The Little Schoolhouse

The lot next to my spot in Caledon Mayfair now has on it a small schoolhouse. Although the building may have once housed a chapel, one look inside shows that the structure has been repurposed.

This brings back memories... not all of which are pleasant. Ah well, brave heart, Rhianon.

Outlasted Another Neighbor

My latest neighbor appears to have departed. People come and go in Second Life; that’s nothing new. But I continue to wonder about what drives some folk to invest time (over three months), energy (finding and siting at least two houses), and money (rent on a not-insubstantial parcel), only to abandon it.

Yup, an empty parcel

At this point, though, I’m not surprised. Then again, there are days when I wonder why I hang on to my place.

A More Modest Ambition

My neighbor in Mayfair reverted to his older, smaller house - one that fits on the property better - and rotated the house 90 degrees, which also fits the property better.

The old:



And the new:



And having the same neighbor for more than a month is an unusual treat.

Oh, Immodest Ambition!

Just a few days ago, I noted that I had a new neighbor in Caledon Mayfair, with a modest two-story house and a useful windmill in the back. Here’s the photograph from that Journal entry:



I return to my lodging not a week later, only to see the earlier property replaced by… well, a larger structure:



(The two photographs are taken roughly 90 degrees from one another.) I suppose the upside to a large house on a small property is that there isn’t much lawn to mow.

Easy Go, Easy Come

My lovely forest is gone - trees slain in their prime! - to clear the way for a new home next to mine.

The house looks charming, and the gentleman who owns it even has his own windmill. I only hope he's not one of those types who hires a chamber orchestra to play all night!

Mayfair Woods

My modest place in Caledon Mayfair - my little cottage is certainly no threat to the stature of my fellow residents - has seen a number of neighbors come and go, both businesses and residences. I don’t think my presence has been the kiss of death to these ephemeral folk, though one would be wise to consider all possibilities, especially before placing one’s hard-earned cash on a parcel.

As one can see from the picture below, however, trees have grown on the parcel. The owner, Mr. Steadman Kondor, has dubbed the place Maefayr Woods.



Alternative spelling or no, the woods should provide relief from the summer heat.

The Carnival is in Town

I do love a carnival, and Miss Trilby Minotaur is hosting a small one in Caledon Mayfair!







It brightens up the stodgy place!

Delirium

The predictable result of spending hours in the cold and damp was a fever. For several days I drifted in and out of consciousness. When I was in a more lucid state, Kathy attempted to feed me broth and water. As a slimming plan, it was excellent, but otherwise this diet had little to recommend it.

Eventually the fever broke and, slowly, I began to feel more like myself. I was still very weak, with little energy to leave the house. I hated feeling like an invalid, so I spent my time puttering about, sulking, and generally getting on Kathy's nerves.

In an effort to both cheer me up and get me out from under foot, Kathy said, "What you need, dear sister, is a trip abroad. We should travel to New Babbage."

I sat up on the couch. "New Babbage? Because the air there is exceedingly healthy?" Sarcasm dripped from my voice.

"Scoff if you like. It is true that soot is not in short supply throughout Babbage, and thus may not be a suitable destination for those with weak lungs - your tuberculosis patients, or elderly aunts with asthma. You, on the other hand, are a healthy young lady who needs to regain her strength and, just as importantly, occupy her mind. Strolling about New Babbage is likely to help on both fronts, as we have always found it to be a fascinating place to walk about, and you always seem to be able to find trouble on her streets."

"Hmm, when you put it like that... You might be right. I must protest, however. It's not as though I go looking for trouble. It is true that trouble does seem to have no difficulty finding me." I struggled to my feet, letting a wave of dizziness pass. "You can make the travel arrangements. I'll pack a trunk."

Kathy booked us passage on one of the big passenger airships that plied the Steamlands trade. We were to take the train to Port Caledon in the morning, embark on the airship that evening, and arrive at the main air dock in New Babbage two days later. She wired ahead to Brunel Hall, where we were able to obtain a room for a month. I had to concede that my convalescence had left me terribly bored, and looked forward to seeing what intrigue was currently occurring in Babbage. With some excitement, I retired to my room to pack.

One Flower

The weather in Mayfair so far this winter had been mild, and the snows were not too deep. This was not the case throughout Caledon - witness nearby Rothesay, which was continuously covered in a deep white blanket.

Our luck was not destined to hold, however. Shortly after the new year, after I had recovered from the week-long hangover that resulted from an ill-planned New Year's party but before I forgot the pain involved with that incident, a winter storm raged across the seas from the Mainland, gathering strength over its long ocean journey. For two days the wind howled and snow descended with a fury, burying the landscape.

Kathy and I did not set foot outside our cottage, drinking endless cups of tea, re-reading favorite books, and generally getting on one another's nerves. When, on the third morning, the sun rose and we could see the endless cascade of snow had stopped falling, I could take no longer being confined to the house. Donning my warmest boots, coat, hat, muffler, scarf, and gloves, I forced open the front door - drifts of snow had risen nearly a third of the height of the door - and stepped into the white ocean.

