WILLOW MANOR BALL 2013

Welcome to the 6th Annual Willow Manor Ball! 

Join the heralding of autumn, as well as the celebration of my birthday! Willow Manor is at her most intriguing, laden with soft candlelight, dark corners, just a touch of cobwebs, and a few dead moths. The carpets have been rolled back in the front hall, and the hardwood floors polished to tango perfection. Even the manor ghosts are at their haunting best. Welcome, and enjoy. Remember, anything is possible in cyberspace.

Please check into the comment section of this post, let us know of your arrival, and who might be accompanying you. If you would like us to visit your blog, to admire your stunning attire, and fawn over your remarkable date, sign the Mr. Linky widget provided at the end of this post. 

Everyone who leaves a comment today will be eligible for one of two door prizes. If you leave a comment, you are here!

My co-host for the evening, Ronaldo Antonio Dent (R.A.D.) Stainforth, yes the very same masterful reader of my poetry, has already arrived looking dapper, with a Jag-full of beautiful women, a case of Johnnie Walker under his arm, and his pet badger, Seamus, looking moody on a leash. 

I was most pleased to see his Withnailesque Jaguar Mark 2, with a brand new paint job (Stainforth blue), parked on the lawn. It was quite amusing to see the women emerge, all wearing blue! They are obviously keen on impressing him, by wearing his favorite color, but none too happy about having to share the limelight. Ronaldo mentioned something about Tracey Emin's rack. Does that mean she's going to be hanging some artwork? I'm not sure.

As I welcomed him with our customary squeeze, I noticed a cheeky pink bra tucked in his breast pocket. 

Speaking of all things pink, I am celebrating my new-found appreciation for pink with this exquisite vintage pale blush-pink Dior gown from 1953. In simple classic-pink style, I have no accessories; just the gown, nothing on top, or underneath, but a fresh aubergine pedi. It's a gorgeous warm October night, perfect for shoe-free dancing. I never like to be taller than my dancing partners, and besides, twirling is best, skin to floor.

By the way, Mr. Stainforth was the first to sign my dance card. He tangos expertly, having learned from his Argentinian mother. I'm looking forward to that close embrace, the drag, the hips ... not sure if I can look shyly over my shoulder, when he looks into my eyes with those blue volts. I hope he doesn't flip me upside down. It might startle the guests.

Listen to Miloš Karadaglić make his guitar sing. This is hot hot hot. Okay, I'm ready to tango 'til I drop...

Dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal desire.
― Robert Frost 

The main refreshment this evening is Guinness; an outrageous vat was flown in late last night from our sister city, Dublin. If you see me watching the bubbles drag up and down my glass, please take me for another whirl around the dance floor, to clear my head. Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.

Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers are playing some mellow, way cool music in the main hall. 

My dear friend, the handsome, dignified, charming, and a little bit sinister, Vincent Price, has just arrived with his pet raven on his shoulder. Campy? Never. Pausing in the entryway, he said, to my sheer delight, "I hear the sound of rat claws within the stone wall."  I nearly swooned.  He says Willow Manor reminds him of the House of Usher. I was counting on a spin around the dance floor with the sexy Mr. Price, but he seems more fascinated with this skeleton, than with me. It looks familiar. Maybe it's Bette Davis? 

The wonderful English folk musician, Eliza Carthy is here! Someone said they saw her climbing out of the trunk of Stainforth's Jag. I thought she looked a bit disheveled, when I greeted her at the door. After all, it is a long trip from the U.K. to the Midwest, especially in the trunk. She brought her fiddle! Yea, verily yea! So, I'm appropriately requesting "Willow Tree" ...

Chef Dominic Franks, and crew, have gone to great lengths to tantalize our palates. He chose a Medieval theme, with lots of delicious traditional Celtic food. Nigella can't seem to stay away from the kitchen; she's wearing my ruffled apron, and swapping TV cook show gossip with Vincent. I'm sampling the amazing spiced venison with wild mushroom and truffle sauce, followed by all kinds of decadent pink sweets. Remember, my friends, there is no such thing as calories in cyberspace...

Art Pepper ... the other Art ... is playing outside on the patio, for those who might need a little fresh air, a smoke (Ronaldo and Vincent are out there), or just want to enjoy this gorgeous moonlit evening by the Scioto. I asked him to play Autumn Leaves, in celebration of my favorite season. He said he wasn't sure if he knew it, so I handed him the sheet music, I happened to have tucked in the manor piano bench. I think he can manage. 

