Okay, so instead of writing the obligatory “why am I starting a blog” post, I’m just gonna dive in and make it seem like I’ve been blogging my entire life (which I kind of have — just verbally).
This past weekend R & I went to Rocheport, MO to celebrate keeping up on our laundry throughout the week. Every time I go east from Kansas City, I drive by Rocheport and solemnly vow to stay at a Bed & Breakfast there. That has been circulating in my head for the past 5 years and finally I just upped and booked a room with a few days notice (and if any of you know me, that’s about 165 days too late).
This is where we stayed. The Schoolhouse B&B. You can’t see our window because we were all the way in the attic (Miss Edna’s room). We had to use a tiny skeleton key to open the attic door which resembled the door in Willy Wonka.. you know, the part when you were kinda grossed out at witnessing an old man going to town on snozberry wallpaper, but then were rewarded for your courage when the door opens to a land of huge gummy cinnamon bears? Or were you too busy getting your pink floyd cd to work.
On the way up to the room, we passed by little touches that the owners placed throughout the house. An antique sink full of misc shampoos, conditioners, lotions; a (now empty) cake stand that was once full of home baked cookies; and small antique furnishings strategically placed to make me gasp and squeal after every step. After the third “oh my gosh, look at the [insert noun here — spider, beautiful flower, antique fan, car that’s about to hit us]”, R was ready to go home.
And my favorite part of the room, our little claw foot (“ONE PERSON AT A TIME”, says the owner) bathtub, complete with a wooden screen and two waffle robes.
After dropping off our things, we went to the local winery for a couple glasses before dinner. Halfway down the pebbled path, I realized with shrieking horror that I forgot my wallet at home. Instantly I was transported back to freshman year in college trying to sneak into hole-in-the-wall bars. I mean, maybe if i part my hair in the middle to show off my grayness or.. if i take off my sunglasses to show my eye wrinkles, won’t they *know* that I’m over 21?? Palms sweaty, we find a little table overlooking the bluffs.
R scurried away to buy a bottle of wine and I tried to maneuver onto a picnic table in a mini jean skirt while still upholding our good name. What not to do: step over the bench with one leg and sit down straddling it, thinking you can slyly pull the other leg over the bench and then under the table. Doesn’t work. Everyone is watching you and wondering why you wore granny panties. Meanwhile R returns with a bottle of white and only one wine glass. “You have to be carded to get a glass”. Quickly, i thought of two options: I can drink from the glass and R can drink from the bottle….or I can drink from the glass while R watches me finish the bottle. I opted for neither and we ended up sharing the glass, while I glanced nervously about for the “people who are suspiciously sharing one glass” patrol.
After a wonderful dinner at a quirky bistro (we got to sit on a comfy leather couch to eat– divine!) and an even better breakfast at the B&B, R & I packed up our things and headed for the Katy Trail. An old railroad track that was ripped out and turned into a biking trail. Beauty, beauty, beauty surrounded us as we passed by the MO river and through old train tunnels that now house pigeons & owls. The morning hours went by way too quickly, and soon we returned our bikes and headed home.