I am not tall, and though the new snow was powdery I struggled to walk through its knee-high depth. For about a half-hour, the effort had a strangely calming effect, and I felt my grumpiness at Kathy dissipate. The next half-hour went by in a blur, with little in my head, and I walked as though in a trance. When I became aware of my surroundings again, I realized I was soaked through to the skin below the waist and freezing cold. Furthermore, I had no idea where I was.

Through my discomfort I realized it was crazy to think I was lost. I had lived in Caledon for years; I knew the place intimately. Yet I would have sworn I had never seen this area before. True, the landscape was different from its usual vibrant colors, displaying little more than a uniform shade of white. But where were the trees, the houses, the people? I was alone in a prairie of snow that extended as far as the eye could see.

The only thing that interrupted the snow was a small object far in the distance. Though hard to tell in the glare, the object appeared to be… a single Caledon rose, growing uncertainly through the blanket of snow. How could this be?

The exhaustion rippled through me as a wave. With single-minded focus, I staggered toward the rose. The rational part of my mind urged me to stop, to harness my fading strength and find shelter. But I was drawn to that unlikely, that impossible rose, alive and growing despite the efforts of Mother Nature. I forced myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, slowly drawing nearer to my prize.

Close now. The rose - and, indeed, it was a Caledon rose - was tantalizingly near. With the last of my strength, I reached out to the flower as though it would re-energize me. I extended my arm, extended my fingers… and found myself falling face first into the snow.

* * *

 I woke in my house, in the parlor, Kathy hovering anxiously over me. Someone - Kathy, I hope - had taken off my wet overclothes and swathed me in layers of blankets. "Welcome back, Rhianon. You gave us quite a scare." I looked around, realizing that the parlor contained a number of my neighbors. I felt very under-dressed.

"What happened?"

"When I finally left my bed, I saw that you were gone. When you didn't return for several hours, I inquired with our neighbors as to whether they had seen you. We followed your footprints in the snow to the meadow behind the house. You had collapsed in the meadow and were freezing to death. Now drink this chicken broth. You're not too old to be bossed around by your elder sister."

"And the rose?"

"The rose? Whatever are you talking about?"

"The Caledon rose, growing out of the snow."

"Sister, you must be more ill than I had thought. How could a rose grow this time of year, much less through the snow?"

I sipped the broth. How indeed? How could I have become lost in the small meadow? So much of what we see is illusion.

(Written to Bella Morte's Where Shadows Lie album, especially "Winter" and "December Dreams," and to Dinosaur Jr.'s I Bet on Sky.)

A New Year

The weak winter sun rose and moved across the sky. Eventually, a beam of sunlight penetrated the front window of my house in Mayfair. The warmth and bright light brought me back to life, and gingerly I opened one eye. Then quickly shut it again, the pain in my head signaling "Danger! Danger!"

A few moments later I tried again, opening my eyes a mere slit. The room spun for a moment before it stabilized. I tried to stand, but my balance was still napping. Slowly, I turned me head left and right, assessing the situation.

To my left: an overturned end table, several champagne glasses on the floor and a sticky pool trickling toward the corner of the room. To my right: two wingback chairs, one on its side, and a large dining table, covered with half-eaten food, half-consumed champagne, empty champagne bottles, and streamers and hats. This looked like my front room, though after a hurricane swept through.
Conclusion: I had hosted a New Year's Day party and this was the aftermath. I groaned, both at the pain in my head and the thought of trying to clean the mess.

The mantle clock started to chime. One, two, three. I clasped my head. Four, five, six. Never have champagne. Well, not more than a bottle at once. Seven, eight, nine, ten. The noise stopped, and I breathed a sigh of relief at the silence.

Well, ten o'clock New Year's morning. Not so bad, really. With great effort, I stood and teetered to the door, where the day's paper had been shoved through the slot. I looked at the date. January 2, 18__. I've been out for an entire day? Good Lord, that must have been some party. I staggered to the kitchen where I found a glass that did not look positively deadly and consumed a quart of water. This was going to be one hell of a year.

First Snow in Mayfair

A light dusting of snow fell in Mayfair, barely enough to stay on the ground in the colder spots.



Nevertheless, it is a sure sign that winter will be upon us. I need to unpack the Christmas decorations!

Moving Day

Thank goodness for elderly relatives with money! I had that unworthy thought as I placed the key in the door of my house in Mayfair. The cottage was many decades old and small, but it was in my price range in the upscale area. I placed my valise on the floor and took a deep breath.

But perhaps I should begin a little earlier in the story.

*** 

I packed the last of my few possessions and turned to look back at my railroad car-cum-house. My sister Kathy looked impatient, tapping her foot and staring pointedly at the carriage waiting below.
"Everything is packed, you've turned the gas off, and we've said good-bye to everyone still left in the neighborhood," Kathy said. "The carriage driver is waiting for us, and time, in this case, is most definitely money."

