yay
The only vacation Kat's ever felt rested from.
My mom and grandparents argued all of the way up to SC.
I thought I was going to explode.
We finally arrived at this mansion which I was told was my uncle's father's house. We were to stay there.
I met my uncle's father for the first time. Mr. Farnsworth. 'Nice guy. 'Wine connoisseur, WWII veteran, former Vice President of General Electric.
I've never seen a more beautiful house in my life. Everything was formal, Victorian style. Spiral staircases, hardwood floors, arched windows, the lot of it. The walls were tastefully covered in paintings (one by a dutch master). Needless to say...I spent most of my time looking at them. >.>
The next day Mr. Farnsworth took us to a small airport and showed us his biplanes. 'Ever seen pictures of the Red Baron in his craft? Well, these were one and the same. Anyway, he loves to fly them, still, so he took me and my brother up first.
I must say I LOVED IT. I LOVED IT. I LOVED IT! We did loops and barrel rolls and all sorts of stunts. It was wonderful.
I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Yes, we did have Thanksgiving dinner, but it doesn't really warrant mention.
Then yesterday, we before we left I took a walk through the march. It was beautiful.
Then Mr Farnsworth introduced me to Dottie, a portraint artist he knew, who was going to paint his dead wive.
I've never met a more kind person in my life. She has a terrible, mangling, skin disease that has eaten away at her features and made her look like some eyelashless ghol, deamon, or burn victem, but you don't notice that when she starts talking, because she is so animate, excited, and kind. I think she must have been 90, but at the same time, quite firacely stubborn, and unwilling to let the skin disease kill her. Most people in her shoes would have already been dead, not so full of life. She showed me all of her paintings (that I loved) and told me many many stories. The paintings were so full of coulour! She showed me her studio, and some "tricks of the trade" as she put them (mostly that she used a projecter to trace a bit), then gave me a print of a white cat (which is now hanging in my room) and a small roll of linin canvas.
Then I had to leave.
And my mom and grandparents argued all of the way home.
Except I joined in because the music they were playing and singing along to gave me suicial thoughts and I wanted it OFF. (badly-done opera) My poor ears.
Then my brother joined in because he thought the arguement was stupid.
The end.
My mom and grandparents argued all of the way up to SC.
I thought I was going to explode.
We finally arrived at this mansion which I was told was my uncle's father's house. We were to stay there.
I met my uncle's father for the first time. Mr. Farnsworth. 'Nice guy. 'Wine connoisseur, WWII veteran, former Vice President of General Electric.
I've never seen a more beautiful house in my life. Everything was formal, Victorian style. Spiral staircases, hardwood floors, arched windows, the lot of it. The walls were tastefully covered in paintings (one by a dutch master). Needless to say...I spent most of my time looking at them. >.>
The next day Mr. Farnsworth took us to a small airport and showed us his biplanes. 'Ever seen pictures of the Red Baron in his craft? Well, these were one and the same. Anyway, he loves to fly them, still, so he took me and my brother up first.
I must say I LOVED IT. I LOVED IT. I LOVED IT! We did loops and barrel rolls and all sorts of stunts. It was wonderful.
I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Yes, we did have Thanksgiving dinner, but it doesn't really warrant mention.
Then yesterday, we before we left I took a walk through the march. It was beautiful.
Then Mr Farnsworth introduced me to Dottie, a portraint artist he knew, who was going to paint his dead wive.
I've never met a more kind person in my life. She has a terrible, mangling, skin disease that has eaten away at her features and made her look like some eyelashless ghol, deamon, or burn victem, but you don't notice that when she starts talking, because she is so animate, excited, and kind. I think she must have been 90, but at the same time, quite firacely stubborn, and unwilling to let the skin disease kill her. Most people in her shoes would have already been dead, not so full of life. She showed me all of her paintings (that I loved) and told me many many stories. The paintings were so full of coulour! She showed me her studio, and some "tricks of the trade" as she put them (mostly that she used a projecter to trace a bit), then gave me a print of a white cat (which is now hanging in my room) and a small roll of linin canvas.
Then I had to leave.
And my mom and grandparents argued all of the way home.
Except I joined in because the music they were playing and singing along to gave me suicial thoughts and I wanted it OFF. (badly-done opera) My poor ears.
Then my brother joined in because he thought the arguement was stupid.
The end.