While we're talking cigarettes, Seamus was seen ...not Stainforth's badger ... Seamus Heaney was seen outside, calmly having a smoke, in a tree. I do wish he would climb down, and dance with me. I'll say I want to talk poetry, but really I just want to hear him recite a few lines of Oracle ... in my ear. Maybe he'll tell me what it's like on the other side. I'm sure he's already met the assorted Willow Manor ghosts. 

Meanwhile, Stone Roses is warming up with This Is The One. Is that Ronaldo dancing Eighties-style like a crazed weasel? Or did Wadsworth forget to spray for wasps? It may be the Johnnie Walker.  R.A.D. really gets into anything from that decade. Ask him something, anything, about the 1980s. He knows. He cares. He was there. 

Things have settled down a bit; there's a poker game going on in the smoke-filled library. Seamus ... not the poet, the badger ... quite in his element, is winning, as well as drinking everyone under the table. It must be his poker-face. He doesn't say much, just hisses now and then. All the neighborhood cats are lined up at the window watching. He has a way with the felines.

Thank you all so very much for making the Willow Manor Ball so much fun. Make sure to pop in Monday around noon-ish EST for some brunch, and a rehash of all the fun ball scuttlebutt. The winners of the door prizes will also be announced. Now, if you'll please excuse me, the moon is out, and a blue Jag is waiting. 

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
they danced by the light of the moon. 

― Edward Lear, The Owl and the Pussycat 

Please enter your name and URL in the Linky below,
if you would like us to visit your blog, 
to see what you're wearing to the ball, 

or who your date might be.

Almost time for the cyber event of the year...

Everything's set for the 6th Annual Willow Manor Ball, this Sunday, October 20th! Come one, come all! 

The latest scuttlebutt is that the handsome, dignified, charming, and a little bit sinister, Vincent Price will be among our guests. If he says, "I hear the sound of rat claws within the stone wall", I might swoon. I instructed Wadsworth to make sure Willow Manor is strung with ample cobwebs, so Mr. Price will feel right at home. 

I also hear that the quirky, fabulous Tracey Emin, will be here, as well.  R.A.D. Stainforth mentioned something about her rack. Does that mean she will be hanging some artwork? I'm not exactly sure. 

Be there...or be square...

Preparations are well under way for the cyber event of the year, The 6th Annual Willow Manor Ball, this Sunday, October 20th. Lots of hustle and bustle going on at WM this week; the rolling back of carpets, the polishing of floors, and silver. My staff assures me that everything is on schedule for a sparkling evening, which miraculously lasts all day.

A linky widget will be posted, here at Willow Manor, this Sunday, for you to share your blog URL. We want to see your fabulous attire, and outrageous dates! Be sure to wear your dancing shoes. R.A.D. Stainforth, my co-host, tells me there will be lots of brilliant music, including two legendary Arts ... Art Pepper, and Art Blakey. Guinness will be the main refreshment of the evening, including a full bar managed by my trusty staff. My good friend, chef Dominic Franks, tells me the food will be like nothing you've ever tasted on this planet.

Be ready to party like crazed weasels. Remember, anything is possible in cyberspace.

Mark your calendars...

Peeps are buzzing about the cyber event! Every year, Life at Willow Manor celebrates the arrival of autumn, my very favorite season, in classic style. I am pleased to announce the celebration of autumn, and my birthday, with this year's

Sixth Annual Willow Manor Ball

October 20, 2013

R.A.D. Stainforth, yes, the same talented reader of my poetry, has once again agreed to by my date, and co-host.  He assures me his glass eye will stay firmly in place this year. No need to check what might be floating in your drinks. 

A Mr. Linky widget will be provided, here at Willow Manor, on October 20th. You will be able to link up, so others will have the opportunity visit your blog, see who your date might be, or what you'll be wearing to the black tie event. 

