread pudding) was inedible. It was soggy and very sweet and just bad with an overwhelming maple taste and smell. A teaspoonful of melting ice cream on top was about all I could manage after sampling it. Two pieces of bacon on the plate were so burnt the taste was non-existent. The man next to me said he ate the soggy stuff to be polite. I was not so polite because if I had eaten the whole sickly sweet mess I would have suffered from a tummy ache the rest of the day. I was not the only one who did not finish. To be fair my husband didn't think it was bad and ate his, but declined to eat mine because it was too sweet. I guess I am not much of a foodie.

Luckily I had crackers in the car to tide me over until lunch.

About the inn itself. Very old, and borderline creepy. I have no problem with creepy, I am a writer of creepy stuff. This creepy was of a different sort. The inn was decorated with Americana, some of which were those dolls that always seem to be possessed in horror movies. Not so bad during the day but a wittle scarwy in the dim light of the evening.

And there were rabbits everywhere, in pictures and as decorations. (I would not have been surprised to see the Rabbit of Caerbannog pop out from around a corner.) In each room there was an Etch-a-Sketch, Slinky, and rubber duckies. Oh, and an embroidered pillow that said 'Believe in Magic'. The toys were so out of place they made the creep factor go off the scale. And there was no magic happening in that place, believe me. Just creepiness.

We never felt welcome and when we were there we stayed in our room. The common areas to relax in were shut down at 9 anyway so we really had no choice as we got back from dinner shortly before then. As I said the room was small but cozy, although not very comfy for relaxing. The bed was very high and awkward to get on. (Other rooms we saw had bed steps but ours did not. Perhaps they were also part of the package ....) The flat screen t.v. was about the size of my laptop screen so when you are lying in bed you could not really see the picture very well. And while the couch is closer to the t.v. it is at such an angle that you cannot see the picture at all unless you are hunched on one end. And no, it does not move, it was flush mounted to the wall.

We really did feel as if we were there on sufferance and had to be very careful that we didn't mess anything up. For example, there was a black towel in the bathroom you were supposed to use for removing your makeup (yes, they use a linen service, we saw the truck there one morning). I admit I am lazy and often do not remove the very minimal makeup I wear before going to bed, but I did make an effort. It did not all come off so I ended up covering my pillow with my own towel each night to keep the pillow clean. One of the reviews mentioned charges for 'soiled linens' so I did not want to cost us more money than we were already paying.

The second morning I spoke to Mr. Innkeeper and let him know that we would be leaving early the next morning as we had to go back to work. I wanted to let him know early so they would not plan on us for breakfast, plus we had a full day and wanted to get out and about as quickly as possible. He directed me toward his wife who was in the office. There was another woman before me checking out. That went pretty quickly until the subject of dogs came up. Then I was toast. I had to stand there for almost 15 minutes while the hostess (with some back and forth from the guest) discussed her dogs, her new one and the one that had passed. I am an animal lover so I have no issue with folks who love theirs, but, and you knew that was coming, to leave me standing there so long without an oh sorry, be right with you or any acknowledgement while you discuss your dogs? You guessed it, poor customer service skills.

On the second afternoon I went out to take pictures of the outside of the inn and the surroundings. Mr. Innkeeper was outside as well fetching firewood. I waved hello and my gracious host looked right at me and kept going with nary a wave or bye-your-leave. I am pretty sure I left my cloak of invisibility home but maybe I packed it by mistake.

The last bit of fun came when we got the final bill. Although their prices are plainly listed on their website:

All ten exceptional guest chambers feature fireplaces,
canopy beds and luxurious private baths with Jacuzzis for two.

	Midweek	Weekends	Peak Periods10/5,6,7,8 - 10/11,12,13,14 - 10/19,20
	$390	$425	$535
	$330	$365	$435
	$305	$340	$410
	$250	$285	$360
	$250	$285	$360
	$250	$285	$360
	$250	$285	$360
	$205	$240	$345
	$205	$240	$345
	$205	$240	$345

. . . we were charged the weekend price for Monday. Granted it was a holiday but nowhere on their site does it say that President's Day is considered a weekend day. We didn't bother to argue. We will simply never stay at this place again, especially when there are so many other lovely inns in the immediate area that we can stay at. And of course we'll check the reviews first!

It was not all bad. The surrounding area was very nice and we will be back. The Inn has some very nice architectural elements that are very lovely. Beautiful fireplaces, wood ceiling beams, curved walls, a neat old tree in the backyard.

