Malt and Mnemosyne

I dragged myself across the frozen countryside yesterday to take part in a local Sierra Club open house in the East Falls section of Philadelphia. As soon as I got inside the location it was held, I started looking turning around in circles. It was an old mansion, once the only dwelling in the now-crowded neighborhood, built by the founders of the defunct Hohenadel brewery. The dining room was beautifully paneled in dark, book-matched wood, but had no ceiling. You could see the joists and floorboards above, the PVC plumbing, and the fringe of lath around the gaping hole, like a monk's tonsure.

The fireplace had faces on the ends of the mantel. I was just a bit fascinated—it was like when the image of Marley startled Ebenezer Scrooge by looming from a door knocker. If you like to imagine spooky things, there's nothing quite like a dilapidated mansion, is there?