Pretty

There's a lot of ugly shit going on in the world. What's new, right? But with the realization that my kids are growing up way too fast being the cherry on top of this crap sundae, I decided that I need to share these photos from our recent family beach vacation with you. They make me smile, chill, and relax, and I hope you do the same.
















(OK. That last one wasn't taken on our vacation but rather yesterday before we left for the first day of kindergarten and the first day of the last year of pre-k. Lord help us.)

It's About Danged Time. I KNOW!

Here I am, over two weeks later, finally giving you a recap of my group's investigation of Waverly Hills Sanatorium.

I know. I SUCK! There, I said it before you did.

And this recap isn't going to include any evidence. I know. I REALLY, TRULY SUCK! My team (Paranormal Georgia Investigations) is still going over evidence and we're meeting on July 30th to share what we found. After my team has shared, then I'll share with all of you. Until then, I've got some pictures and stories. Cool?

For those of you who don't know what or where Waverly Hills is or was, then go here. Read it. I'll be here until you get back.

Done? Awesome.

Back in January, I spent FOUR DAYS on the phone (Seriously, four days. I'm not even kidding.) trying to reserve our private investigation night. Yeah. Their phone lines were tied up with other groups calling to make reservations. When I finally got through, July 10, 2011 became our date, our night to conquer "one of the most haunted locations in the world."



This place is massive and intimidating as heck. Even without the paranormal reputation, it's scary. Paint is chipping, doors are off their hinges, and the first floor is painted like a haunted house (in support of the ownership's annual Halloween Haunted House). You don't need ghosts to feel creeped out at 2AM in the massive hallways of this building.



I mean, look at it. Modern decay in all its glory. I could have spent eight daylight hours here, roaming the property and taking pictures, forget the eight hour night investigation.



The entire front of the second, third, and fourth floors are open to the outside. Originally covered in just metal screens, this is where the tuberculosis patients spent every day, rain or shine, hot or cold, breathing in fresh air because before antibiotics, health care professionals thought fresh air and sunshine cured tuberculosis. Little did they know that this "cure" was just a long, slow path to the inevitable death.



The hardest part to swallow about the history of this hospital was the room on the fifth floor where the children stayed. If both parents had tuberculosis, it was almost guaranteed that their children would have it, too. The children were given the best spot in the facility, the fifth floor roof, with the best access to fresh air, sunshine, and views of Louisville. Ty-man and I (yep, he went, too) wandered this fifth floor room trying to imagine our kids here. And we couldn't. We couldn't even begin to fathom what it was like bringing our kids here and leaving them, hoping for a cure but knowing deep down they would probably never walk out.



I even took a walk down to the bottom of the body chute with Muskrat and Dave. Originally, this sloping tunnel was used to carry supplies to the hospital. As the number of patient deaths increased, the bodies were brought down into this tunnel, out this gate, and into an ambulance. This was done so that the death numbers would be hidden from the patients. Depression over knowing you were close to death didn't help with the overall pre-antibiotic TB cure.



Let's not forget the annual haunted house decor. I'll never turn down an opportunity to do a sorority pose with a life-size gargoyle!

We all saw shadows during our eight hour long investigation. There were also a few noises we couldn't explain. Unfortunately, no one saw a full-body apparition, no one was shoved or pushed, no doors slammed shut, and no one peed their pants. But our EVP evidence has been an absolute goldmine. I can't wait to share those with you.



Oh, and? That flashlight on the right? Is on in that picture because it turned itself on.

You heard me.

How's them apples?

PS Thanks Muskrat, Dave, and Adam for going with us and sharing in our big night!

Easter Sexeh

I inherited my interest in photography from my Uncle Curtis. Sadly, I'm nowhere near the photographer he was, but I have fun with it. In particular, I love taking close-ups of flowers. If you dropped me off at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens, with a camera, I would probably never come out.

My in-laws have a beautiful piece of property in the north Georgia mountains and they have worked hard for the last eight years to turn that property into their mountain paradise. This time of year there are a plethora of flowers and whenever I'm there with my camera, I go crazy with the flower pictures.

After the kids' egg hunt, I took off for the driveway where I saw some beautiful, pink clematis blooming. (Aside: A former friend of mine always called it flowering clitoris. Now, whenever I see a clematis, I have to stop myself, put the proper word in my head, and not just sputter out WOW! That's a beautiful clitoris! I didn't know they came in blue?!)