Bottom line we will never stay here again (yes, I know I am repeating myself) nor will we recommend this place to anyone. When I read the glowing reviews given by folks about the innkeepers I wonder what we did wrong. Were we shunned because we had a gift certificate? Kind of like the scholarship kids who go to a rich preppy school? Maybe we were not the sort of people they prefer to cater to. We are normal, simple, college-educated (grad school) folks with decent jobs and both of us are fairly intelligent. We come from good families and own our own home. We're neat and clean and shower daily. We are good guests and do not party and make a ruckus. And yes, I do know about customer service skills because I ran my own business for almost twenty years. (I started young.)

They have written this about themselves on one of the travel sites:

"Our warm hospitality, attention to the smallest of details and countless romantic amenities are what separates us from other Inns and Bed and Breakfasts in Manchester, Vermont and beyond ."

Maybe they are originally from Antarctica so they have a different definition of warmth. Or maybe we just weren't the right kind of people they want as guests. The magazines they left in the room were a bit 'snooty'. (Not a judgement, just an observation.)

They have a journal book in each room to write notes about your stay. We passed but when flipping though it I found this, which made me giggle:

So maybe we're not inn people.

Then again, maybe the innkeepers aren't either.

The Cat Came Back

One week ago today the Boy (otherwise known as the Cat) had his first ever encounter with anesthesia. I was a basket case the whole week leading up to the incident, and my sister helpfully boosted my confidence by informing me in a very serious tone that her 125-pound dog's heart stopped while under when she (the dog) had surgery the month prior. I was certain that my 8.5 pound cat was a goner.

However, I am happy to report that the Boy came through with flying colors and is recovering nicely. After 5 days of huddling upstairs in the bed he has returned to his favorite spot by the fireplace and if his tummy bump is any indication he is gaining weight again. His little shaved leg still looks a bit pathetic but the fur will grow back.

Thanks very much to the wonderful folks at The Village Animal Clinic for taking such good care of him!

Keep your fingers crossed for good news at his follow-up appointment in a few weeks.  

If I Were a Rich (Wo)man

I am fascinated by castles, even castle ruins. This is probably because my parents (thinking back on my childhood, they were pretty cool) took us on a trip to the Thousand Islands when I was young, and the mysterious Heart Island, home of Boldt Castle. Or I am a reincarnated princess, you never know. The trip was prior to 1977, when the Thousand Island Bridge Authority bought the island and began fixing it up. I don't remember much about the logistics of the trip, only that the Castle was basically in ruins, at least that is how it looked to a young girl who expected a ghost to pop out around a corner at any moment. (More about Boldt Castle in the future.)

Most of my castle and castle ruin encounters as an adult have occurred in Great Britain, and my fascination for them has not decreased. As for home-grown castles, I've returned to Heart Island as often as I could, visiting Singer Castle and Scotty's Castle for the first time recently. If it has the word 'castle' in the name and I am able, I make an effort to check it out, good sport and totally awesome husband in tow.

I even had my wedding reception in a castle, complete with ghosts.

I stumbled upon the existence of a local castle the other day, and it is for sale. Sadly, it is out of my price range for the time being, but imagine my excitement to discover that there is not only a castle in my neighborhood, but it is a castle complete with ruins. Upstate New York is a treasure trove of finds, and some day I hope to uncover many more than I already have.

I found the castle by chance. I recently discovered that a friend of mine belongs to a paranormal investigation group, and just for kicks I googled haunted places in her area and one of the hits was for House of the Week: The Helderberg Castle.  The property is located in the Albany County (NY) town of New Scotland, a short distance from where I live. 

Helderberg Castle was not built by a king or nobleman to protect his people, but a man who (six degrees of separation alert) was, among other things, a novelist named Bouck White. (Okay, I am not a novelist yet but I plan to be in the not-so-distant future.)


(picture courtesy: New Scotland Historical Association)

I searched for more information on this castle and learned that it would be considered trespassing to check it out as it is a private home, so instead of personally-provided photos I hope you'll enjoy these photos taken on one of Marc and Willow Toso's Adventures. I suppose that I could pretend to be interested in looking at it as a buyer but that would not be very nice to the listing agent. I do have a real-estate agent sister though ....

Back to the six degrees of separation thing. Or maybe just simply, it's all connected. I like discovering that the past has some sort of connection to the future, even better when the connection is more personal, no matter how seemingly trivial the connection may be. Some may say it is grasping at straws but I still think it's kind of neat to look for these connections.