"I know, I know… I just can't help feeling that we're leaving something behind that we shouldn't be."
Kathy tossed her hair back. "The house is so small that we can hardly have overlooked anything. Now, down the stairs with you, sister, before I send you out the emergency hatch."

"One day you should try it," I said, before realizing that there would be no other days here.


Chez Jameson on Aether Isle, in the shadow of the Sky City

Only a few weeks earlier I had received an urgent note from the Guvnah. Workers at the other end of Aether Isle, where we lived, were digging on unoccupied land and had discovered buried munitions. Had they detonated, no building would be left standing on the island, and even the great Steam Sky City above us might have been badly damaged. Munitions experts arrived to remove the bombs safely. They were almost entirely successful - but the "almost" was a  costly one. One of the workers stumbled in moving one of the last crates of explosives, spilling the contents of the crate. The explosives inside detonated, killing the worker instantly and setting off the few remaining crates. Though the damage to structures on my side of the island wasn't bad, the explosion ripped open a sealed chamber that contained various toxins, likely the byproducts of unsuccessful experiments that had taken place on the island over the years. The toxins ran into the wells on the island, hopelessly poisoning the drinking water supply. The Guvnah wanted residents to move as soon as possible for our own safety.
As this was Aether Isle, the list of possible culprits was lengthy: Mr. Denver Hax, Mrs. Fogwoman Grey-Volare, Miss Glorf Bulmer,… at this point, I was trying to remember what possessed me to live nearby so many dangerous people. Ah, yes: the price was right.

Kathy and I discussed where we might be able to afford to live. Our finances were somewhat precarious at the time, and we were concerned that the best we would be able to manage would be rooms in one of the less savory streets of Victoria City. (Oh, you didn't think Victoria City had unsavory streets? Let me assure you, Dear Reader, that parts of that eminent city should be burned down; no decent person should be seen there.) Then we received a second urgent note, this time with much better news than the first. "Aunt" Petunia, an elderly friend of ours who, when her health declined, stayed in the Tamrannoch sanitarium until she passed away, had left Kathy and me a generous legacy.

 
The Mayfair property at night.

The timing could not have been better. With that money, we were able to find a small piece of property in Mayfair. The property itself was wooded, but we were able to make arrangements to have a ramshackle house moved from a nearby property onto ours. I wasn't sure why the neighbors had not burned down the house as an affront to the eye and a drag on nearby property values, but I was grateful they had not. Contract in hand, we made arrangements to leave the house on Aether Isle.


The house last Christmas.

[OOC notes: The Guvnah did, in fact, discuss restructuring Steam Sky City into a homestead sim, requiring some shifting of residents. As always, he was wonderfully helpful in matching me up with a property that suited my needs. In addition to changes in SSC, I heard that Dundee and Windemere would both be disappearing. Sad news, but I'm hopeful that a slightly smaller Caledon will be a significantly stronger Caledon financially.]

An Early Summer Day in Mayfair

[One of the things that limits the typist's time in Second Life is an increasing inability to sit at the keyboard for lengthy stretches. Some days are better than others. Some days it's not physically possible to have a grand adventure; on those days, a simple walk, usually in Caledon, is what both body and soul need. Victorian-inspired architecture, manicured gardens, and a restorative sit in a park are often what the doctor ordered. - RJ]

Mayfair, one of Caledon's finest neighborhoods. Here are a few sights from a recent walk.

First, the Autism National Committee headquarters in SL:

The gazebo and swing set can be shared with that special someone. Out of the picture to the right are several iron chairs in the shape of butterflies. It's a relaxing spot.

The Mayfair branch of the Caledon Library system (named for Mme. Marie Curie) also provide a place for patrons to sit and read a book in the warm summer air.

This church near the maze (to the far left in the picture) provides an opportunity for quiet reflection.

And where else but the Steamlands can one look at a church and see a floating residence in the background?

Mayfair Town Hall

Many changes have come to Caledon Mayfair since the last time I set foot in that fair section of the nation. Mr. Steadman Kondor has purchased much of the town, styled himself the Duke of Mayfair, and constructed a magnificent town hall.

Below, the ducal offices inside the town hall.

The building is currently housing an art exhibit entitled "Wanderer: A Collection of Art from Romantic Genius Caspar David Friedrich." Below, the upstairs parlor.

Adjascent to the town hall is a plot dubbed Autumn Park. Around the town square, Mr. Kondor has rented out a number of shops. Current tenants include Third Life Books, Pemberly, Four Winds, Trosca Photography, and Mr. Kondor's own publishing business.

Behind the town hall, on the waterfront, is a spot called Jules Verne Wharf, which consists of a glasshouse and a library (not to be confused with the Mayfair Library, part of the Caledon library system). The glasshouse currently hosts an exhibit, in conjunction with the Steelhead Library, on the Wright Brothers. The exhibit, which runs through January 1, is curated by Miss Riven Homewood, of Steelhead. The library, shown below, has titles of interest to adventurous souls.