Pretty clitoris clematis. Anyhoo, the Ty-man followed me, snagged the camera, and said OK. Get up against that wall and do the sexeh!

Me. Being sexy. It is for to laugh. So, I tried really hard. Can't you tell by the expression on my face that I'm trying to hold back the laughter?


Then? I lost it.


Serious belly-laughter ensued. I cannot be sexy without cracking my own shit up.


I managed to get in one more pose. A very skeptical, Am I bringing teh sexeh? pose.


It's hard to be sexy in Crocs and a skort, but hey, you do what you gotta do.

Thank God I found a rhododendron...

Submariners

When you ask the Ty-man what could have been, he will say Navy submariner. That's what he wanted to be. His dreams involved being an officer on board a US Navy submarine. Said dreams were yanked from him the first run up Crown Mountain. At North Georgia College & State University, all incoming, brand-new, ROTC cadets are required to spend the week before school at "Frog Week." I guess you could call Frog Week the NGCSU version of Hell Week, the culmination of which is a 5K run up, way up, and down Crown Mountain.

Ty-man ran up and down that thing and had to be held up by his fellow Bravo Company cadets as they entered the drill field. When they let go, he collapsed. As the weeks progressed, and the running didn't get any easier, a doctor finally diagnosed Ty-man with athletic-induced asthma. This means that at rest, his lungs are fine. If he runs, or fights a current, or over-exerts himself in any way, Ty's lungs shut down in an asthma attack of nasty proportions.

The US Navy was no longer an option.

Before our trip to Curaçao, we found out about the Curasub, a five-person research sub built by Nuytco Research Ltd., and stationed at Substation Curaçao. All the dream of mastermind Adriaan "Dutch" Schrier, the Curasub is in place for not only research (NASA and the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution have shown interest in utilizing the sub) but to also show the average Joe and Jane the extreme depths of the ocean. Dutch's dream is to allow anyone the chance to dive the deepest depths only a handful of researchers have seen. After all, tourists have already breached space, why not the ocean?

Topside, we signed our lives away.


The pre-dive checks had already been made by our sub driver Michiel and after we signed off on the dive, he gave us our briefing.


We learned that everything on the sub is redundant, the batteries, the CO₂ scrubbers, and the oxygen tanks. Only half of each is used during the dive with the other half of each tapped in case of emergency. There is enough battery power/caustic scrubber/oxygen to keep us alive for five days and it only takes two days for a second sub to be flown in from Canada. And, as Michiel put it, we would be famous when we emerged.

Well, hell I thought, just two days? Let's go, baby!

Shoes make the sub dirty. So, on with teh sexy sub socks!


Being 5-feet 5-inches does not make for an easy or graceful entry into this thing. I wasn't quite tall enough to stand on the stool and hold onto the sides with my armpits. If you'll notice, behind that smile, I'm thinking Dear God, don't make me look like a complete idiot getting into this thing. I don't want to see this on Curaçao's Funniest Home Videos.


Ty-man, being a giant, had no problem getting in. It was during the fitting-in-it part that he was a bit squished over.


As we descended, I watched the emotions move across Ty's face. Wonder, joy, happiness, glee, and awe. He had them all. And I could see the mental calculations If I save x% of the salary each year, then by the time I'm 65 I can probably buy one of these for Lake Lanier. Yeah! That's it! The Ty-sub! He? Was giddy.


See that big grin on his face? Yeah. That's what I'm talking about.



The Curasub looks big but trust me, it isn't. There's barely enough room for five people and four of us rode that day: Ty-man, me, Michiel, and an intern. While our rear-ends were in Michiel's face, his feet were next to our noses. Yeah, crazy-small. But when you start paying attention to the ocean around you, you don't even notice the close-quarters.


See that? That's us, at 440 feet, looking at the propeller of the Stella Mares.

Yup, I totally put that depth in my dive log book. Yup, I'm a dork.

Towards the end of our dive, we checked out a century-old elephant ear sponge at 111 feet. Gorgeous, don't you think?

The sponge, not Ty's butt. Well, OK, that too.