My dad passed away a few years ago. The step-witch he was married to did a lot of bad things to our family when he was near death, and even more afterwards. Someday I may write about it, we'll see. As these karma things go, the step-witch herself fell victim to the Grim Reaper purely by accident just shy of one year after my dad passed away. The step-witch did not come upon her evil powers by accident. They run in the family. (I know, my bitterness is showing but if and when I write about it you'll understand.)

The step-witch, and after she descended to where she went, her immediate family, refused to tell us where my dad was buried. Almost 2 years after he passed the sister of the step-witch condescended to tell us. They chose a small cemetary in the middle of nowhere far away from our family that probably had its last burial in the Revolutionary War era before my poor dad and step-witch were buried there.

We cannot go there at certain times of year because the internal roads are impassable. But it is not all bad. My dad grew up in the hills of Fort Plain (NY), and the view from the burial site looks as if you could be seeing those very hills. It comforts me to know that my dad sees such beauty when he looks out in the distance. I myself have a fascination for old burial grounds, so it is kind of neat to look around there when I go visit.

The cemetery is near the castle ruins. So there is a very small personal connection. Mr. White was born in Schoharie County. In 1987 my first husband narrowly missed being a victim of the Schoharie Creek bridge collapse. And no, I was not saying to myself, darn, I could have saved money on a divorce lawyer. At the time I still wanted him around. If it had been a few years later, well, that's a different story. 

Mr. Bouck died in Menands, which is where I sometimes work as the company I am currently employed by has offices there.

Mr. Bouck was pastor of the Congregational Church of the Thousand Islands in Clayton, NY from 1904 - 1907.  I found an article about his time there and other fun facts here if you're interested. One of those fun facts involves tarring and feathering. And his hometown of Middleburg (NY) was not amused by his novel The Mixing (1913), He based the characters on people he knew there. They objected to being portrayed as 'peasants'. 

And one of Mr. Bouck's novels, The Book of Daniel Drew (1910), was made into a movie in 1937 ('The Toast of New York') starring one of my favorite movie stars, Cary Grant. (He is also known for his 1903 book Qu vaditis?: A call to the old moralities.)

No connections? I think not. 

Elizabeth George and Bouchercon 2012

Since the world is going to end this year (I know, if I keep gently teasing the Fates it may happen so I should probably not) this may be the last year I attend Bouchercon (aka the World Mystery Convention). Bouchercon is a lot of fun. I attended my first Bouchercon in 2008. It was held in Baltimore, Maryland and I went solo. I am not exactly a wallflower but plopping myself into a convention full of fans, and authors I love and admire, intimidated even me. It turned out to be awesome. My now husband showed up and surprised me (awww). I went on a ghost tour of Fell's Point (spooky and informative). I met lots of readers and got introduced to new-to-me authors among them Kelli Stanley, Andrew Grant, Tasha Alexander, and Bill Cameron (and too many more awesome writers to list!). I got to hang out with the wonderful Heather Graham and the very cool Alexandra Sokoloff (I love those ladies and their books!). I visited Edgar Allan Poe's grave (no words available to express that moment) and spent some quality time at the Inner Harbor (magical in spite of being stalked by a nefarious no-good-doer).

Bouchercon is held in a different city every year, and in 2013 it happens to be in my backyard. In fact, I could walk to the location from work. And I am sure you've guessed this already - I will be writing more about it in future posts.

This year it will be in Cleveland, complete with opening ceremonies at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The Guest of Honor will be Elizabeth George, a fantastic author I stumbled upon one day purely by chance. I love to read, and when I find an author I like I have to read everything that author wrote and then begin the torturous wait for their next book while discovering another. I was in a (now sadly defunct) bookstore looking for books to take on an overseas trip, and I overheard a clerk recommending Elizabeth George to another customer. I decided to steal that advice, checked her out, and liked what I saw. I bought the first two of her books and packed them in my carry-on.

By the time the plane landed I had read the first one and started the second. By the time I returned home ten days later I had bought the rest of her books and read them all.

When I decided that it was time for me to try my hand at writing a book I picked up a few books on writing (no future pun intended). One was Stephen King's On Writing and the other was Elizabeth George's Write Away. In 2006 I took the train to NYC to attend a talk by Ms. George, who would be the first of my many favorite authors I would meet. She was inspiring, and I eagerly lined up to have her sign Write Away and her latest, Careless in Red.

She asked me if I was a writer. I said I wanted to be, and had just started working on a project. Through the course of conversation she learned that I was also working on buying my first house, and she laughed and said it may be awhile before I got that book underway. She was so right. And then I bought a second house (long story, again no pun intended), lost both parents, and got married. (The book is finally underway, and in the final stages of revisions.)

