Back in late-March, when I reported on Gaige and Joey’s visit with us, I mentioned that I had a cool girls’ weekend planned for when Brianna was able to visit.
Well, that weekend FINALLY arrived.
It was actually a busy weekend that started with dinner on Friday night at Allison’s Restaurant in Crofton, Maryland. That’s where Eric, our youngest, is currently working. Within the past year, he started attending Anne Arundel Community College’s culinary arts program. And he LOVES it. All those years of letting him help in the kitchen paid off. He finally found his niche. Which is awesome considering all the difficulties we had getting that boy through school. But that’s a whole ‘nother story…
After a lovely dinner with Eric’s fiancee, Kelsey, and her parents, Jane and Greg, I went to their house, which is where I spent the night. (If you’re wondering about Hubby, I left him at home in Virginia with the dogs.)
Saturday morning, I continued north to Edgewood to get Brianna. Then it was back to Virginia.
We had to hustle as we had a 2:00 PM appointment. I didn’t let her in on the plan for the afternoon as it was supposed to start storming at some point, which meant our plans would have been canceled. She would have been so disappointed and we never would have heard the end of it.
All I told her was that we were going on a ride through the countryside and that I had a 2:00 appointment. She had to be wondering where the heck we were going as the place was pretty darn remote.
I have to give her credit, though her curiosity was probably killing her, she didn’t ask too many questions. As we neared our destination, the roads got steadily narrower, hillier, and windier. We were definitely in what felt like the middle of nowhere, riding through wide-open farmland and through cow pastures. I kept yakking away about how much I like the country, how pretty I thought it was, how much I like critters, etc.
At one point she said, “Do you still have an appointment?” I told her yes. Then she said, “Is it just for you?” After I told her, it was for her, too, she was quiet. She was probably wondering what the heck this appointment could entail in such a remote area.
When we turned in at the entrance to our destination, she read the “trail ride” part of the sign aloud. She probably would have questioned that, but that’s when she spotted the pasture full of horses.
“Horses!” she exclaimed. “G, I want to pet some horses.”
I laughed and told her I thought she would definitely be able to pet a horse.
She was so busy thinking about getting to pet a horse that she didn’t ask any more questions as we parked, got the stuff we needed out of the truck, then headed to the barn to sign in for our trail ride. As I handed the guy the release forms we’d had to fill out in advance and my credit card, she said, “I want to ride a horse.”
When the guy said, “Well good, that’s exactly what you are going to do,” I think she actually squealed.
That’s when the chatter started.
G, I’ve never ridden a horse before. This will be my first time. Where are the horses. Will I get to ride by myself? Which horse will I ride. Have you ever ridden? This will be our first time together. Etc., etc.
Could that smile be any wider?
We waited on the back porch of the barn as the last few folks arrived. The horses were all saddled up and ready to roll.
She was super-excited and declared that she wanted a white one.
Brianna and Applejack
So she was really tickled to learn that she would indeed be riding a white horse. He had brown spots, but was apparently the horse she’d been hoping for. His name was Applejack.
And she got to ride him all by herself!
Brianna and Applejack
Getting to do grown-up seeming stuff, like controlling a horse, is HUGE when you are a kid. Especially when you are only 11 and the stuff you get to do is usually limited by the age and/or abilities of your younger siblings.
Brianna guiding Applejack.
We had to ride single file. I told the ranch folks just to make sure I rode behind her. I wanted to be able to see if anything went wrong. It was also handy for taking pictures.
Riding through the countryside.
The one time I’d ridden previously was when Hubby and I were dating. We were at some little stable in Howard County Maryland on old, tired horses with one thing on their mind. Returning to the barn. It sucked.
This ride experience was MUCH different. It was ten times better. We rode for about ninety minutes, doing a big loop through pastures and woodlands. Over hills. Through dells. Across streams.
It was awesome. Really.
Enjoying the scenery.
Brianna did a fantastic job guiding her horse. Yes, they were docile trail animals, but they did require guidance. Applejack kept wanting to pass the lead horse. Since we were instructed to keep the horses single-file at all times, she had to rein Applejack in frequently.