So, ladies and gentlemen, please mark your calendars, choose a date, and do some glamorous cyber shopping for that perfect gown or tuxedo. Feel free to take this badge to advertise on your blog:

my date to the willow manor ball

I sent out invitations to two dashing men this year ... Marcello Mastroianni ... and Ronaldo Stainforth.  Yes, the same Ronaldo Antonio Dent Stainforth, known to read my poetry in his black and white world.  The ever gracious Ronaldo was first to reply, so he will be my official date. Evidently, Mr. Mastroianni's people conveyed to him, in error of course, that I had accepted his invitation.  The fact that they look incredibly alike will complicate matters further. I might have to slip a yellow rose into Ronaldo's lapel, to keep them sorted out for the evening, since I get a bit ditzy after a few drinks.

Last year, R.A.D. arrived in a stunning blue Jag. We secretly slipped out early, after the tango, to park in a field of ferns, for a late night private poetry reading.  I can't wait to see what he arrives in this year. Speaking of the tango, he is a masterful dancer, learning at an early age, from his Argentinian mother.

No worries, since I gave him special instructions not to startle the manor guests by removing his glass eye, which he is rumored to have lost in a violent beaver attack.  He is known, at the end of the day, to slip it into a glass of icy Russian vodka. We wouldn't want anyone to mistake it for a martini olive.

In case you haven't heard about the cyber event of the year, mark your calendars. There will be a Mr. Linky widget provided for those who wish to share their dates and what they are wearing the the ball, which mysteriously lasts a whole 24 hours beginning at 12:00 a.m. on:

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Don't forget, there will door prizes chosen from everyone who attends (leaves a comment) here at Willow Manor on the 28th. When you arrive, hop on into the comment section, and join the fun.

One of the great things about a cyber ball, is that we all dance like gods and goddesses. Make sure you have your dance cards ready, because we will be rolling up the carpets at Willow Manor. Valentino said tile floor is the best for dancing the tango, but in this case, the hardwood floors at the manor will do marvelously.

 

Mark your calendars!

It's time to announce the big cyber event of the year! Peeps from all over the world have been flocking to Willow Manor, in ball gowns and tails, for an evening of fun and frivolity, every October for the last four years. Plans are under way as we speak, for the gala evening, which, mysteriously enough, lasts a whole 24 hours. So, dear friends, mark your calendars, do some outlandish cyber shopping, and grab a date for The 5th Annual Willow Manor Ball.  As always, there will be a Mr. Linky widget provided for you to sign in, if you would like to share what you're wearing, or who your date might be, for the big event. 

The 5th Annual 

Willow Manor Ball

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Stay tuned the next few weeks for juicy updates. My people have informed me that Marcello Mastroianni and Veronica Lake, among other notables, will be among our guests. Feel free to take the above poster, or the badge below, to pimp on Facebook, or your blog. 

Ectoplasm

click to embiggen

ec·to·plasm (kt-plzm)
n.
2.

a. The visible substance believed to emanate from the body of a spiritualistic medium during communication with the dead.

b. An immaterial or ethereal substance, especially the transparent corporeal presence of a spirit or ghost.

There's something not quite right about the picture of the little girl above my desk. At first, I thought it was the reflection of my camera, but after close examination, the camera is visible inside the frame, on the lower right. Nothing else in the room can explain this kind of reflection on the glass.

My uncle bought this framed vintage photo, circa 1920s, at an antique shop in Florida. The girl is wrapped in transparent toile, has bobbed hair, and is wearing a religious medal.  He sent it to me last Christmas, because he said it reminded him of me, when I was a little girl.  She does look amazingly like me.

I posted this photo, from Tuesday, on Facebook, and one of my friends said the weird glowing green glob looks like ectoplasm, stuff that allegedly oozes from ghosts, and allows them to perform certain feats of telekinesis.  I'm not so sure about all of this.  What do you think?

click to embiggen

(For more about the ghosts at Willow Manor, click on the "ghosts" label below.)

Channeling Julie No. 3

This week I'm channeling my inner Julie with another one of my favorite things: freshly laundered white bath towels. I appreciate them all the more this week, after the 85 mph derecho (pronounced day-RAY-cho) descended on Central Ohio late Friday afternoon, June 29, leaving Willow Manor without power for two days. Derecho comes from the Spanish word for "straight" or direct, in contrast with a tornado, which is a twisted wind.

shelf cloud along the leading edge of a derecho

Not only was it the hottest week of the summer, but when Willow Manor loses power, the well pump is out, too.  So, no water.  I ended up staying with my two sons, who thankfully had power.  The contents of the fridge was hauled to their place, along with all my girl-maintenance stuff.  After taking a much needed shower, I reached out to the towel bar, and quickly realized I should have brought my own.  Hanging there, was a mangy thing, I later learned, is fondly known as "Old Blue".  It's a good thing Old Blue is blue. If it was supposed to be white, I would have been even more frightened.

camping out with the guys
I really missed my PC and desk too

By the way, remember when everything in the 70s was earth-tone?  I still have a few threadbare brown bath towels that were wedding gifts, delegated as "dog-towels".  Sturdy things.  They even survived the dogs. I'll be glad when these dog days are over. Come, come, sweet October.