So, the moral of this story is that I am over the moon because I will once again have the pleasure of listening to Ms. George speak, and if I am lucky get her autograph on more of her fantastic books.

Elizabeth George is a mystery novelist whose books are set in Great Britain. Having been across the pond a few times I can attest to their authenticity of atmosphere. I was very surprised when I discovered that Ms. George is as American as apple pie. (Her novels have also been adapted a television series by the BBC. Check out The Inspector Lynley Mysteries)

If you have not read her, you should. She rocks, just like Cleveland will in October.

The Cat

Very busy weekend, so I will devote this space to the cat today. xxoo

Overheard Department

I was doing some shopping recently in a local store after work and had paused at an endcap to allow another shopper complete with cart to exit the aisle I was going down next. The shopper was an attractive young woman, long blonde hair, dressed in business attire, complete with smart coat and office-chic black heels. 

Trailing behind her was an equally good-looking guy, casually dressed but nice clothes with a leather jacket. Only he had some kind of white cloth thing on his head, which when described to my husband was identified as a do-rag. (I looked it up and have now added some additional attire possibilities knowledge to my stash.) Not that it matters, it was just an odd combination at the time. I have since concluded that he may have been riding a motorcycle, taking into consideration the balmy winter weather and the leather jacket.

But I digress. 

There must have been some sort of discussion going on before they came within earshot, as the woman was saying, in a slightly annoyed tone, "You shouldn't believe everything you see on t.v."

His reply: "I didn't see it on t.v., I saw it on YouTube."

Yaddo and Katrina Trask

In 1926 Yaddo opened it doors to men and women looking for inspiration, among them writers, artists and musicians such as Sylvia Plath, Leonard Bernstein, Truman Capote and Mario Puzo. It had been 26 years since Katrina Trask and her husband Spencer co-authored a Testamentary Agreement that stated "... we desire to found here a permanent home to which may come from time to time for rest and enjoyment authors, painters, sculptures, musicians and other artists both men and women few in number and chosen for creative gifts and besides and not less for the power and the [will] and the purpose to make these gifts useful to the world."

The story of Yaddo is tragic yet the legacy is beautiful. The story began in the late 1800s when a young man named George Foster Peabody met Spencer Trask, a young investment banker who would soon form his own company and invite George to join as a partner. Spencer Trask & Company was an investment house which would become heavily involved in many ventures, including two that would shape both the young United States and the world, electricity and railroads. The majority of their fortunes came from investment in the Edison Electric Company, and when it eventually became part of the newly formed General Electric in 1892, George would serve on GE's board of directors. (GE is in my neighborhood!)

In 1873, both young men were introduced to Katrina Nichols, a young woman from Brooklyn. The story goes that both men fell in love with Katrina, but it was Spencer who married her in November, 1874. The marriage did not cause the friends to split, and the three remained very close until their respective deaths.

The Trasks spent a lot of time in Saratoga during the summer, and in 1875 Katrina gave birth to their first child, a son named Alanson. Sadly Alanson died of meningitis in 1880 at the Trasks' Brooklyn home. Spencer bought a large estate in Saratoga hoping the distance and peaceful surroundings would help Katrina recover from the loss of her firstborn. The Trasks spent the next few years shaping their new home and exploring their mutual passion for the arts, and during this period they had another child, Christina. It was Christina who devised the name 'Yaddo'.

By 1888 the Trask family was four with the addition of a son, Spencer Jr. It was also the year that Katrina caught diphtheria, and the doctors did not believe she would recover. Spencer Jr. and Christina were allowed to visit their mother to say goodbye, and in another sad twist of fate both children caught the disease and soon died, one two days after the other. Katrina recovered.

The Trasks had one more child, a daughter who was born one year later. She only lived for three days.

The tragedies did not stop. In 1891 Spencer caught pneumonia while in Brooklyn and was not expected to survive. The mansion in Saratoga had just been completed. While Spencer was battling for his life the mansion caught on fire and was completely destroyed. Spencer asked to see pictures of the ruins and immediately began planning the new mansion. He recovered from his illness and in 1893 the new mansion was complete, including a mosaic designed by Louis Comfort Tiffany.

With no children to leave a legacy to, the Trasks decided to establish the artists' retreat. They formed a corporation and gathered trustees to ensure that their vision for Yaddo would survive. Among the trustees was their dear friend George Foster Peabody.

The Spencers enjoyed some measure of peace until 1909. On New Year's Eve Spencer was called on urgent business to New York City. He never made it. A train accident near Croton resulted in Spencer's private car being crushed during a collision with a freight train, and he was the only fatality.

