Every day at the jail I hear a deputy - they're called deputies in jail, guards in prison - call out down the hall "walking!" when they escort inmates around the jail, and I have a flashback to the movie and the morbid Thomas Hardy poem the phrase may have come from. Or even just now writing out my title "Charleston Walking".
In a less gloomy vein, Patty, Kelly and I were walking Charleston during our Christmas visit, and what a wonderful town to get some walking exercise. No wonder Joan never runs out of material.
Beautiful old houses...
Ornate wrought iron gates...
...and fences.
Spanish moss libraries...
Architectural alleys...
Of course, I couldn't resist those doors.
On the way we passed Joan's "little" house -- no means little by California standards, and here in California a twenty year old house is considered "old" -- and lamented not having the foresight to call ahead for a "drop in". Next time, Joan.
3 comments:
Next time indeed! You should have called - I would have made tea.
We'll blame Patty. We didn't think about the stopping in part until we were by your house, Patty didn't have your number with her, and I wouldn't let her have us just "drop by".
That's right, blame me!
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