Brianna was a natural.
I was quite proud of the way Brianna handled herself on Applejack.
I could not have picked a better place for our ride. Having read all about the ranch beforehand, I was really looking forward to our trip. It was everything I had hoped for and more.
The Marriott Ranch, which is where we went riding, is a 4,200-acre ranch owned by the Marriott Corporation.
Bucolic may seem cliched, but it is the best way to describe the place. Hubby and I had happened through the area by chance a couple of weeks earlier while out riding our bikes. When I told him about the place a few days before our trail ride, he remarked that he’d seen a Marriott sign and wondered what that was all about. I mean, the place really is remote. The Appalachian Trail even runs nearby.
Pasture at the trail-ride barn.
In reading about the facility, I was quite intrigued to learn of its history. There’s a manor house located on the original property purchased by Marriott that had always been referred to as Fairfield Farm. The house is now a working bed-and-breakfast inn. In fact, it is the only B&B in the Marriott portfolio of properties.If you follow the Marriott Ranch link I provided earlier, you can read a bit of the history.
Does “Fairfield” ring a bell? Fairfield Inn by Marriott is a lower-cost brand of hotels owned by the Marriott Corporation. Now you know where the name came from.
Original manor house on the Fairfield Farm
It really was a fabulous day. We are both ready to go back.
I told Brianna her Mom would probably enjoy it, too. She wasn’t so sure. When I asked her why she didn’t agree, she said her Mom scares easily and doesn’t like to mess up her clothes. That comment made me laugh.
I wonder what Amy would have to say about that?
I also had to laugh later when we stopped at a country market for drinks. We each bought Sponge Bob ice cream bars. As the guy rang us up, Brianna said, very seriously, “G, I have an important tip for you. Eat the eyeballs last.” After the cashier and I both giggled, she said, “Really. The eyeballs are bubble gum, so you have to eat them last!”
The rest of the weekend was fun, too. After dinner, we watched some movies. And ate some ice cream. Then on Sunday, Brianna and I painted sun-catchers together and baked some blondies.
As usual, the time went by way too fast. But at least we got to make some fun memories together that will hopefully last a lifetime.
I really got a chuckle when, after our ride, I told Brianna you have to be at least ten to ride there.
“That means your brothers can’t do this. Too bad for them, eh?”
“Yeah!” she said, with a conspiratorial giggle. I’m sure she loves knowing it is something she’ll be able to savor all for herself.
We just might have to make this girls’ weekend an annual thing. At least for the next couple of years.
Is it bad to judge a dinner experience by the quality of the margarita? I mean, does it make me sound like a lush?
Ah, whatever. A good margarita is important. I make them at home often, thanks to the lessons learned years ago from our good friend Barry Spice.
The good thing about making margaritas at home is that you can make them taste the way you like them.
Typically, I like to know there’s alcohol in there.
The bad thing about making margaritas at home is, if you are good at it, the ones served in most restaurants pale in comparison to your own. They are usually far too weak.
By weak, I don’t mean I expect lots of alcohol so I can get shitfaced quickly. I mean that margarita mixers are usually pretty sweet and you need a decent proportion of alcohol — tequila, baby! — to cut through that sweetness. I could just order a double shot, but drinks are expensive enough. Can I afford the extra shot? Yes. But it’s the principle of the thing. If I am already paying $7-$10 for ONE drink, I should not have to pay extra to know there’s tequila in there. Know what I’m sayin’?
I actually did a post a while back featuring my favorite margarita, which is pictured below
ToadMama's Famous Blue Margarita
It’s blue because I use blue curacao instead of triple sec for the orange flavor bit. Not only is it tasty, it makes for a very pretty drink!
Anyway… last night, Hubby and I went out for dinner. Our initial destination was Foster’s Grille, a place here in town we hadn’t tried yet. We still haven’t tried it. Because when we got there, we discovered they have an extremely inefficient system where you have to fill out your own order form, pay, get your drink, and then sit down and wait for your food. After one of the counter girls (there were two) explained the system to us, we filled out our sheets and then waited. Girl #2 had to “translate” the order forms the customer before us had completed. While she was busy making sense of those forms, Girl #1 was chatting with some other customer. We waited. When Girl #1 finished her chat, she manned the register, waiting for Girl #2 to finish the translation so she could interpret the orders for Girl #1 to ring in.
