It may seem silly to go from the charming river town in which you live to a different charming river town in which you don’t live, for a change of air. In defense of such silliness I can only say it was a different river.
Dean and I took short trip to Stillwater, Minnesota. We spent two nights at the Ann Bean mansion, a bed and breakfast I chose online because when I saw the picture of the place, I thought the hideous brown siding somewhat endearing, even if it was someone's big mistake from a stylistic standpoint. Though the mansion was no doubt all the rage when it was built in the 1870's, time seems to have given it a certain comfortable wabi-sabiness. To my way of thinking, it didn’t seem possible that a place with such siding could be at all pretentious or opulent, like some of the other b&b’s in Stillwater. Very little makes my skin crawl more than ersatz opulence.
The picture above is deceptive, because the house is far bigger than it looks, with half the house available for guests and the other half for the owners, plus an apartment. While the inside is indeed grand, I wouldn’t call it opulent in the least. There’s a certain mid-west comfort to its elegance; most of the grandiosity is packed into the original woodwork, overall dimensions, light fixtures and quirky features. The owners have taken care not to cram it full with knick-knacks and satin fabrics—or perhaps they just haven’t had the time to acquire a lot of knick-knacks, since they are, without a doubt, the youngest inkeepers I’ve ever encountered.
Jeremy & Erin Drews are newlyweds, barely in their thirties, if that. In addition to owning the place, he runs a construction company while Erin takes care of the domestic matters involved in inkeeping. They figure they are on a ten-year plan and that’s being optimistic since, according to them, the burnout rate amongst inkeepers is high. I don’t doubt it. The sheer quantity of pleasant small-talk they have to engage in each morning as they serve breakfast would have me burnt out in about six months. My husband was burnt out by day two.
I think it wouldn’t have been so bad this morning had we been alone with Jeremy and Erin, but we were subjected to the other guests as well—a perky middle-aged blonde woman who reminded me of that semi-homemade Sandra Lee and a woman in her fifties who reminded me of Laura Bush. Between the two of them all they could do was talk about antique furniture and antique milk-glass, how much they have of each, how much their mothers have of each, who stands to inherit what, what towns are good for antiquing and so on and so forth, ad infinitum, ad nauseum. Their husbands pretty much just sat there. Why do some women talk so much? I was tempted to ignore etiquette and ask them who they were going to vote for in the election, just to steer the conversation around to a subject that could include the men, but I’m sure they would have looked at me like I was daft. When the conversation threatened to turn to the subject of writing (“I can appreciate good writing” the blonde exclaimed loftily) Dean bolted from the table--before it was politely agreed upon that the conversation was over--and I bolted right after him. I just couldn’t bear it.
We should have had breakfast in our room. Live and learn.
It isn’t that I’m anti-social; I usually like people. And though small talk isn’t my favorite sort of talk, I can make conversation well enough. The problem is those women thought they were making conversation, when, in fact, they were monopolizing conversation--right through the entire four course breakfast! I suppose their husbands, poor fellows, are used to it.
I don’t know. Maybe those women just never get out of the house to see other women.
Or maybe they don’t have blogs
Anyway, aside from the tale of the four course breakfast that would not die, the trip was relaxing and interesting and I would highly recommend the Ann Bean mansion.
I would not, however, recommend the seared foie gras at La Belle Vie. But that's tomorrow's entry.
8:06:45 PM 
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