The real things haven't changed. 

It is still best to be honest and truthful; 

to make the most of what we have; 

to be happy with simple pleasures; 

and have courage when things go wrong.

― Laura Ingalls Wilder

peonies

ants peel petals from

miniature cabbages

soft peppermint pink

Raindrops on the first peony at Willow Manor...

they're so early this year!

rain

Why does the rain make us feel so romantic and strange? Maybe it's the fact that we are unnatural spectators of it, from inside our homes, and it is a reminder that we have the power to live our whole lives like this, if we choose. It's not the smell of fertile ground kicked up by raindrops, or the slick leaves, or the way we must amplify our voices to be heard over this larger presence. It's the power of the rooftop that makes us want to fuck under it.

― Amelia Gray, AM/PM


photo: rain at Willow Manor this morning

observed celestial recurrences

What's up with Willow these days?  Have you noticed?  She posts a measly poem once a week. That's it. Could it be, after four years of furious daily postings, she ran out of steam?  Well, yes, sort of ... she just ran out of blog steam.  I hear she's been hanging around Facebook a lot, and is busy putting together her second poetry chapbook manuscript. She tells me the time off has been therapeutic, and that she has finally coaxed her bloggy muse off the sofa.  So, stay tuned gentle readers; fresh new posts are on their way.

The daffodils have pushed through the winter soil at Willow Manor early this year, but I hear the manor Christmas tree is still up, gathering dust, while she's heavily into Philip Larkin, among others. She says she will take down the tree for Lent. 

And the empty pages?

Should they ever be filled

Let it be with observed

Celestial recurrences,

The day the flowers come,

And when the birds go.

Philip Larkin, from "Forget What Did"

click to embiggen

I also heard it from the grapevine that Willow is working on updating her image with a new pair of retro Michael Caine glasses. Now all she needs to be way cool, is lose the silly grin, and dangle a cigarette.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas from Willow Manor

and Best Wishes 

for a Happy and Healthy 2012

november

It was November―the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul. 

 L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

I know; I know.  I'm forever singing the praises of autumn and winter. Not only do I gravitate toward a neutral palette of grays, I happen to thrive on plenty of cool, fresh air.  Maybe it has something to do with being a Libra, the cardinal air sign of the zodiac, but just like Anne of Green Gables, I must embrace that great sweeping wind.  It certainly does blow the darkness out of my soul, chase the black dog from my doorstep. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off for a fast November drive in the Rover with the windows down, wind-fingers in my hair...


image: November view from the french doors at Willow Manor

haunted manor

We moved to the manor 22 years ago. The French Country style limestone and cedar house was built in 1927 and named "Willow Manor" by the original owners. The little culvert, that runs through our four acres, and deposits into the Scioto River behind our property, was once lined with large, lovely weeping willow trees. If you would have asked me then, if I believed in ghosts, I would have laughed.

Not only do I now believe in ghosts, I've learned to live comfortably alongside them, accepting their presence, since Willow Manor is haunted. There's nothing evil or life threatening about my ghostly cohabitants, but they let it be known, on a regular basis, that they exist. Dogs stand at attention, ears up, gazing at a particular corner of the room. Babies have peered up the back stairwell, smiling and waving, when we were alone on the first floor. They are friendly energies.

One of the spirits is that of a small, elderly lady, hunched over, all in white, who roams the house mostly between 3:30 and 5:00 a.m., creaking slowly up and down the front staircase. Her distinctive perfume is so powerful, it often wakes me.  She is known to sit on the edge of the bed of overnight visitors, new to the manor, leaning to whisper indiscernible messages in their ears.  All three of my children have seen her numerous times, but I hear her, most days, loudly rustling dishes in the kitchen, opening and closing doors, walking the staircase, and on one occasion, WT and I actually heard her let out a shrill scream.  She likes to leave the kitchen junk drawer open, the contents carefully sorted on the counter top. Last December, when I was baking holiday cookies, I was inadvertently about to add the eggs, before I had creamed the butter and sugar. (You cookie bakers will recognize this as a no-no.) Just as I held the first egg over the bowl,  ready to crack, a force hit my hand from underneath, sending the egg sailing over my shoulder, to land with a splat on the floor behind me. Obviously, this ghost is not only orderly, but is an experienced cook, as well.