We still waited.
When Girl #2 stopped to clarify just one more thing with the other customer, Hubby and I decided to leave. If the wait to order was that painful, we could only imagine what waiting for the food would have been like. Plus, it was loud. I hate loud restaurants.
But leaving was a good thing because we ended up at Rancho El Paso, a nearby Mexican place. We’d eaten there before, but knew we liked the place.
I started off with a margarita.
Surprised? I didn’t think so.
I chose a Sangria Margarita. At other places where I’ve had a Sangria Margarita, I was served what was essentially a frozen lime margarita with a tiny swirl of red sangria to add some color. At Rancho El Paso, I was served a giant goblet that contained a bottom layer of sangria topped by a floating layer of frozen lime margarita.
It looked something like the image shown on the left. But there was way more sangria and, like I said, the sangria was on the bottom.
I didn’t have my phone with me to take a picture, so that image borrowed from the Web will have to do.
The sangria, sipped from the bottom through a straw, and the margarita layers were both delicious. Each packed a healthy dose of alcohol, but not too much. Even Hubby liked them both, and he’s not crazy about strong sangria.
I happily munched the warm corn tortilla chips and yummy, perfectly spiced salsa while I sipped the margarita.
It was so big, it lasted throughout the entire meal which, by the way, was also delicious. I had Fajitas Texanas. That’s chicken, beef, and shrimp served on a sizzling platter of yellow and green bell peppers, onions, and tomatoes. There could have been a few more shrimp, but overall there was plenty of meat there. So much that the girls got a nice portion of leftovers to enjoy at home.
Hubby had beef chimichangas, which he said were also very good.
The only bad thing about the margarita? It was so big and so potent that I couldn’t down a second. And I was glad Hubby was driving because I felt the alcohol as soon as I stood up. I was still feeling it half an hour later after we’d gotten home, and I am no lightweight.
So it was strong, but delicious. I am ready to go back for more. Which is sort of sad considering it is 8:00 AM as I type this!
Barry and his wife, Kathy, are coming down for a visit next weekend. We’re either doing a winery tour or a motorcycle ride. We haven’t decided for sure. One thing I hope we do is go to Rancho El Paso for dinner. Or, at the very least, drinks. I am pretty sure they will be similarly impressed.
I’ll be sure to follow up and let y’all know.
Do you like to taste a bit of alcohol in your margarita? Or are you a fan of the drinks that camouflage the taste with overwhelming sugary sweetness?
My favorite time of day to walk the dogs is an hour or so before sunset. That’s what photographer types refer to as the magic hour. Why magic? Because that’s when the light is absolutely perfect.
The first image below is an example of perfect light captured. I used my point and shoot camera AND was being dragged along by three dogs. The camera isn’t as important here as the angle of the sun.
Enough said. I hope you enjoy today’s virtual stroll through my neighborhood.
It’s been quiet around here lately. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It just doesn’t give me much to blog about.
House at Corner of Main & South 6th Street in Warrenton
Eric and Kelsey were here for a visit this past weekend. It was nice spending time with them. But I didn’t lift the camera even once.
Sometimes I get in photographic slumps. Although I must admit it was nice just enjoying their company.
Eric and Kelsey (from November 2011)
That’s an old picture. Not old-old. It was taken four months ago. I figured I’d better post at least one pic of them in case you’ve forgotten what they look like.
It was fun watching Eric cook. And clean up after himself.
Even the baby of the family is growing up. He’s taking college courses in culinary science and loving it. He made dinner (a jalapeno cornbread casserole) for us on Saturday and breakfast on Sunday (French toast with strawberry sauce).
We don’t get to see them much, so I really enjoyed the visit. I just didn’t take any pictures to prove it.
