Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Review of richmond downtown apartments::How Far Is the Flight from the West Palm Beach Airport to ...







Review of richmond downtown apartments::How Far Is the Flight from the West Palm Beach Airport to ...








Every               since               I               was               in               fifth               grade               and               my               teacher               read               to               us               "The               Tell-Tale               Heart,"               I               have               been               both               frightened               by               and               fascinated               with               Edgar               Allan               Poe.

My               mind               wouldn't               let               me               forget               the               pieces               of               the               old               man               with               the               vulture               eye               buried               under               the               floorboard.

Later,               when               I               learned               more               about               Poe's               life               story,               it               became               evident,               at               least               to               me,               that               it               was               his               own               experiences               that               allowed               him               to               write               such               fantastically               gruesome               tales.

Poe's               father               left               the               family               when               his               son               was               just               a               year               old               and               by               the               time               he               was               two,               consumption               (tuberculosis)               had               claimed               his               mother.

The               orphaned               boy               went               to               live               with               a               wealthy               family,               the               Allans,               but               his               stepfather               was               indifferent.

Poe               struggled               all               his               life,               barely               making               enough               to               provide               for               his               extended               family.

He               lost               his               wife               Virginia               to               consumption               as               well               and               Poe,               already               a               heavy               drinker,               sought               solace               in               the               bottle.

The               writer               in               me               was               compelled               to               retrace               his               steps               by               literally               visiting               places               he               had               lived               to               try               to               understand               more               about               what               drove               him               to               write               as               he               did.
               My               family               recently               took               a               trip               to               Quantico,               Virginia               to               see               a               friend               retire               from               the               Marine               Corps.

We               decided               to               take               the               opportunity               to               go               visit               another               friend               who               lived               in               Philadelphia.

While               in               Quantico,               I               casually               mentioned               to               my               husband               that,               while               I               had               been               to               the               Poe               Museum               in               Richmond               as               well               as               his               mother               Elizabeth's               grave,               I               never               made               it               up               to               Baltimore               to               see               his               gravesite.

Aware               of               my               Poe               obsession,               my               husband               begrudgingly               promised               he               would               take               me               there               since               we               passed               through               Baltimore               on               the               way               to               Philly.
               Located               in               the               middle               of               downtown               Baltimore,               you               could               see               Poe's               grave               from               the               street.

It               was               large               and               white,               but               it               still               had               a               melancholy               feel               to               it.

The               top               of               the               monument               was               shadowy               with               stains               from               the               years               of               weather.

In               the               middle               was               a               large               medal               circle               with               Poe's               depiction,               but               it               was               so               dark,               you               could               hardly               make               out               his               grim               face.

How               perfectly               appropriate               for               a               character               such               as               Poe.

I               notice               someone               had               left               roses               at               the               base               of               the               monument.

I               was               not               the               only               Poe               fan               to               make               this               pilgrimage.

In               fact,               as               we               mingled               around               the               graveyard               that               sunny               day,               several               others               walked               up               to               study               the               monument.
               As               we               went               to               leave,               I               saw               a               sign               that               said               "Poe               House"               and               pointed               straight               ahead.

I               knew               his               grave               was               in               Baltimore,               but               I               didn't               know               there               was               a               house               -               oh               joy!

I               headed               my               husband               in               the               direction               of               the               sign.

We               entered               what               looked               like               a               rundown               housing               project.

My               husband               looked               at               me               a               bit               apprehensively,               but               we               both               knew               I               wasn't               going               to               be               happy               until               we               found               the               house.

Not               wanting               to               hear               me               whine               all               the               way               to               Philly,               he               drove               around               the               block,               but               the               house               was               nowhere               to               be               found.

We               drove               the               block               again,               still               missing               the               house.

How               hard               could               it               be               to               find               a               house               in               the               middle               of               a               housing               project?
               As               it               turned               out,               the               house               was               attached               to               one               of               the               apartments               in               the               housing               project,               so               it               was               quite               easy               to               overlook.

It               was               in               such               a               bad               neighborhood,               you               had               to               knock               on               the               door               so               the               curator,               Jeff               Jerome,               could               check               the               close               circuit               camera               to               see               you               were               actually               a               Poe               fan               and               not               some               crazed               gangster               looking               to               stick               him               up               I               suppose.

It               was               a               bit               disconcerting,               yet               at               the               same               time               it               seemed               appropriate               that               the               Poe               house               would               be               in               such               a               dilapidated               neighborhood.

After               all,               he               sold               "The               Raven"               for               a               mere               $9.
               We               knocked,               Jerome               opened               the               door,               and               we               walked               into               a               terribly               cramped,               darkly               lit               room.

Jerome               told               us               that               Poe               lived               there               with               his               aunt               Maria,               her               mother               Elizabeth,               her               daughter               Virginia,               and               perhaps               even               her               son               Henry               at               times.

It               seemed               like               there               was               hardly               enough               room               in               this               house               for               one               person,               much               less               four               or               five.

After               seeing               the               first               two               rooms,               we               went               up               the               incredibly               narrow               steep               staircase               to               the               second               story.
               There               were               two               rooms               on               the               second               story,               then               another               narrow               and               steep               staircase               that               led               up               to               an               attic               bedroom               which               was               closed               off.

I               was               a               bit               disappointed               that               the               house               held               very               few               items               that               Poe               had               actually               owned.

But,               I               was               standing               in               a               tiny               house               where               Poe               once               ate,               slept,               and               wrote.

I               was               walking               on               the               same               floor               he               had               walked               on               and               looking               at               the               same               walls               he               had               seen               day               in               and               day               out.

It               was               easy               to               physically               see               why               his               stories               were               so               gloomy               and               filled               with               horrific               tales               of               death.

For               a               few               moments,               I               was               in               Poe               heaven.






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