Our first week at the manor, a neighbor boy announced that one of the previous owners of Willow Manor had hung himself on a branch of a tall fir tree on the front lawn. It was a troubling bit of information, but we didn't think much of it.  The next June, I was busy in the kitchen, when I felt a presence at my side. Thinking it was my daughter, who was about seven years old at the time, I closed the cabinet door and looked down, expecting to see her. Instead, a tall, transparent man, with a square jaw and curly hair stood beside me, gazing out the window.  As I let out a shriek, he turned his pale, serious face, and looked down, over his shoulder at me, before swirling into thin air.  Every hair on my body stood at attention. Years later, I did some online research and learned this previous owner had committed suicide in the month of June.

Recently, when we had a new sofa delivered, one of the delivery men announced, quite out of the blue, with tears in his eyes, he had actually lived in this house as a small boy and his father had done away with himself outside, in front of the manor.  This guy was extremely tall, with a head full of curls, and looked uncannily similar to the vanishing ghost, who stood at my kitchen window that June day.

the curse of chief leatherlips

Wyandot warrior

It's Leatherlips season at the manor. For those of you who are new readers of this blog, the Native American Wyandot Chief Leatherlips was executed 200 years ago today, June 1, 1810, on the banks of the Scioto River, in the general vicinity of Willow Manor. The chief was called "Leatherlips" because he was known to be trustworthy; his word was his bond. He was friendly with the white settlers in and around Dublin, Ohio, including the early resident Sells brothers, and was a local fixture at their new Black Horse Tavern. His Wyandot people relocated to Northwest Ohio, and were plagued by many mishaps, including disease. They blamed Leatherlips for their turn of unfortunate luck and returned to Dublin to escort him to their northern encampment. When he refused, his fellow Wyandots accused Leatherlips of witchcraft, and pronounced the sentence of death, executing him by tomahawk. This photo is of a Wyandot warrior, similar to how Leatherlips may have looked in his full tribal regalia; since he was killed in 1810, there are no photos of him in existence.

The Curse of Chief Leatherlips

This time of year is also our local Annual Muirfield Memorial PGA Golf Tournament. It is said that Jack Nicklaus built his course on sacred Wyandot Indian burial grounds, and that the tournament is cursed by Chief Leatherlips. It is certainly peculiar that every year, golfers and spectators are drenched with torrents of rain. Could it be that Central Ohio just gets a lot of rain this time of year? Possibly.

Bill Moose Crowfoot, 1930

Another Native American who was known to wander the area of the Scioto River banks in Dublin, Ohio, was Bill Moose Crowfoot, pictured here in head dress and beaded tunic, 1930. He is said to be the last of the Wyandots to live in Central Ohio. Born in Northwest Ohio in 1837, Crowfoot moved to the Columbus area with his family, when most of his tribe was displaced to Kansas and later Oklahoma. When we first moved to Willow Manor, there were three "Indian trees", sometimes called signal trees, in a line about 150 yards apart, the center one on our property. They were maples bent as saplings and secured with buckskin ties by the Wyandots, to mark a significant location. These maples grew into huge unusual "s" shaped trees. I've always wondered, exactly what was the significance of the trees in this particular location at the manor?

Some 20 years ago, when the area around the manor was very rural, my youngest son came into the kitchen one sunny June day. "Mommy, who's that old man outside in the overalls?" After investigating the area there was no one to be found. A few years later, also in the month of June, by the way, WT saw an old Native American looking man in overalls, standing near a stack of three large rocks we fondly call the Willow Manor Cairn. By the time he walked across the property to greet our visitor, he was gone.

