Thursday, May 24, 2012

Oberservations on a Rainy Day

My mind keeps drifting back to the Biltmore Bubble.  Roy and I are planning to go back sometime during the holiday season, but I find myself thinking through scenarios of returning in the fall, to see the lovely fall foliage.  It's a dream but perchance it might turn into reality. 

We only had one rainy day during our stay.  The rainy day was supposed to be on Tuesday but actually happened on Wednesday.  So after our delicious breakfast we shuttled over to the house.  For a rainy day it was actually quite busy.  The rainy day crowd mainly consisted of several bus tours of senior adults and several middle school field trips.  On that rainy day many found shelter in the stable area by the house which houses shops, meals, snacks, and the ever busy restrooms.  On a personal note, the restrooms in that area have been remodeled.  Thankfully the stall doors which were rather short, in turn which made me look and feel rather tall and awkward had been replaced.  Anyway, the stable area was filled with guests avoiding the rain and waiting for the next thing.  Oddly, the guests that morning were divided into  the two groups I mentioned before,senior adults and middle schoolers.  The senior adults sat on every available bench and perch and most of them were complaining.  They probably longed for the warm and dry comforts of the bus they had recently just complained about being stuffy, with no leg room and chomping at the bit for their desired release from the cozy confines.  While the senior adults had the benches, all the middle schoolers stood in any available space and those spaces were alive with energy and energetic enthusiasm.  They brimmed with happiness of being on a field trip, with friends and away from the confines of their classrooms.  Their enthusiasm for shopping was only limited by their budget, but they filled the shops buying little souvenir trinkets and some even buying little gifts for friends and family.  Watching them count out the change to buy something didn't bring out impatience but the wonder of watching such happiness and the midst of complaining.  The excitement of youth was wearing on the old folks.  I found myself in between both worlds bothered by the old and amused by the young.

I don't want to become one of those type of old people, doing bus tours just to fill in the time until their ultimate departure.  Yet, I don't want to be one of those who stay at home, sedated and still, afraid of the outside world.  At least if I'm on one of those buses, I hope to still have some degree of dressing well.  Ok, I'll succumb to wearing comfortable shoes.  That process has already begun.  I don't want to be apart of the halt and lame set either, although sadly, I'm already there.  Another observation, all the older type women wear white pants.  What is the deal with that?  The propensity of stainage goes up significantly the lighter and whiter the clothes.  I cannot even imagine that many can't get through the day without dripping or spilling something.  Maybe white pants is what jeans or denim is to my generation.  At least you can spill food on jeans and not everybody will see the wonderful display of split pea soup across the leg. 

Later in the afternoon Dena and I headed off the Estate to Biltmore Village.  There are all kinds of shops in the area.  We were both interested in one store in particular that sold Flax clothing.  The opposite end of the spectrum of senior adult was found in that store.  The well dressed, but too much mixing of animal prints and weirded out glasses.  The store also carried Eileen Fisher clothes.  I actually own one piece of Eileen Fisher, a sweat shirt.  It had been triple marked down at the Nord.  I refuse to pay that much for clothes but a triple marked down dressy sweatshirt, which is probably an oxymoron, was too good to pass up. 

We ate dinner in the Village that night at the Mexican food place that is soooo good.  We drove downtown just to take in the sights and somehow ended in the parking lot of First Baptist Asheville.  I wonder if the architect for Second Baptist got his inspiration from FBCA?

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