Those of you who read about Hubby and his sawdust might be wondering if he’s made any progress on the closet project.
Of course he has. We’re talking about Hubby, not me. I have about 30 unfinished projects. Hubby finishes stuff he starts. That’s just one of MANY differences between the two of us.
Before I’ll show you “finished” pics, which are still a LONG way off, I have to share some shots from the deconstruction.
Welcome to our closet.
Our Walk-thru Closet
The closet in our bedroom is probably the biggest thing we don’t like about this house. I still say it is stupid to have to walk through your closet to get to your bathroom. Would it be any dumber to have to walk through your bathroom to get to your closet? I think that would be equally as silly. But the way this house is designed (essentially a big square) it would have to be one or the other. So I guess the walk-thru closet is the lesser of two evils.
It would have seemed less ridiculous if it were properly designed. But there were so many things wrong with that closet. Starting with the carpet on the floor.
The bedroom floor is hardwood. The bathroom floor is ceramic tile. Why just leave carpet in the closet? Weird.
It was poorly organized, too. I guess they were trying to be creative to maximize space. The best way to describe it was one big cluster%$#@.
Stupid Light Switch
The only way to turn the light on in the closet was with a switch on the wall in the bedroom or one in the bathroom. That doesn’t seem too dumb until you think about this… if someone is asleep in the dark bedroom and you need to go into the closet, you either have to remember to shut the door first or risk the sleeper being blinded by the light (revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night — do you remember that Manfred Mann’s Earth Band song?).
Let’s say you do remember to shut the door first, you still have to open it to get into the closet. And, because it opens inward, out pops that blinding swath of light.
So, step one was moving the light switch from the bedroom into the closet. Right inside the door where it makes sense.
Which brings me to stupid thing number three.
There was an ironing board in a little cabinet on the wall just inside the closet door. Which was cool, in a way, if you are a regular ironer of clothes.
Neither of us fit that category.
Then there’s the fact that there was no outlet in the closet, which would be required to actually use an iron. Unless you have one of those old flatirons that you heated on a stove or in front of a fireplace.
For the record, we don’t have a flatiron or a stove. And our fireplace, being gas, just doesn’t throw off that much heat.
There was something else not-quite-right about that cabinet. It was made as a built-in, to be mounted inside the wall so as not to protrude too far into the room.
That cabinet definitely protruded.
When Hubby removed it, he discovered why.
Where the Ironing Board Used to Be
There was a vent pipe (exhaust from the fan in the first floor powder room) behind it. So it couldn’t go into the wall as intended. Rather than relocate the ironing board, the rocket scientist who installed it just pushed really hard to flatten the vent pipe as much as possible and then installed the cabinet on top of it.
The ironing board is gone and now we have a switch inside of the closet where it actually makes sense.
Here are some interior shots of the poorly constructed and not-very-well-designed interior.
Meg
There’s a shot of Meg resting in the closet while Hubby uses the very loud reciprocating saw mere feet away. She was never bothered much by construction noises. She’s even less concerned now that she is pretty much completely deaf.
She’s old.
The young girls, on the other hand, were concerned. They preferred to observe from afar.
Scared of the Noise
After he relocated the light switch, it was time to tear out the carpet.
No More Closet Carpet
It was quite a mess. He also had to tear up all the tack strip used to hold the carpet in place. There was even lots of extra tack strip since they had carpeted around the shelves.
Yeah, that was stupid, too.
What if we had just wanted to move the shelves? We would have been left with holes in the carpet.
Sigh.
Speaking of holes…
The Walls Were a Holey Mess
And the walls behind the shelves? What a mess.
One of the reasons for that was the gazillion nails the installers used to attach the shelves to the wall.
Nail Overload
Rather than tie into a stud, the installers just shot LOTS of nails through the back of the shelving and into the drywall. Each shelf had hundreds, I say HUNDREDS, of nails in it.
Which poor Hubby had to remove since we need those shelves as temporary storage while the cabinets are being built.
The next step is flooring installation.
Exciting stuff, I know. I bet you just can’t wait to read all about it…
It’s the little things in life, you know?