The months of May and June are always hot spots for ghostly occurrences at the manor. A long time resident passed away here in the month of May, and sadly, a previous owner, died by his own hand at the manor in the month of June. This week has certainly been no exception; there's been lots of drawer openings, door slammings and loud nightly noises. But, the most unusual this week, so far, was a dead snake, it's head obviously crushed, strangely displayed on the rock wall outside the garage door. The Wyandot tribe was known to do the snake dance in order to bring on rain. Maybe Leatherlips was just gearing up for the Memorial Tournament, since it's been pouring rain all day. Did I just hear thunder?

overheard at the manor

There's been an incredible number of daily hits on the manor ghosts
link on my sidebar, and since it's Halloween week, I thought you
might enjoy some of the latest ghoulish happenings at the manor.

Recently, when WT was traveling, my sister came to spend the
weekend and keep me company. In the early evening, just the two
of us were alone in the house, in the sitting room off the kitchen,
pleasantly chatting away, talking over each other, as we often do,
about something really important, like face cream. Suddenly, the
hardware on the door of the landing, that leads to the garage, started
to rattle. We both jerked to attention and froze, facing each other,
mouths open. Then, to our amazement and horror, the door opened
with a loud, slow c-r-e-a-k. (No, there were no open windows, and
the garage doors were completely closed.)

"Oh, my gosh! Did you hear the doorknob rattling, before the door
actually opened?"

"I know. This kind of stuff happens all the time. You'd think I'd be
used to it by now."

The next morning, she came downstairs first and was in the little
powder room off the kitchen. As I rounded the back staircase, I was
shocked to see one of the large kitchen light fixtures (yes, one of
those lovely "boob lights", as I fondly call them) dangling on a wire,
four feet from the ceiling.

"Was the light hanging like this, when you came down?"

"No!"

"It just missed hitting your head by about 30 seconds!"

After we turned off the electricity, taped the live wires, and put the
fixture in the garage, for the man of the house to repair on his return,
I asked how she slept.

"Fine. Except, what was that dark shadow that kept moving from
left to right, in the hallway at the top of the front staircase?"

"You noticed it, too? I've always felt a presence in the hall at night,
but thought the dark movements were just my tired eyes playing
tricks on me."

"Well, it sure wasn't your eyes playing the tricks."
(for more on manor ghosts, click on "ghosts" in label section of this post)

the money pit

It was 21 years ago this month that we moved into our beloved
Willow Manor. The stone lined culvert that cuts through the front
of the property was once lined with huge willow trees, hence "Willow
Manor", the name given to the place by previous owners. It's a
delightful old house, built in 1927, with lots of original fixtures and
glorious mature trees. Looking back, we've adored every single day
living here. Well, most days, that is.

As any of you who have lived in a older home know, there is always
something sinking or exploding. Do you remember the film
The Money Pit, when Tom Hanks and Shelley Long portray a
idealistic young couple who struggle to repair a dilapidated old house?
Well, it's a perfect picture of us and our first weeks at Willow Manor.

I'll never forget the first night here, when I turned on the water to
fill the tub for a nice hot bath, after a harrowing day of moving. Just
like in the movie, muddy water gushed out, filling the tub with thick
brown slop. Revolted, I let out a blood curdling scream. The romantic
bath in my new dream home was not exactly coming together like I
imagined.

Putting the bath episode aside, the next morning I happily came
downstairs to make a lovely breakfast in our new surroundings.
When I plugged in the toaster, all the kitchen lights went out with
fireworks and a dynamic pop. After another desperate scream, from
this non-screaming kind of girl, I rushed into the dining room to find
WT poking at a soft spot in the ceiling. Just as I was opening my
mouth to tell him about the kitchen episode, a sizable (18' x 18') hunk
of plaster fell on his head, leaving a gaping hole in our newly acquired
formal dining room. Oh, I wish I'd had my digital camera then.

The following weeks were spent living among some unsavory
remodeling guys, one of whom I will never forget. The company
hired to install air conditioning, sent their slinkiest man. He, being
the only one who could actually fit inside the plaster walls to build
the duct work. Again, I let out some whopper screams, when his
unsuspecting, Norman Bates head would randomly slide out of a
register opening. I swear he was trying to catch me naked.

Newly dug well and years of plumbing, electrical and drywall
patching later, we adore this old place; and even more for the wear.
Yes, it's still a money pit. As I speak, there's a large hole in the
master closet ceiling, covered with duct tape and a plastic garbage
bag, the hot water faucet doesn't work in the kitchen bath, and the
air handler upstairs is out. One of these days, when our last is
finished with school, (we're starting our eleventh straight year of
kids in college) we'll take care of some delayed projects. Still, the
manor does have a comfortable old personality all its own. The cracks
and duct tape are all part of the patina that gives it that unique
charm we've come to love. So, I raise my glass in a toast to the manor,
our darling, crusty old money pit.