Diving to the depths of the ocean is the last frontier of our species. Only two men have been to the bottom of the ocean but we've sent 12 men to the moon and continue to send men and women into orbit around our planet. Seven tourists have traveled Mach 25 around the Earth and yet... how many of us average citizens have visited the Titanic?

I'm not saying it's going to be cheap, but Dutch has made the first move into making the depths accessible to everyone and I'm all for it.

Like I said before, Robert Ballard better watch his back.


P.S. If you have about ten minutes, check out these two videos from the Discovery channel about the Curasub and see it in action! Video 1 and video 2.

P.P.S. Both pictures of the Curasub, taken from outside the sub while it was in the water, were taken by underwater photograph Barry B. Brown. Check out his amazing blog here.

This Post Brought To You By Sore Throats. And Rum.

This is John:


You all met him previously when we went ruby mining. He's the husband of my beautiful sorority sister Toni.

John's a great guy. I call him my "snorkel spouse." He and I have been known to get into plenty of trouble with some fins and lots of water.

But last week, in Curaçao, John exceeded my snorkel limit.

This is us, starting off on what I thought would be an innocuous exploration of the house reef.


Little did we know...

Here is our resort:


And this is the route of Death Snorkel Expedition 2010:

(Oh, yeah. Click on that sucker and make it bigger.)

What made this the Death Snorkel was the current. On our way out, we fought against the push of the ocean. We finally found, well past the dolphin pools, a ladder and a walkway through the aquarium. Ah, wonderful. We're saved! In the little lagoon area at the base of the ladder were four teens snorkeling and having fun. My first indication that getting out here was a bad idea was the arm punch I received from one of the riff-raff. Now, mind you, we're still in the water. So, I whipped my head around and I was all WTF? and his face (behind the mask and snorkel) was all Who the Hell are you? (but read that in Dutch because he was probably Dutch, which according to Babelfish translates as Who is u? but I'm 99.9% sure Babelfish is wrong and can, therefore, suck it.) and suddenly, I found myself in an underwater Robert DeNiro moment (You talkin' to me?!?).

John and I exited the water, relieved that the madness of Death Snorkel Expedition 2010 was over, and who should we meet but the Evil Dolphin Trainer who yelled at us to turn around and go back. She was Dutch, too, and when she started shooing us back into the water with her hands, I knew we were cooked. So, we jumped back in the water and headed back the way we came. This time, the current pushed us but the waves sometimes crested over the top of my snorkel.

Hello! Mouthful of saltwater line 3!

By the time we returned to our beach, my legs and ankles were killing me and my lungs and heart were calling for a timeout. We kissed the sand, kissed our beloved spouses, and trudged back to our rooms. Now, you're probably wondering why I went into this whole, long, boring diatribe. Well, it's because I'm sick. I'm back from vacation and I'm sitting here with a nasty sore throat and an aching head. I'm just feeling yucky and I blame John. Because he's an easy target. Because he pouted and was all DER! You're going to go snorkeling with me right? RIGHT?!? It's going to be fu-un! I promise! Because he was coming off a cold when we arrived in Curaçao. Because I'm sure I woke up in the middle of the night last Tuesday and watched John lick all the doorknobs in our condo.* And because he took this picture of me:


And for that, he must pay.

*OK. He wasn't licking doorknobs. But he was injecting live rhinovirus into our rum drinks.

The Dutch Know How to Run an Island

OR

WHY I FRAKKING LOVE CURAÇAO!

You start the week with a gorgeous sunset:


Add nine non-native lionfish found during six separate dives:


A scorpionfish who doesn't know jack about camouflage:


Since it's close to Halloween, you also need some brains, BRAINS, BRAINS!


Mix in some gorgeous Dutch architecture and blue skies:


Give in to the awesomeness of Caribbean color schemes and WTF is an HOA?


Add a kiss from a dolphin named Annie:


Don't forget some discordant dolphin singing courtesy of Annie and Caiyo:


Throw in a five-person research sub courtesy of Substation Curaçao:


And a healthy pinch of Ty-man who saw the ocean at 441 feet:


All for the love of a deep shipwreck called the Stella Maris:


Look out Robert Ballard, here she comes!


Yep, it was an awesome week. Fill you in on the details as the days progress. Let's just say that I'm one happy scuba diver!