Katrina buried herself in her commitment to her vision for Yaddo. In 1921 her health began to fail, and in February of that year she married her long-time friend George. Katrina died less than a year later.

She left behind not only Yaddo but a personal legacy of her own. Katrina was an artist in her own right, leaving behind a collection of works that can still be found today. 

There is much more to the story of Yaddo, and if you have the opportunity to visit please do so. Learn more about Yaddo and the people behind her legacy. There are many wonderful stories there, and many believe that Katrina still roams the halls of her beloved Yaddo, keeping a watchful eye on the artists who continue to draw on the creative energy of Yaddo.

When you walk around the grounds of Yaddo you can feel the sadness that permeates the air. The sadness is not heavy and depressing, which may seem at odds with the tragedies associated with the family that brought Yaddo to life. It is a peaceful sadness tinged on the edges by mystery. As a young child I would peek through the gates, then tip-toe through the trees as far as I dared go to get a view of the mansion on the hill. I still do, hoping for a glimpse of something, but don't ask me what. That is my mystery.

           

A Strange Night

Do you believe in ghosts? Or spirits or entities or whatever you want to call them. I am not 100% sure if I do, although I have had many strange encounters over the years that I cannot explain. The possibility that ghosts exist fascinates me, which is probably why the manuscripts I am working on all have a ghost or two floating around in them. I am hooked on shows that deal with that aspect of the paranormal (much to my absolute non-believer husband's dismay, especially when I fill the DVR up with them), and whether or not they are real I have to admit that some of them scare me a teensy bit, especially shows like My Ghost Story. 

He is a good sport though, willing to be dragged into supposedly haunted places we are nearby on our travels, waiting patiently while I fill up a memory card.

Could many of these eye-witness accounts be faked somehow? Do the ghost hunting crews fake some of their 'evidence'? There are many people that would swear yes to that. Even so, some of the evidence people present still scares me a teensy bit. And because I've had some bizzare experiences myself I cannot totally dismiss anyone else's. I just don't happen to have video or EVP evidence. (I do have pictures I'll share at some point.) 

I like to take pictures of places rumored to be haunted and see what shows up. My husband says orbs are nothing but dust or insects or reflection and to some extent I agree, although not entirely. I believe that some of my orbs look authentic, and I did discount moisture drops that reflected off my camera flash on a trip to New Orleans. (I know, I know.) 

I am not obsessed, really I'm not, even though I spent a long weekend with Jason and Grant of Ghost Hunters fame a couple of years ago at the Stanley Hotel. Really great guys, and a very interesting weekend I'll report on someday. 

Last night was strange. Nothing about the day was unusual, the typical work stuff. We both got our hair cut after work and then did some errands. The errand run was interrupted by news that a very close friend's mom had passed away suddenly. Coming so soon after the anniversary of my mom's passing it was rough to hear, and even more difficult to pick out a card to send her without tearing up.

Some time during the night I was woken up by my husband having a nightmare. This has only happened a couple of times that I can recall, and after making sure he was okay (of course he was, it was only a dream <insert rolling his eyes here>), I went back to sleep. At this point we were sleeping back to back, but touching, and the cat was snuggled in his usual spot at my side under the covers. 

Around 3 a.m. someone, or something, blew twice in my ear and woke me up. Not a soft 'puff puff' but a pretty forceful one. Don't interpret 'forceful' as monsoon force winds. I mean forceful as opposed to a soft whisper of air. Right in my ear. As if someone had their mouth less than an inch from my head. Of course I thought my husband did it, but he was sound asleep, still back to back with me. The cat, now awake because I was, was likewise curled up under the covers, too warm to do more than open his eyes and glare at me in protest. Okay, I thought to myself, and went back to sleep.

A little while later it happened again. I know I exclaimed "Seriously?" out loud because the cat moved and my husband mumbled something, but both had not moved from their previous positions. I stayed awake for awhile, covers pulled over my ear, and finally went back to sleep.

What the heck was that? And for the record, we have floorboard heating so that was not a possibility. Being winter, the windows are all closed so there was no breeze of any kind passing through the room.

The next day on our ride home from work I asked my husband what his dream was about. After much coaxing he finally admitted that he was dreaming that a ghost had come into our bedroom and was trying to get on the bed. And then immediately told me there was absolutely no connection between his dream and my 'ear-puffing' experience.  

I think I'll make sure the covers are over my ears before I go to sleep from now on.

Pleasant dreams!