Where are you?

I'm in the den!

No you're not, I was just in there...

I'm in the den! I swear it! Please believe me!

Will you stop fooling around, Walter? I'm tired!

I'm right here.

Look, Walter, enough is enough!

I'M RIGHT HERE!

Where?

In the floor behind the chair.

The Money Pit, 1986

Ghosts

I have always loved the romantic notion of ghosts, but never had any
reason to believe in their existence, until we moved to Willow Manor
twenty one years ago. Now, I realize there are many readers who will

completely poo-poo this subject. There are even those who have gone

so far as to ridiculously suggest that demons are trying to possess

me. This, in my opinion, is stretching it just a tad. All I can advise, is

for you to spend a night or two at the manor and you might be willing

to change your mind.

Since the house was built in 1927, there have been at least two

deaths, that we know of, which occurred at the manor; an elderly
woman in the late 1970's and a man in his early 40's, who committed
suicide by hanging himself on a tree, in the early 1980's. We do,

however, consider the manor's ghostly visitors to be friendly ones;

we have never felt threatened or put in harm's way.

All three of my grown children have seen a small woman, hunched
over, dressed in white, who wanders the manor at night. She has
been known to whisper unintelligibly in your ear, late at night or can
be heard descending the front staircase around 4:30 a.m. Many
overnight guests have asked, the next morning, who was up in the

night, leaving the house around 4:00.

The most recent occurrence was when we had a couple spend the
night here in May. We were eating breakfast the following morning,
and I asked if they slept well. The woman's hands started to tremble
slightly and she said, "Well, since you asked, I might as well tell you.
In the middle of the night, I felt someone sit down on the edge of the
bed. I thought it was ___, but when I sat up and looked, no one was
there. And ___ was sound asleep beside me."

I am the only one who has seen the male ghost, and it happened just
once. About 17 years ago, one summer day in June, as I stood in the
kitchen, cupboard doors open, looking into the shelves, I got the
distinct feeling someone was looking at me. Thinking it was my
daughter, who was about eight at the time, I shut the doors, and
turned to look down at her, but she was not there. Instead, a very
tall, transparent, stern looking man, was standing to my left, looking
out the kitchen window. He turned his head and looked down, over
his shoulder at me. The hair on the back of my neck and head stood
on end and I screamed like bloody murder! He vaporized within
seconds.

Since then, I have done quite a bit of research and found a picture
online of the man who killed himself at Willow Manor. I immediately

recognized him as the tall man I saw in my kitchen that summer day,

gazing out at the huge old pines. I also found that he died in June.



*For additional manor ghost stories click on the "ghosts" label at

the bottom of this post.
*If you are interesting in participating in Theme Thursday, click

on the link and join in the fun.

photo: Front Staircase at Willow Manor

Theme Thursday = Roof

Several years ago, we were heart broken at the thought of losing

our beloved Willow Manor. The tragic events of September 11th

nearly destroyed WT's international business. After struggling for

a few years, we sadly came to the conclusion that we had no choice

but to give up our creaky old limestone house. And to add insult to

injury, severe storms nearly blew Willow Manor off it's hinges that

year. One morning, there was an unexpected knock at the door.

.
Looks like your roof has suffered quite a bit of storm damage.

.

Yes, you're right, it has. Our insurance deductible is high and we've

been putting it off.

.

Don't worry about that. Let me handle your insurance company.

You'll have a new roof by next week.

.

Several days later, pallets and pallets of glorious, fragrant cedar

shingles were stacked high on our driveway. Tears streamed down

my face at the sight of it.

.

Hey, Honey, what's wrong?

.

I can't bear the thought of having to leave Willow Manor now,

especially with this gorgeous new roof. How could this be

happening?

.

Oh, no! Don't you see? It's a sign! It means we're going to stay.

.

To make a long story short, WT was right. It was a sign. And a very

symbolic one, too. For me, Willow Manor's cedar roof will always be

a beautiful picture of security, protection and unity. Not just a

sturdy armour of wood on an old stone house, but a shield of love

for a family, as well.