Twain

Sunday we took a field trip to the Mark Twain House in Hartford. It’s a terrific tour and well worth a bit of driving (too bad it’s in Hartford, a city I just can’t figure out – all those nice old Victorian homes surrounded by laundromats, 7-Elevens, and restaurants with names like “Jerk Center” (no lie).).

The house is lovely, designed by an architect who typically designed churches. The exterior is a little bit Tudor, a little bit German, and very nice in its surroundings. Inside, it’s gorgeous. The walls were hand-stenciled by Tiffany and crew, and there are small alcoves everywhere in which you can imagine a small Clemens daughter curled up with a book.

Here’s the exterior. There’s an awful photo in the museum center from when the house was a mass of apartments and this, ah, turret? had a big, heinous fire escape protruding from it. One wonders whether the giggling little girls who rented the rooms had any clue who’d lived here before them.

This was taken off one of the porches. I think we caught the last nice autumn weekend before all the leaves will finally get sucked down off the trees.

And here’s me, looking all pleased with myself as usual. Behind me you can see a bit of the painted bricks – allegedly just as they were painted when the Clemenses were in residence. I’m not much for painted brick, but it did make the whole place look nice (and in keeping with the oranges and reds of the trees this time of year).