Ghost spottings

My reading has always nurtured my imagination, and my imagination has always nurtured my reading. I've never been sure which came first, but they are both alive and well, sometimes disturbingly so. Like the time I was working as a summer associate at a law firm in Philadelphia during the summer of 2006. I had just reread The Great Gatsby and was resisting the urge to slap my mentor on the shoulder and tell him not to worry about a thing, 'ol sport. We'll win that trial alright. We were out wining and dining clients at one of those power lunches (I can barely recall the perks of the private sector) at the Capital Grille in downtown Philly. I was positively haunted by a painting on the wall that I swore was an exact replication of Daisy as I imagined her. I can still picture it in my mind and would fancy revisiting the restaurant for the sole purpose of re-creeping myself out.

On that note, Gerry and I had a lovely weekend in Maryland for his birthday. We stayed at the Inn at Perry Cabin, an upscale inn in St. Michaels, a charming coastal town along the Chesapeake. We had some time to kill before our dinner reservations (Maryland crab cakes all weekend mmm...) so we took a drive to Tilghman Island, a small, rural island with nothing but small farms and old homes. Naturally I pulled over and asked Gerry if he would kindly snap a few photos of the Sawtelle farm (see earlier book review of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle):

And we thought the book took place in rural Wisconsin? Can't you see Edgar through the trees, walking the edge of the forest with Almondine?