What's With the Newel Post?

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I have to admit, I set you up for failure (Blogger is losing it right now or I'd link you to the post named "The End of Leave"). Only a twisted, puzzle-solving mind (that knew the answer beforehand) could have guessed the significance of the newel post. I'm sorry. I suck.

I was impressed that Willow Tree actually put Google onto it (Google did NOT fail you, friend).
June Freaking Cleaver (love her blog name) was sitting on the answer when she said, "I knew the quote..."

Hints actually IN the post?:
"OK, NO ONE in my family would even get that. They actually did things with their lives rather than sit in trees and read books all day"
and
"One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other."

Other clues were more for people who have followed me for the two years I've blogged or who know me in real life.
I'm a voracious reader.
I have favourites that I read (and watch) over and over.
I have loved a proud (but misunderstood) man for years...

The (anti-climatic) answer:

in a minute.

First, you must have the background of the photo.

We travel a little haphazardly. We kind of pick a destination and then let our guide books lead the way. With Betty (our sat nav), the possibilities of taking detours are endless.
After cramming in two weeks' worth of sights in two days, we were trying to make it home by a decent hour. I poured over the three books sitting in my lap, wondering what we might have left behind when I realized that we had left the Winchester area.

Winchester?! Chawton is by Winchester!!

I got excited and started trying to determine exactly where we were and how much back-tracking I could lead my husband through without him catching on. He's a good sport when it comes to spoiling me and knowing how much this site would mean, he pulled over and we set the coordinates.
It was only 30 minutes before we were pulling by a red brick house as Betty declared, "You have reached your destination".
I sure had and I almost got out of the car while it was still moving.

I rushed into the door, glimpsing the sign that stated, "Closing at 5.30. Last entrance 4.30"
My hands were slapping against my sides looking for my camera bag or my phone-- something that might tell me the time. Stepping into the doorway, I understood the looks I was getting from behind the desk instantly.
I spoke first,
"Have I made it too late? Is it still possible to come in?"

Wording the question, "Are you closed?" or letting her tell me they were closed first, would've sealed my fate. As it was, I held my breath and hoped my sincerity was obvious. THIS WAS IMPORTANT TO ME.
Her demeanor changed, "Well, are you all here?" I slowly looked behind me...

I answered that it was only me-- that I was alone--no way was I waiting for the clan and maybe missing the opportunity entirely.
She went on, "the last entrance WAS half four, but if you've come a long way..."

This is where I discovered that the nice me will be trampled by the wicked me in an instant if it's important enough--I had already thrown my family in front of the proverbial bus, what's an additional lie?

"I have! I've come from the U.S.!"

"I could tell," she smiled and took the seven pounds from my trembling hand.

Another couple stepped in and she abruptly told them that the place was closed but she was only letting me in because I had traveled all the way from the United States.

"That's where we're from" they exclaimed despairingly.

I felt pretty small... for about 30 seconds as I headed in.
(ok, I really did feel bad and wanted to offer pictures or whatever, but it sounded so stupid so I didn't).

It was the fastest tour I have ever done. I photographed anything that required reading and just tried to absorb what I was seeing. There was SO much more to see than I ever expected.



The wooden floors creaked under my rushing steps. Old portraits watched me glide from room to room.
In minutes I had the place to myself to capture (people-free) every angle.

Descending the stairs,
my hand slipped down the smooth handrail. It came to rest on the newel post and
for a time-stopping moment,

I looked at my hand and realized
that the great Jane Austen once slid her hand along this very place. Her hand once rested where mine now was.
It was one of those moments I will never forget.

Note: Please try to restrain yourselves from pointing out that this entire banister could have been replaced since she was writing Pride and Prejudice in this very house and just let me be blissfully exist in my dream state.

JANE AUSTEN's House (and a ruthless American)

August 2009