Siobhlogger and I headed south this week for a meeting of our academic peeps in Colonial Williamsburg. In an attempt to fully submerge ourselves in our colonial pasts, we stayed at one of the colonial houses on the Duke of Gloucester Street.

The Siobhlogger, ever the studious one, read to me about the history of our house, once owned by Orlando Jones. We immediately started calling it the Orlando Bloom house.
Our very sweet room where we each had our own little bed and slept cozily under the eaves.

Our proprietors were concerned that we might not be fully rested from our time travel.
The Duke of Gloucester Street, complete with anachronistic jogger in protective day glo (who's probably packing some GU)


Run, fool, lest the time transvestites (aka historical reinactors) arrive to kick ye arse back into the 21st century. Sadly, most of the TTs lack the cardiovascular fitness to catch them. And those capes can really hold you back.
The Siohglogger and I talked about the ability of our environment to fully bring the 18th century to us so that we felt fully steeped in that past. The result? Yeah, not so much. We blame the joggers.
But we did like the gardens. Our garden:

And our neighbor's garden.

We did see an ode to knitting in the W&M bookstore window.
And, there was knitting. When packing I found the socks for Nephew #1 and finished them.

One more pair to go.
And I've also been working on a sweater for LL using some King Tut cotton and EZ's seamless raglan pattern.

Now I'm back home and no parts of me have been left behind in the 18th century. Off to get some treats and some sleep. Oh, and does anyone know where I can get some Virginia ham in Massachusetts?