So beautiful, it's scary

TG took me to a cemetery last weekend.

Talk about your hopeless romantics.

Our chosen haunt was Elmwood Cemetery in Charlotte, North Carolina.

It was TG's maiden voyage to this particular Elmwood -- practically every southern city of any size has one; trust me -- but my first visit took place at the tail end of last October, with Erica in tow.

As historic cemeteries go, it's a big one. Making it more exciting is the ghostly backdrop of Charlotte's stunning skyline.

The heat has been holding on for longer than usual this fall in the Carolinas. And in the Carolinas, that's saying something.

When I walked Elmwood Charlotte on the last day of October 2014, it was at least ten degrees cooler than this past Saturday. I felt every degree unless I was in the shade, standing still.

Click on this next one. Go ahead; don't be afraid.

And the humidity? Well let's just say if one could trade humidity for youth, I'd be nine again.

In fact I'm fixing to lose my patience with, if not the actual heat (which technically is fairly normal), then both the humidity and the mosquitoes in Columbia, and ask TG to just go ahead and re-open the pool.

At any rate, despite being somewhat hampered by climatic conditions, I did my best to photograph the corners of Elmwood Charlotte that I was able to explore this time.

As always, it was a privilege to spend quality leisurely time amongst those who have perfected the art of hiding in plain sight.

Nature, with its serene unquestioning beauty, is exceptionally comforting. Don't forget to look up.

But everywhere you really look, there is something interesting to see.

Last year when I drove away from Elmwood Charlotte, I promised it to come back in the spring, and take pictures of its flowers. It was a promise I did not keep.

I'm glad there's always next year.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Fall-Back Weekend

So soggy for all that's happened

It's raining again, reminding me that I promised you pictures of Columbia's recent "thousand-year rain" -- or rather, some of its aftereffects.

The Columbia area is fairly crammed with lakes, rivers, creeks, streams, rivulets, et cetera. Also much pondishness is about.

There are lots of dams. I don't know how many. We live less than two miles from Lake Murray, a large man-made lake with over five hundred miles of shoreline.

It has a dam: called interchangeably the Dreher Shoals Dam and the Saluda Dam.

We just call it the dam. "I'm going over the dam to Wal-Mart," someone might say. Or not, depending on which Wal-Mart they're aiming for.

You get my drift. In any case, the dam that dams up Lake Murray didn't break.

Twelvemile Creek was another story. It meanders through many miles (at least twelve) of Lexington County (where I live), emptying into at least one lake and several ponds as it goes.

It is controlled in certain places by three dams.

All three dams broke on Sunday, October fourth.

I've never seen one of those dams -- the one at Barr Lake -- and in fact didn't know it existed until this happened. 

Of the remaining two, only one was familiar to me: Gibson Pond Dam, where I've spent lots of happy hours and taken many, many pictures.

Here's one of Erica and Javier, on an early spring outing three-or-so years ago.

As you can see, there's a heavily-wooded park beside the pond, and places to swing and watch the ducks, or loll at picnic tables, or fish from a pier, plus an elaborate system of walkways and steps designed to get you right down beside the small, aging dam's rushing waters.

Here is Gibson Pond in more peaceful days:

See what I mean? It was wildly popular with the local waterfowl population.

Today their habitat is substantially more shallow. I am sure they're bewildered.

Here's a picture of my nephew and his wife, with the dam behind them:

Javier liked to walk there too.

It was wet and wild fun for a dog that doesn't get out much.

Here's how the Gibson Pond Dam looks now:

The walkways were destroyed too, or at least rendered dangerous to use.

There's lots of crime scene tape so folks get the message and stay out.

The overpass running across Twelvemile Creek at the dam was open, and I wish I'd gotten some photos from that vantage point, looking back at the broken dam. Apologies. I was short on time.

Moving along upstream, the third and last dam to break (although not necessarily in that order; someone told me this dam broke first) was the very old earthen dam at Lexington Mill Pond.

The old mill is exactly what it sounds like: A cotton mill built in the last decade of the nineteenth century.

It has been preserved and restored and for many years has housed a number of businesses.

It's nice to see that although the dam broke and a great deal of property was destroyed, someone's sense of humor remained intact.

But it's a shame they're missing that E. Oh and an I.

Lean times.

In the above photo you can see by the dark stain on the brick, how far the water came up into the old mill.

Whatever was behind these doors is now sodden rubble. But at least she said yes.

The tall old smokestack was unfazed.

In the back part of the old mill, the damage was extensive. TG clambered up over some rubble to take this picture for you:

He took this one too. Click these to embiggen.

The water was still rushing strong when we were there a few weeks ago.

The metal structure is the remains of a footbridge that people could use to walk across to the mill shops from an overflow parking lot.

Before the flood, it was asphalt all the way up to the far edge of that little bridge. It's all gone now.

To help give you extra perspective, here's an aerial video taken on the day the dams broke. It's not exciting but you can see from the air, everything I've showed you from the ground.

TG just reminded me that I promised you I'd post this on Monday. Here it is Tuesday morning (technically) but as far as I'm concerned it's still Monday (technically) because I haven't gone to bed yet.

That's a situation I plan to remedy within moments. Another rainy day is promised for tomorrow. I mean today.

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Happy Monday Tuesday New Week

Placeholder :: Here I stand

I got an email from a friend, just checking to verify that I was still alive.

I am. And thank you.

But I figured it's time to stop malingering when it comes to this website.

I've been distracted.

I'd apologize but I figure that's lame.

So here you go: Dagny, wearing her first real shoes.

Sixteen months old. Not quite walking but definitely standing.

It is a step in the right direction.

I predict that by next Saturday, she will be trotting all over the place.

And yes, I did get you some pictures of the broken dams.

I'll share them with you on Monday.

And that is a promise I won't break.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Weekend

Ahoy and avast

Today is the first day in the better part of two weeks in which the sun has shone in Columbia for more than a few minutes.

Behold the current meteorological gorgeousness:

Being a pluviophile -- one who loves rain -- I am neither depressed nor disconcerted by wet or otherwise dramatic weather. Not even days upon days of it.

But then, I was barely inconvenienced by the storms that recently wracked our beloved Palmetto State.

Despite the thousand-year rain, flooding of Biblical proportions, and more than half of South Carolina being underwater, I am here to report that the Weber domicile is (for the most part) dry.

We lost power for all of Sunday and our sunroom took a hit flooding-wise, but that's the extent of it.

Many others did not get off so easily. My heart aches for them.

I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you to everyone all over America -- friends, readers, blogging buddies, even a family member or two -- who texted, called, or emailed to check up on us.

Your concern truly touched our hearts.

I'm going out in search of the half of South Carolina that is underwater. Don't judge me for saying I truly hope I see a floating casket. They will all be put back.

If I return unscathed, pictures will be forthcoming.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday