We've decided that Sweet G will be the only one traveling down to Belize in the next week or so. Our decision is partly economic, and partly because he is the one who needs to reassure himself that this is the direction we proceed in. He wants to revisit the property and stop in at the various Ministries to determine the best way to relocate our belongings without paying huge duties. This is less a function of legislature, and more of the clerk's mood that day.
I once spent three days in Belize City, a rather rough place that all guide books suggest you leave as quickly as possible on your way to anywhere else, waiting to receive a pickup truck that we had shipped down from Miami. The first day was occupied with a customs expediter, a man hired to negotiate and speed through the ridiculous process. I had taken the bus into town that morning, and my plan to drive home that evening in time for dinner was dashed when the close of business came before the paperwork could be submitted, leaving me to find a place to stay, with nothing but the clothes on my back, one credit card, and $3,000 cash for duty fees.
Day two, same clothes, no truck. Business there operates like an old mule: push, and it pushes back; push harder and it comes to a complete halt.
Patience is a virtue, but too much can hurt you, so on the third day when I burst into the customs office at 9:00:01 AM, and was told that my now approved paperwork had been misplaced, I resorted to tears. They quickly located my forms. Racing between three more offices for final release stamps, and an examination of the truck's tire treads by the agricultural officer for any contamination -- which amounted to him bending over and saying, "OK" -- I was surprised to see our farm manager, who had traveled into town in search of me, worried that I must surely have been murdered by then, but bringing a change of clothes in case I wasn't.
I was one of the lucky ones.
Anyone who's had any business dealings in the Caribbean understands the absurdity of it all. For those of you who haven't, I recommend reading Herman Wouk's Don't Stop the Carnival, a funny story about a former Broadway press agent, who pursues his dream of running a hotel in the tropics.
Coincidentally, this is Jimmy Buffett's favorite book, and one which he and Herman Wouk collaborated on to produce a musical, with Wouk writing the book, and Buffett, the music and lyrics. This production was being tried out off-Broadway, at the Coconut Grove Playhouse in Miami, just as I was taking my early retirement from a job as a public relations rep for a touring Broadway producer in Miami. Mr. Buffett was also the keynote speaker at our annual marketing conference that year, but unfortunately for me, I had already left for Belize.
Sunday, May 30, 2004
Saturday, May 29, 2004
Home again, home again, jiggety jig
G and I had a good couple days. We checked in, she swam, and we went to dinner in the Key West section of the hotel where we were entertained by, who else, a Buffett wannabe. This was actually funny in a tacky, touristy way. He was taking requests so I slipped him a note with "Little Miss Magic" written on it. In between sets he came over to our table, mentioned what a beautiful song that was, but that he never gets requests for it, so he had the back-up tracks for it at home. Sure. Did we have any other requests? Hmmmmm. Maybe he knows "Cheeseburger In Paradise? Of course he did. We went up to our room, watched a movie and had room service send up dessert. This is G's favorite part because they do the whole linen-covered cart with flowers and candles set-up. Ahhhhh.
Down to business the next day. We listened to Jessie Wise, who is such a lady, speak about teaching reading, not reluctant readers as I'd initially thought. This was still helpful, even though both S and G spontaneously began reading at 3 and 4 respectively, because I know L is going to make me have to teach her, since everything that child does is designed to complicate my life, and I needed to know that it really isn't hard. Next came Lisa Whelchel's keynote address. She is a good motivational speaker, but heavily Christian. At the end when she asked everyone to close their eyes and lift up their children to deliver them into God's hands, I caught G sneaking peeks and trying not to giggle when I started pulling her up by the seat of her pants.
My big purchases were:
1) Spelling Power. Spelling Workout is great for S, but not G. She liked the idea of buzzing through the lists and only working on the words she can't spell. Plus, I'm always for those one-time purchases.
2) Power Glide Junior Spanish. It looks too easy, but the saleswoman assured me the Ultimate level would be discouragingly hard. The program is light on grammar, focusing more on speaking. The Ultimate level is actually worthy of a high school credit, but if we stick to our plans, these guys will need a working knowledge of Spanish, so the credit wasn't as important to me.
3) The Violin Book and a violin. Yes, I've lost my mind. This is a new self-teaching course by Ebaru Publishing. The woman who wrote it is a highly trained concert violinist. She's written a series of seven books covering several years worth of extremely small incremental lessons, supposed to take your child up to a junior concert level performer. SWB included a recommendation of it in the new, revised TWTM and was buying a set for one of her boys. G is ecstatic and has been glued to the book from the minute we bought it. S and I are going to give it a try too. Hey, Thomas Jefferson loved his fiddle. And it's a lot easier traveling with a 1/2 size violin than a full size piano.
In spite of computer malfunctions on both sides, and missed communications, I still managed to bump into Stephanie for a few minutes last night. She had planned to spend the weekend with her entire family, but coincidentally ended up bringing only her middle child for a little quality time. When we get our computers fixed we'll have to catch up. She's always got these amazing projects going on, like building a Trojan horse, so I'm eager to find out what she's been doing this time around.
Another night swimming, G, not me -- you won't catch me in a public pool, nevermind one filled with 10,000 little kids -- dinner, another movie and dessert in bed. This morning I took a wonderful long, hot shower in preparation for returning to the island, where no matter how much you try, you can never seem to get all the accumulated crud off.
G wants me off the computer NOW, to mark off her completed lessons on the progress chart (she's already up to lesson 15.) She's telling me she'll never get into college on a music scholarship if I keep it up.
LITTLE MISS MAGIC
(Jimmy Buffett)
She's constantly amazed by the blades of
the fan on the ceiling
And the funny little faces she makes
can't help but be appealing
She loves to ride through the town with the top down
Feel the warm breeze on her gentle skin
She is my next of kin
I see a little more of me everyday
I catch a little more moustache turning grey
Your mother is the only other woman for me
Little Miss Magic what you gonna be?
Sometimes I catch her dreaming and wonder
where that little mind meanders
Is she down along the shore or
strolling cross the broad Savannahs
I know in time she'll learn to make up her own mind
In time she's gonna learn to fly
Oh that I won't deny
I see a little more of me everyday
I catch a little more moustache turning grey
Your mother is the only other woman for me
Little Miss Magic what you gonna be?
Little Miss Magic just can't wait to see.
Down to business the next day. We listened to Jessie Wise, who is such a lady, speak about teaching reading, not reluctant readers as I'd initially thought. This was still helpful, even though both S and G spontaneously began reading at 3 and 4 respectively, because I know L is going to make me have to teach her, since everything that child does is designed to complicate my life, and I needed to know that it really isn't hard. Next came Lisa Whelchel's keynote address. She is a good motivational speaker, but heavily Christian. At the end when she asked everyone to close their eyes and lift up their children to deliver them into God's hands, I caught G sneaking peeks and trying not to giggle when I started pulling her up by the seat of her pants.
My big purchases were:
1) Spelling Power. Spelling Workout is great for S, but not G. She liked the idea of buzzing through the lists and only working on the words she can't spell. Plus, I'm always for those one-time purchases.
2) Power Glide Junior Spanish. It looks too easy, but the saleswoman assured me the Ultimate level would be discouragingly hard. The program is light on grammar, focusing more on speaking. The Ultimate level is actually worthy of a high school credit, but if we stick to our plans, these guys will need a working knowledge of Spanish, so the credit wasn't as important to me.
3) The Violin Book and a violin. Yes, I've lost my mind. This is a new self-teaching course by Ebaru Publishing. The woman who wrote it is a highly trained concert violinist. She's written a series of seven books covering several years worth of extremely small incremental lessons, supposed to take your child up to a junior concert level performer. SWB included a recommendation of it in the new, revised TWTM and was buying a set for one of her boys. G is ecstatic and has been glued to the book from the minute we bought it. S and I are going to give it a try too. Hey, Thomas Jefferson loved his fiddle. And it's a lot easier traveling with a 1/2 size violin than a full size piano.
In spite of computer malfunctions on both sides, and missed communications, I still managed to bump into Stephanie for a few minutes last night. She had planned to spend the weekend with her entire family, but coincidentally ended up bringing only her middle child for a little quality time. When we get our computers fixed we'll have to catch up. She's always got these amazing projects going on, like building a Trojan horse, so I'm eager to find out what she's been doing this time around.
Another night swimming, G, not me -- you won't catch me in a public pool, nevermind one filled with 10,000 little kids -- dinner, another movie and dessert in bed. This morning I took a wonderful long, hot shower in preparation for returning to the island, where no matter how much you try, you can never seem to get all the accumulated crud off.
G wants me off the computer NOW, to mark off her completed lessons on the progress chart (she's already up to lesson 15.) She's telling me she'll never get into college on a music scholarship if I keep it up.
LITTLE MISS MAGIC
(Jimmy Buffett)
She's constantly amazed by the blades of
the fan on the ceiling
And the funny little faces she makes
can't help but be appealing
She loves to ride through the town with the top down
Feel the warm breeze on her gentle skin
She is my next of kin
I see a little more of me everyday
I catch a little more moustache turning grey
Your mother is the only other woman for me
Little Miss Magic what you gonna be?
Sometimes I catch her dreaming and wonder
where that little mind meanders
Is she down along the shore or
strolling cross the broad Savannahs
I know in time she'll learn to make up her own mind
In time she's gonna learn to fly
Oh that I won't deny
I see a little more of me everyday
I catch a little more moustache turning grey
Your mother is the only other woman for me
Little Miss Magic what you gonna be?
Little Miss Magic just can't wait to see.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
FPEA
The Florida Parent Educators Association convention begins today in Orlando.
A little shopping, a nice hotel, a chance to see Stephanie from Jacksonville, not a bad way to spend a day. I'll be bringing G along. At first the plan was to go alone, but since her sister has been spending the last few days over on the east coast with Dad doing some pretty cool things, like operating a steamroller (don't tell OSHA), and she asked if she could go, I figured she could use a little special time too.
I'm looking forward to hearing Jessie Wise speak this year on reluctant readers. I wonder if my reluctant reader in tow will notice this is for her benefit. Lisa Whelchel is the keynote speaker -- that should be a hoot.
Off to meet Sweet G and drop off the baby...
A little shopping, a nice hotel, a chance to see Stephanie from Jacksonville, not a bad way to spend a day. I'll be bringing G along. At first the plan was to go alone, but since her sister has been spending the last few days over on the east coast with Dad doing some pretty cool things, like operating a steamroller (don't tell OSHA), and she asked if she could go, I figured she could use a little special time too.
I'm looking forward to hearing Jessie Wise speak this year on reluctant readers. I wonder if my reluctant reader in tow will notice this is for her benefit. Lisa Whelchel is the keynote speaker -- that should be a hoot.
Off to meet Sweet G and drop off the baby...
Monday, May 24, 2004
School plans
Wow, the FPEA convention is this coming weekend. I may run up one day, but I'm not planning to buy much, just look around a bit, because I realize that I have most everything I need.
Inspired in part by fellow autodidacts: Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and Ben Franklin, I'll be making some adjustments to our learning. Jefferson said that the sun never caught him in bed, Washington got most of his work done in the early morning hours, and Ben was constantly occupied. These men had some formal education and then were strong enough characters to take responsibility for their further learning.
Change #1 Get up earlier. Manage time better.
Change #2 Write more. Me and the children.
Change #3 Master Socratic dialogue.
Change #4 Eliminate time on homeschooling boards looking for handholding. Remain confident of my ability. (Of course this means I'll miss out on some of the great controversies you all tend to stir up over there...)
Change #5 Use what I have on hand. Cover the basics. Eliminate busy work.
Change #6 Incorporate more formal art study, learning technique in addition to art history. This, after my artist brother taught S some of the basic proportions for life drawing. She immediately requested a sketch book and spent the majority of our trip sketching away.
That's it. I'm ready to get back to work.
Inspired in part by fellow autodidacts: Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and Ben Franklin, I'll be making some adjustments to our learning. Jefferson said that the sun never caught him in bed, Washington got most of his work done in the early morning hours, and Ben was constantly occupied. These men had some formal education and then were strong enough characters to take responsibility for their further learning.
Change #1 Get up earlier. Manage time better.
Change #2 Write more. Me and the children.
Change #3 Master Socratic dialogue.
Change #4 Eliminate time on homeschooling boards looking for handholding. Remain confident of my ability. (Of course this means I'll miss out on some of the great controversies you all tend to stir up over there...)
Change #5 Use what I have on hand. Cover the basics. Eliminate busy work.
Change #6 Incorporate more formal art study, learning technique in addition to art history. This, after my artist brother taught S some of the basic proportions for life drawing. She immediately requested a sketch book and spent the majority of our trip sketching away.
That's it. I'm ready to get back to work.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
balmy
adj
1 a : having the soothing, healing, or aromatic qualities of balm or suggesting those attributed to balm b : mild
2 : foolish, silly, insane
That sums up our present situation.
Sweet G and I are still conflicted about what comes next. He's been pushing for Australia, reminding me to consider our original intent. With so many changes in plans, it was difficult to remember what that was, but it came to me after writing the other day.
Belize.
Our first plans were to operate a small resort in the jungle. The property we chose was not exactly conducive to that because of an insufficient water supply. There was a good-sized cistern for drinking water and a small pond for wash water, both of which had supported up to 10 people at a time, but would never be enough to operate guest houses. We even jokingly named our farm Macaa Ha which means 'no water' in Kekchi Mayan. Our one, very deep, very expensive well produced a small amount of water before the drill punched through the bottom of the limestone chamber and all the water drained out.
Years ago, after G had been down with his speculator brother, on a two-for-one Eastern Airlines deal to show you how long ago that was, he wanted to show me the country. We flew down, thinking we would find a little beach and live happily ever after under a coconut tree. Instead, we headed inland, and had an amazing time crawling around and swimming inside giant caves, climbing and committing seriously sacrilegious acts atop Mayan temple pyramids, and meeting many fascinating people, all with remarkable stories to tell.
Returning to our hotel, we had just finished exclaiming that this was the place to be in Belize, with its lush tropical forests and exotic ruins, when we passed a small hand-lettered sign: 100 acres for sale. We called the number when we returned to our room, met the owner on our way to the airport the next day, and made a deal.
I don't believe in signs, but I do believe in serendipity.
Over the next few years we contracted with the local old order Mennonites, who raised the house for us, found a capable manager, and were adopted by a local family with ties all over the region.
Then I got pregnant. We were afraid of raising kids down there, so when child numero uno was about a year and half old, and we were approached by an organization dedicated to saving the rainforest, we reluctantly decided to sell.
While we were down there, we had taken numerous trips down to Barton Creek, the closest major source of flowing water, for picnics and swims, and met an American ex-pat horticulture enthusiast who had spent years collecting and propagating countless tropical fruit, flowering landscape plants, and hardwood trees on his property. We'd always admired his place and last year when I found his property listed for sale on-line, we immediately took a trip down. It's paradise. With 4,000 feet of creek frontage and every tropical fruit you could think of growing there, it's nearly self-sufficient. In addition, the creek flows into a large cave adjacent to this property, where there are Mayan burials deep inside, which has become a popular tourist sight for canoeing and tubing adventures. (After returning from that trip, our architect showed us a page from an article on caves he had saved from an issue of Conde Nast's Traveler, teasing us, wondering if our cave could possibly look as spectacular as the one in the photo. It was our cave.)
So, back to our original intent: To live a real life. To show our children how the rest of the world lives. To teach our children to provide for themselves.
This could be done anywhere. Belize, Australia, here even. The difference is in making the lifestyle change, not only a location change. Our island has been a location change. Sweet G is in the same line of work, and though our friends laugh out loud when I say it, we still live in the suburbs. Australia would be a location change. A big one. Belize is a lifestyle change and only a two hour flight out of Miami. You can even drive there.
If we went down with two yurts to live in while we built a house, we could use those for guest housing later. A small hydroelectric system (I don't need electric, but you know guests would), water ram, gas refrigerator (I do require ice for cold drinks), and you're all set.
I'm now comfortable in my ability to teach my children on my own. What about college? Well, if they want to go, they will be prepared, if not, they will still have a good education and plenty of skills to manage their own lives.
Sweet G wants me to start making calls, arranging another trip down in late June before we commit.
1 a : having the soothing, healing, or aromatic qualities of balm or suggesting those attributed to balm b : mild
2 : foolish, silly, insane
That sums up our present situation.
Sweet G and I are still conflicted about what comes next. He's been pushing for Australia, reminding me to consider our original intent. With so many changes in plans, it was difficult to remember what that was, but it came to me after writing the other day.
Belize.
Our first plans were to operate a small resort in the jungle. The property we chose was not exactly conducive to that because of an insufficient water supply. There was a good-sized cistern for drinking water and a small pond for wash water, both of which had supported up to 10 people at a time, but would never be enough to operate guest houses. We even jokingly named our farm Macaa Ha which means 'no water' in Kekchi Mayan. Our one, very deep, very expensive well produced a small amount of water before the drill punched through the bottom of the limestone chamber and all the water drained out.
Years ago, after G had been down with his speculator brother, on a two-for-one Eastern Airlines deal to show you how long ago that was, he wanted to show me the country. We flew down, thinking we would find a little beach and live happily ever after under a coconut tree. Instead, we headed inland, and had an amazing time crawling around and swimming inside giant caves, climbing and committing seriously sacrilegious acts atop Mayan temple pyramids, and meeting many fascinating people, all with remarkable stories to tell.
Returning to our hotel, we had just finished exclaiming that this was the place to be in Belize, with its lush tropical forests and exotic ruins, when we passed a small hand-lettered sign: 100 acres for sale. We called the number when we returned to our room, met the owner on our way to the airport the next day, and made a deal.
I don't believe in signs, but I do believe in serendipity.
Over the next few years we contracted with the local old order Mennonites, who raised the house for us, found a capable manager, and were adopted by a local family with ties all over the region.
Then I got pregnant. We were afraid of raising kids down there, so when child numero uno was about a year and half old, and we were approached by an organization dedicated to saving the rainforest, we reluctantly decided to sell.
While we were down there, we had taken numerous trips down to Barton Creek, the closest major source of flowing water, for picnics and swims, and met an American ex-pat horticulture enthusiast who had spent years collecting and propagating countless tropical fruit, flowering landscape plants, and hardwood trees on his property. We'd always admired his place and last year when I found his property listed for sale on-line, we immediately took a trip down. It's paradise. With 4,000 feet of creek frontage and every tropical fruit you could think of growing there, it's nearly self-sufficient. In addition, the creek flows into a large cave adjacent to this property, where there are Mayan burials deep inside, which has become a popular tourist sight for canoeing and tubing adventures. (After returning from that trip, our architect showed us a page from an article on caves he had saved from an issue of Conde Nast's Traveler, teasing us, wondering if our cave could possibly look as spectacular as the one in the photo. It was our cave.)
So, back to our original intent: To live a real life. To show our children how the rest of the world lives. To teach our children to provide for themselves.
This could be done anywhere. Belize, Australia, here even. The difference is in making the lifestyle change, not only a location change. Our island has been a location change. Sweet G is in the same line of work, and though our friends laugh out loud when I say it, we still live in the suburbs. Australia would be a location change. A big one. Belize is a lifestyle change and only a two hour flight out of Miami. You can even drive there.
If we went down with two yurts to live in while we built a house, we could use those for guest housing later. A small hydroelectric system (I don't need electric, but you know guests would), water ram, gas refrigerator (I do require ice for cold drinks), and you're all set.
I'm now comfortable in my ability to teach my children on my own. What about college? Well, if they want to go, they will be prepared, if not, they will still have a good education and plenty of skills to manage their own lives.
Sweet G wants me to start making calls, arranging another trip down in late June before we commit.
Speaking of balance...
When does comforting become coddling? When does encouraging become enabling? When does fondness become favoritism?
Do we protect our more fragile children to the detriment of our more competent children, assuming the stronger ones can better care for themselves? Is that fair?
Can you love one child more than another? Do you? Some kids are certainly less likeable than others, less agreeable, but do you love them any less?
Visiting with my brother a few weeks back dredged up these questions. Yes, the past couple years have been terrible for him, and he continues to deal with the repercussions, but watching my mother hold his hand while she simultaneously kicks me in the ass, is irritating.
My first words were supposedly, "Me do," and somehow, I think this fiercely independent streak caused some resentment on my mother's part. My younger brothers were always more compliant and dependent, and therefore, less trouble. Did they need her more? Did she need them to need her? Is it co-dependency?
Am I guilty of the same behavior, when I find myself listening more to the child who feels ignored, while shushing the others, or giving that same child backrubs late at night, telling the others to just go to sleep because they don't seem to need the attention as badly? Is it merely a consequence of having more than one child, or is history repeating itself?
Will pushing my easier daughter away, expecting her to deal with her situations on her own cause a rift like the one between my mother and me? How do I keep from being an enabler, constantly helping the more challenged child, and will forcing her to deal with her concerns more independently cause a rift between us as well?
Do we protect our more fragile children to the detriment of our more competent children, assuming the stronger ones can better care for themselves? Is that fair?
Can you love one child more than another? Do you? Some kids are certainly less likeable than others, less agreeable, but do you love them any less?
Visiting with my brother a few weeks back dredged up these questions. Yes, the past couple years have been terrible for him, and he continues to deal with the repercussions, but watching my mother hold his hand while she simultaneously kicks me in the ass, is irritating.
My first words were supposedly, "Me do," and somehow, I think this fiercely independent streak caused some resentment on my mother's part. My younger brothers were always more compliant and dependent, and therefore, less trouble. Did they need her more? Did she need them to need her? Is it co-dependency?
Am I guilty of the same behavior, when I find myself listening more to the child who feels ignored, while shushing the others, or giving that same child backrubs late at night, telling the others to just go to sleep because they don't seem to need the attention as badly? Is it merely a consequence of having more than one child, or is history repeating itself?
Will pushing my easier daughter away, expecting her to deal with her situations on her own cause a rift like the one between my mother and me? How do I keep from being an enabler, constantly helping the more challenged child, and will forcing her to deal with her concerns more independently cause a rift between us as well?
Balance
That's what it's all about. Whether it's right wing vs. left wing, classical vs. unschooling, or country vs. city, you've got to find a balance.
How do those of you who live in remote areas deal with a lack of cultural resources?
How do those of you living downtown find room to breathe?
Living in the suburbs, the middle ground, you can't really avail yourself of the unlimited opportunities found in a major city. Sure, you think, we're close enough; we can ride in and visit whenever we want. But do you, on a regular basis?
Instead of planning a whole day around a whirlwind tour of one art museum, how wonderful to stroll in, sketchbook in hand, and enjoy a leisurely afternoon in the company of one great painting. Or drop in on rehearsals for the local opera or ballet.
But what do you do when you want to plant a garden? Or take a walk without seeing another soul?
How do you find your balance?
How do those of you who live in remote areas deal with a lack of cultural resources?
How do those of you living downtown find room to breathe?
Living in the suburbs, the middle ground, you can't really avail yourself of the unlimited opportunities found in a major city. Sure, you think, we're close enough; we can ride in and visit whenever we want. But do you, on a regular basis?
Instead of planning a whole day around a whirlwind tour of one art museum, how wonderful to stroll in, sketchbook in hand, and enjoy a leisurely afternoon in the company of one great painting. Or drop in on rehearsals for the local opera or ballet.
But what do you do when you want to plant a garden? Or take a walk without seeing another soul?
How do you find your balance?
Friday, May 21, 2004
Bugs
We're home. Having connection problems that may be related to spyware and suffering from a wicked cold, so I'll be quiet until I can get these bugs worked out.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Ignorance
The day before yesterday, we stopped in at Mount Vernon. I hesitate to use the word 'visit', because L threw a kicking, screaming, temper tantrum the minute we walked in the entrance. I was forced to throw her over my shoulder, looking like a kidnapper, and remove her to the car until the rest of the family finished the mansion tour. Then I switched off with my mother, by which time L had fallen asleep. I buzzed through the house, ran through the grounds, and was met by S and my mother at Washington's crypt, who were looking for me because my parents felt that I was taking too long. Mount Vernon was very peaceful and homey. No wonder George wanted nothing more than to enjoy his farm, and what a great man to give that all up in the service of his country.
IGNORANCE PART I
We moved on to Charlottesville. There was only one hotel nearby Monticello, a Ramada Inn that was being renovated. Entering the lobby, I was skeptical, expecting a dump, but pleasantly surprised to discover the normal tacky hotel interior had been redone with a modern, Asian feel to it. The Inn is owned and operated by an Indian family and the room decor reflected that, with rich looking fabrics used within the limited style of typical hotel furnishings. We were probably the first guests to stay in the room.
My mother made my blood boil. When she found L sitting on the floor and ordered her to get up immediately because the place was filthy, I disagreed. Normally, I am completely phobic about germs, especially hotel room floors, but this place was immaculate. I was even excited about taking a shower. She said that it didn't matter that the place was brand new, those people are not known for their cleanliness. I flipped. She seems to have forgotten that her relatives were scorned as Paddy the Pig when they first came over.
Anyway, Monticello was my kind of place. Great architecture furnished with a large library and interesting artifacts and artwork meant to instruct and inspire Jefferson's guests. The setting, on top of a hill overlooking forty or so miles of rolling, wooded landscape, was gorgeous. Jefferson called it his seaview, because the layers of distant blue and green hills resemble waves. Again, it was clear how difficult it would be to leave this place, but he did, all for the greater good.
We found Greenville and took a look into the basement of a house built in the 30s at the top of the hill, used by the current owners' manager, that was probably sited on the location of my ancestors' original house. There was a portion of an old brick foundation visible, but nothing more. Nobody has ever come across the family plot, which our records indicate existed and was used for over one hundred years. With all the land cleared but for a thin strip of woods dividing them from one neighbor, where the present owners found evidence of a brickmaking facility, it should have been easy to find. I think somebody pulled a "Poltergeist." There was one odd area in the yard. It looked like an old bulkhead, or maybe a well, that had been covered up long ago with pieces of metal roofing. Somebody had added a wooden railing around it. Nobody was sure what it was, but the owner and manager agreed they had always been curious about it and promised they would look into it and let us know what turns up.
The owner also gave us a tour of their house, an antebellum landmark built by the man who bought the plantation from my Dad's family, which had been a complete ruin when I last visited the property about eight years ago. From a contractor's point of view -- a magnificent renovation. Money was no object.
Today I drove. And drove. We made it from just south of Richmond, Virginia, to Jacksonville, Florida. I could have driven all night, juiced up on Doubleshot Espresso and Creams, just to get my parents and three antsy kids out of my car, but they wanted a break.
IGNORANCE PART II
Barbecue seemed like a good idea for lunch, and in South Carolina we passed a billboard advertising a nice looking restaurant one mile east of the next exit. Up and down the road we searched, without success. I'd spotted another BBQ sign right at the exit and figured it would do. The food was awesome, pulled pork in a mustard based sauce, collard greens, sweet potato casserole, black-eyed peas with stewed tomatoes, banana pudding, and so much more, all buffet-style, but the decor was unsettling. Confederate flags and a state flag from every member of the Confederacy flew outside. Inside we were surrounded by walls covered with tributes to Confederate generals and soldiers. That in itself was not so bad. It was the literature for sale on the book rack, on a display table, and at the register. At the counter I paid for lunch and picked up a copy of The Truth About the Confederate Flag, which the lady let me have for free, with a wink, and went back after we ate for Honest Abe Wasn't Honest, a bargain at $.75.
It was a Klan restaurant.
The booklets are distributed courtesy of the owner and are transcribed from a lecture by Pastor John Weaver, a native of Georgia and graduate of Bob Jones University, where he earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in Theology.
That's a smart feller.
When S asked, "What do you think real patriots like George Washington would think of a man like Robert E. Lee?", my probably too loud reply was a hasty, "Robert E. Lee was a true patriot and the most noble soldier of The War. Remember Patrick Henry? He strongly believed in states' rights to govern themselves, so I'm sure he would have greatly admired him," and followed that with a quick look over my shoulder for eavesdroppers. Remember now, this is a part of the country where they don't just have memorials to the great generals, they have shrines. We made it out alive.
Is everybody watching "Colonial House?"
IGNORANCE PART I
We moved on to Charlottesville. There was only one hotel nearby Monticello, a Ramada Inn that was being renovated. Entering the lobby, I was skeptical, expecting a dump, but pleasantly surprised to discover the normal tacky hotel interior had been redone with a modern, Asian feel to it. The Inn is owned and operated by an Indian family and the room decor reflected that, with rich looking fabrics used within the limited style of typical hotel furnishings. We were probably the first guests to stay in the room.
My mother made my blood boil. When she found L sitting on the floor and ordered her to get up immediately because the place was filthy, I disagreed. Normally, I am completely phobic about germs, especially hotel room floors, but this place was immaculate. I was even excited about taking a shower. She said that it didn't matter that the place was brand new, those people are not known for their cleanliness. I flipped. She seems to have forgotten that her relatives were scorned as Paddy the Pig when they first came over.
Anyway, Monticello was my kind of place. Great architecture furnished with a large library and interesting artifacts and artwork meant to instruct and inspire Jefferson's guests. The setting, on top of a hill overlooking forty or so miles of rolling, wooded landscape, was gorgeous. Jefferson called it his seaview, because the layers of distant blue and green hills resemble waves. Again, it was clear how difficult it would be to leave this place, but he did, all for the greater good.
We found Greenville and took a look into the basement of a house built in the 30s at the top of the hill, used by the current owners' manager, that was probably sited on the location of my ancestors' original house. There was a portion of an old brick foundation visible, but nothing more. Nobody has ever come across the family plot, which our records indicate existed and was used for over one hundred years. With all the land cleared but for a thin strip of woods dividing them from one neighbor, where the present owners found evidence of a brickmaking facility, it should have been easy to find. I think somebody pulled a "Poltergeist." There was one odd area in the yard. It looked like an old bulkhead, or maybe a well, that had been covered up long ago with pieces of metal roofing. Somebody had added a wooden railing around it. Nobody was sure what it was, but the owner and manager agreed they had always been curious about it and promised they would look into it and let us know what turns up.
The owner also gave us a tour of their house, an antebellum landmark built by the man who bought the plantation from my Dad's family, which had been a complete ruin when I last visited the property about eight years ago. From a contractor's point of view -- a magnificent renovation. Money was no object.
Today I drove. And drove. We made it from just south of Richmond, Virginia, to Jacksonville, Florida. I could have driven all night, juiced up on Doubleshot Espresso and Creams, just to get my parents and three antsy kids out of my car, but they wanted a break.
IGNORANCE PART II
Barbecue seemed like a good idea for lunch, and in South Carolina we passed a billboard advertising a nice looking restaurant one mile east of the next exit. Up and down the road we searched, without success. I'd spotted another BBQ sign right at the exit and figured it would do. The food was awesome, pulled pork in a mustard based sauce, collard greens, sweet potato casserole, black-eyed peas with stewed tomatoes, banana pudding, and so much more, all buffet-style, but the decor was unsettling. Confederate flags and a state flag from every member of the Confederacy flew outside. Inside we were surrounded by walls covered with tributes to Confederate generals and soldiers. That in itself was not so bad. It was the literature for sale on the book rack, on a display table, and at the register. At the counter I paid for lunch and picked up a copy of The Truth About the Confederate Flag, which the lady let me have for free, with a wink, and went back after we ate for Honest Abe Wasn't Honest, a bargain at $.75.
It was a Klan restaurant.
The booklets are distributed courtesy of the owner and are transcribed from a lecture by Pastor John Weaver, a native of Georgia and graduate of Bob Jones University, where he earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in Theology.
That's a smart feller.
When S asked, "What do you think real patriots like George Washington would think of a man like Robert E. Lee?", my probably too loud reply was a hasty, "Robert E. Lee was a true patriot and the most noble soldier of The War. Remember Patrick Henry? He strongly believed in states' rights to govern themselves, so I'm sure he would have greatly admired him," and followed that with a quick look over my shoulder for eavesdroppers. Remember now, this is a part of the country where they don't just have memorials to the great generals, they have shrines. We made it out alive.
Is everybody watching "Colonial House?"
Saturday, May 15, 2004
Comments and Museums
I just now got a fast enough dial-up connection (26 kbps) to allow the comments section to load on my page. Sorry for not acknowledging your replies before this, but thanks! It's flattering to know someone, besides myself, is interested in my monologues and diatribes.
The Capitol was cool. We had a private tour arranged through our local representative. Well, actually our old rep from our past life in Fort Lauderdale/Hollywoood, but he's still my parents'. We traveled from his office, underground to the Capitol, and after an awe-inspiring look at the interior spaces, were treated to a ride back on the mini rail system used by the representatives.
Did you know every state is allowed two statues to represent itself in the Capitol's National Statuary Hall? Florida chose Edmund Kirby Smith, the last general of the Confederacy to surrender, (that choice speaks volumes, no?), and also Dr. John Gorrie, the man who invented airconditioning. I always hoped that if Y2K came to be, all those snowbirds would finally go back up north, unable to take the heat. Damn.
If you take a look at the Hall's link, be sure and check out the very different sculpture of Father Damien from Hawaii.
After that, S, G, and I went to the National Archives to see the Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights, while G kept L and took care of some banking and other payroll duties. We raced in, narrowly beating five or so busloads of obnoxious, disinterested middle schoolers. Four imposing statues, each marked with a quote, frame the two entrances of the archive building. I liked the line from The Tempest best:
All that is past is prologue.
We met back up with G and L, and had fun wandering around the sculpture garden and fountain of the the National Gallery of Art. With little time before closing, we still managed to see, inside the National Gallery, some very famous paintings by Copley, Stuart, Degas, Monet, Manet, Rembrandt, Cassat, Lautrec, and Renoir, as well as tons of magnificent statuary.
On the way back to the hotel, S chatted it up with the cabbie, as she has been doing with practically everybody she's come across since we began this trip, asking him where he was from. He promised us a free cab ride if she could guess. She couldn't figure it out by the accent so he began listing possibilities. South African? No way. Guatemalan? Noooo. Lebanese? Hmmmm... He finally told us that he was from Iran, and that he was always so happy to meet intelligent people -- people who ask questions -- he would give us a free ride anyway. Don't you know he got a big, fat tip.
G and I had a nice, grown-up dinner out in Georgetown. We talked, again, about living in Australia for the two years required to complete our citizenship there. You know though, those plans could change in the blink of an eye. If we do go however, I've decided that rather than live up in the rainforest for those two years, I'd like to try Sydney, or maybe Melbourne. Definitely somewhere where you could enjoy world class museums and a variety of great dining.
Sweet G learned a lesson about old hotels last night when the elevator, which has been barely functioning during our stay, delivered him to the wrong floor, nine instead of eight, and he used his key in someone else's door, and it opened. He walked in on a half-dressed couple, a police officer and his wife, preparing to go out for a memorial related affair. G was thankful he wasn't a big steroid cop and exited, mumbling some hasty sort of apology. Later, the elevator again stopped at nine when he pushed eight, and when the doors opened this time, he panicked and ran down the adjacent stairwell, lest he be suspected of being some prowling pervert. Always use your deadbolt AND slide chain when you're in your room.
Today we began our survey of the Smithsonian, first enjoying the bugs, mummies, dinosaurs, gems, minerals and mammal skeletons of the National Museum of Natural History, and then The First Ladies dress collection, dollhouse, Star Spangled Banner and Dorothy's Ruby Slippers at the National Museum of American History.
George left mid-day to fly back home and the girls and I continued on. Back to the National Gallery of Art to see their special exhibit, Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya. We used to have a farm in Belize, 100 gorgeous, rainforested mountain acres, with Mayan burial mounds and a well on the property, so we have an affinity for Mayan artifacts.
After that, we poked around the modern art displays where we saw works by Lichtenstein, Warhol, Rothko, Pollack, and my personal favorite, Calder. Calder has a whole room housing paintings, drawings, wire sculpture, animal metal sculptures, and mobiles that were so perfectly lit the shadows cast became as much art as the wire and string. One of my favorite books is an edition of Aesop's fables, illustrated with wonderful wiry line drawings by Calder, that belonged to my grandparents.
Nana and Papa took S and G out to dinner tonight at the Hard Rock Cafe for a small dose of pop culture. Balance, perhaps.
The Capitol was cool. We had a private tour arranged through our local representative. Well, actually our old rep from our past life in Fort Lauderdale/Hollywoood, but he's still my parents'. We traveled from his office, underground to the Capitol, and after an awe-inspiring look at the interior spaces, were treated to a ride back on the mini rail system used by the representatives.
Did you know every state is allowed two statues to represent itself in the Capitol's National Statuary Hall? Florida chose Edmund Kirby Smith, the last general of the Confederacy to surrender, (that choice speaks volumes, no?), and also Dr. John Gorrie, the man who invented airconditioning. I always hoped that if Y2K came to be, all those snowbirds would finally go back up north, unable to take the heat. Damn.
If you take a look at the Hall's link, be sure and check out the very different sculpture of Father Damien from Hawaii.
After that, S, G, and I went to the National Archives to see the Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights, while G kept L and took care of some banking and other payroll duties. We raced in, narrowly beating five or so busloads of obnoxious, disinterested middle schoolers. Four imposing statues, each marked with a quote, frame the two entrances of the archive building. I liked the line from The Tempest best:
All that is past is prologue.
We met back up with G and L, and had fun wandering around the sculpture garden and fountain of the the National Gallery of Art. With little time before closing, we still managed to see, inside the National Gallery, some very famous paintings by Copley, Stuart, Degas, Monet, Manet, Rembrandt, Cassat, Lautrec, and Renoir, as well as tons of magnificent statuary.
On the way back to the hotel, S chatted it up with the cabbie, as she has been doing with practically everybody she's come across since we began this trip, asking him where he was from. He promised us a free cab ride if she could guess. She couldn't figure it out by the accent so he began listing possibilities. South African? No way. Guatemalan? Noooo. Lebanese? Hmmmm... He finally told us that he was from Iran, and that he was always so happy to meet intelligent people -- people who ask questions -- he would give us a free ride anyway. Don't you know he got a big, fat tip.
G and I had a nice, grown-up dinner out in Georgetown. We talked, again, about living in Australia for the two years required to complete our citizenship there. You know though, those plans could change in the blink of an eye. If we do go however, I've decided that rather than live up in the rainforest for those two years, I'd like to try Sydney, or maybe Melbourne. Definitely somewhere where you could enjoy world class museums and a variety of great dining.
Sweet G learned a lesson about old hotels last night when the elevator, which has been barely functioning during our stay, delivered him to the wrong floor, nine instead of eight, and he used his key in someone else's door, and it opened. He walked in on a half-dressed couple, a police officer and his wife, preparing to go out for a memorial related affair. G was thankful he wasn't a big steroid cop and exited, mumbling some hasty sort of apology. Later, the elevator again stopped at nine when he pushed eight, and when the doors opened this time, he panicked and ran down the adjacent stairwell, lest he be suspected of being some prowling pervert. Always use your deadbolt AND slide chain when you're in your room.
Today we began our survey of the Smithsonian, first enjoying the bugs, mummies, dinosaurs, gems, minerals and mammal skeletons of the National Museum of Natural History, and then The First Ladies dress collection, dollhouse, Star Spangled Banner and Dorothy's Ruby Slippers at the National Museum of American History.
George left mid-day to fly back home and the girls and I continued on. Back to the National Gallery of Art to see their special exhibit, Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya. We used to have a farm in Belize, 100 gorgeous, rainforested mountain acres, with Mayan burial mounds and a well on the property, so we have an affinity for Mayan artifacts.
After that, we poked around the modern art displays where we saw works by Lichtenstein, Warhol, Rothko, Pollack, and my personal favorite, Calder. Calder has a whole room housing paintings, drawings, wire sculpture, animal metal sculptures, and mobiles that were so perfectly lit the shadows cast became as much art as the wire and string. One of my favorite books is an edition of Aesop's fables, illustrated with wonderful wiry line drawings by Calder, that belonged to my grandparents.
Nana and Papa took S and G out to dinner tonight at the Hard Rock Cafe for a small dose of pop culture. Balance, perhaps.
Friday, May 14, 2004
More DC
We ended up skipping the Library of Congress, but did a full tour of the city and went inside the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. L managed not to set off any alarms. It takes the fun out of your visit when they start the tour off warning you not to touch this, not to touch that, and you have a little one in tow. I figured there was about a 50% chance we would end up being escorted out of the building by a federal police officer. The odds ended up being in our favor.
Last night's candlelight vigil didn't move me as I had anticipated. It may have been because I had a wiggly three year old jumping up and down in my lap, but who, in all fairness, was on good behavior for several hours before the actual ceremony began, while we staked out a good spot. John Ashcroft was the keynote speaker and that was certainly worth the price of admission. He gave a canned speech, bobbling the name, several times, of the young officer he claimed to be so impressed with. It sounded as if he had not seen this speech up until the moment he stepped to the podium. He mentioned several times that law enforcement's highest duty is protecting the freedoms and liberties of Americans. Excuse me? Mr. PATRIOT Act?
You can fool some of the people some of the time...
On the other hand, Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell of Colorado, who was given the Distinguished Service Award for his work in getting a bill almost passed allowing officers to carry firearms between states without concealed weapons permits, (one unnamed senator stands between it becoming a law) gave a very well-spoken, seemingly extemporaneous speech.
We found Todd in the crowd, in full honor guard dress. I took a few pictures, one really good one of the candles being held up with a laserlight 'thin blue line' beaming above, and one that I wished had come out better, of Bryant's wreath and photo that his mom had made and sent up, but the flash kept throwing a glare on the photo and I would've needed my tripod to shoot it without the flash. The girls made a rubbing of Bryant's name on the memorial and L received a plastic bobby hat from an officer who was attending from London.
Today: the Capitol building, Lincoln and Jefferson memorials, the National Archives, plus whatever else pops up. Tonight there is a parade to the memorial by the various police bagpipe bands in town. If I am lucky, I might get my parents to watch the kids tonight so that G and I can enjoy a serious culinary experience.
Tomorrow: the Smithsonian complex. Also, Bush is scheduled to give his annual sound bite outside the Capitol for Law Enforcement Week. If we can't get in, or close, it will be enough to watch the motorcade come flying by.
How much do I like this place? Well, it's been added to my list of places to live. It would definitely have to be in town though, ideally a house around Georgetown, but realistically, a condo downtown would do. How great would that be to homeschool with an endless supply of museums, government buildings, memorials, and history being made all around you?
Last night's candlelight vigil didn't move me as I had anticipated. It may have been because I had a wiggly three year old jumping up and down in my lap, but who, in all fairness, was on good behavior for several hours before the actual ceremony began, while we staked out a good spot. John Ashcroft was the keynote speaker and that was certainly worth the price of admission. He gave a canned speech, bobbling the name, several times, of the young officer he claimed to be so impressed with. It sounded as if he had not seen this speech up until the moment he stepped to the podium. He mentioned several times that law enforcement's highest duty is protecting the freedoms and liberties of Americans. Excuse me? Mr. PATRIOT Act?
You can fool some of the people some of the time...
On the other hand, Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell of Colorado, who was given the Distinguished Service Award for his work in getting a bill almost passed allowing officers to carry firearms between states without concealed weapons permits, (one unnamed senator stands between it becoming a law) gave a very well-spoken, seemingly extemporaneous speech.
We found Todd in the crowd, in full honor guard dress. I took a few pictures, one really good one of the candles being held up with a laserlight 'thin blue line' beaming above, and one that I wished had come out better, of Bryant's wreath and photo that his mom had made and sent up, but the flash kept throwing a glare on the photo and I would've needed my tripod to shoot it without the flash. The girls made a rubbing of Bryant's name on the memorial and L received a plastic bobby hat from an officer who was attending from London.
Today: the Capitol building, Lincoln and Jefferson memorials, the National Archives, plus whatever else pops up. Tonight there is a parade to the memorial by the various police bagpipe bands in town. If I am lucky, I might get my parents to watch the kids tonight so that G and I can enjoy a serious culinary experience.
Tomorrow: the Smithsonian complex. Also, Bush is scheduled to give his annual sound bite outside the Capitol for Law Enforcement Week. If we can't get in, or close, it will be enough to watch the motorcade come flying by.
How much do I like this place? Well, it's been added to my list of places to live. It would definitely have to be in town though, ideally a house around Georgetown, but realistically, a condo downtown would do. How great would that be to homeschool with an endless supply of museums, government buildings, memorials, and history being made all around you?
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Tempus Fugit
See Lynne run. Run, run, run.
It's surprising how quickly this trip is going. We just checked into our hotel in Washington, D.C. and will be here for a few days. Our first tour, for the Library of Congress, begins at 8:30 AM tomorrow. That's one I could skip. At 4:15 PM we're scheduled to see the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. The kids and I are excited about that one. A friend of my family, Todd, is in town for the Law Enforcement Memorial ceremony honoring officers killed in the line of duty, and we are planning to hook up with him tomorrow evening for the candlelight service in memory of the officers whose names have been added to the memorial this year.
My younger brother met and became best friends with twins Todd and Bryant Peney, in preschool. Todd became a Fort Lauderdale Police Officer, Bryant did, and so did my brother. My brother is a now a marketing manager for an insurance fraud investigation company, but keeps his law enforcement certification active by riding with the Raiders. His idea of a fun night is busting down the door of a crack house.
Bryant was shot by a man he noticed hiding in bushes as he was returning to the station after his shift ended. His brother and mine responded to the call and were talking and joking with him, up until the time he went into the operating room. The single bullet had entered under his left arm, behind his bulletproof vest, piercing his heart and he died in surgery. It was a horrible shock and the most agonizing funeral I've ever attended.
My brother and Todd were both in attendance the year Bryant's name was added, and they both said it is a ceremony not to be missed.
---------
Hard to believe we are on our way back already. I should have ignored my parents request that they not be gone from home for more than three weeks. One aunt wanted to take us to Lexington and Concord for the day and I'd hoped to have a chance to say hello to another cousin and get some parenting tips from her and her husband, but there just wasn't time. Adding two more days would've made the difference.
My cousin, P, has graduated one son from Georgetown, their older daughter is a junior at Boston College, the younger daughter has been accepted at both Georgetown and BC, and the younger son is right there behind them. She and her husband have done a super job, and they're so much fun to be around. I hope I do as good a job.
What do my parents have on their agenda that's so pressing? Absolutely nothing. These are people who sit around asking each other what time it is, waiting for the mail to arrive. They rotate through the house from couch to couch and TV to TV. It's very depressing, and frankly, a waste of life. They are sitting around waiting to die. I thought this trip might kick them into gear, but I was wrong.
I'm sure they didn't appreciate my little speech about Newton's law of motion.
---------
Can you believe we've been so busy that we missed the final Survivor? Remember now, if Rupert still doesn't get a million as the people's choice, you know what to do.
---------
MY PHONE IS DEAD AGAIN! Yes, I'm screaming. I could put it on the car charger overnight and hope that will help, but my vehicle is deep down in a garage somewhere about four blocks from here [heavy sigh.]
It's surprising how quickly this trip is going. We just checked into our hotel in Washington, D.C. and will be here for a few days. Our first tour, for the Library of Congress, begins at 8:30 AM tomorrow. That's one I could skip. At 4:15 PM we're scheduled to see the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. The kids and I are excited about that one. A friend of my family, Todd, is in town for the Law Enforcement Memorial ceremony honoring officers killed in the line of duty, and we are planning to hook up with him tomorrow evening for the candlelight service in memory of the officers whose names have been added to the memorial this year.
My younger brother met and became best friends with twins Todd and Bryant Peney, in preschool. Todd became a Fort Lauderdale Police Officer, Bryant did, and so did my brother. My brother is a now a marketing manager for an insurance fraud investigation company, but keeps his law enforcement certification active by riding with the Raiders. His idea of a fun night is busting down the door of a crack house.
Bryant was shot by a man he noticed hiding in bushes as he was returning to the station after his shift ended. His brother and mine responded to the call and were talking and joking with him, up until the time he went into the operating room. The single bullet had entered under his left arm, behind his bulletproof vest, piercing his heart and he died in surgery. It was a horrible shock and the most agonizing funeral I've ever attended.
My brother and Todd were both in attendance the year Bryant's name was added, and they both said it is a ceremony not to be missed.
---------
Hard to believe we are on our way back already. I should have ignored my parents request that they not be gone from home for more than three weeks. One aunt wanted to take us to Lexington and Concord for the day and I'd hoped to have a chance to say hello to another cousin and get some parenting tips from her and her husband, but there just wasn't time. Adding two more days would've made the difference.
My cousin, P, has graduated one son from Georgetown, their older daughter is a junior at Boston College, the younger daughter has been accepted at both Georgetown and BC, and the younger son is right there behind them. She and her husband have done a super job, and they're so much fun to be around. I hope I do as good a job.
What do my parents have on their agenda that's so pressing? Absolutely nothing. These are people who sit around asking each other what time it is, waiting for the mail to arrive. They rotate through the house from couch to couch and TV to TV. It's very depressing, and frankly, a waste of life. They are sitting around waiting to die. I thought this trip might kick them into gear, but I was wrong.
I'm sure they didn't appreciate my little speech about Newton's law of motion.
---------
Can you believe we've been so busy that we missed the final Survivor? Remember now, if Rupert still doesn't get a million as the people's choice, you know what to do.
---------
MY PHONE IS DEAD AGAIN! Yes, I'm screaming. I could put it on the car charger overnight and hope that will help, but my vehicle is deep down in a garage somewhere about four blocks from here [heavy sigh.]
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
Mystic and Joisey
Back at my brother's in NJ for the night before departing for Washington, D.C. tomorrow morning. I hope I can at least get a good Internet connection there. The dial-up here is ridiculously slow, but better than Mystic, Connecticut, where I couldn't even find any local access numbers. Grrrrrrr. I have pictures to share, but those will have to wait until I can find a connection that is not so slow that it times-out when I try to purchase an upgrade or upload photos on my host.
Today was fun. Mystic Seaport has many boat building and sailing camps available, and S is genuinely interested. G was most interested in the planetarium there, so we made sure to attend the one program scheduled at 2:00 PM. Besides the host, we were the only three in attendance. He was wonderful, giving us an extra special private show focusing on celestial navigation. I had been looking for something on this subject that was not too dry or technical when we were studying Medieval/Early Renaissance but hadn't any luck. This was perfect. Without ever having had a single formal lesson in astronomy, because I generally take the unschooling approach when it comes to science, my girls know more than I do. I was so proud of them.
Miss Hands-on, S, spent about an hour working on a demonstration loom, weaving. She has tried to do this on her own by stringing yarn across the back of a folding chair, and had some success, but was thrilled to use the real thing.
G flies into Washington to meet us tomorrow evening and we are all very excited to see him.
Gotta go finish some laundry...
Today was fun. Mystic Seaport has many boat building and sailing camps available, and S is genuinely interested. G was most interested in the planetarium there, so we made sure to attend the one program scheduled at 2:00 PM. Besides the host, we were the only three in attendance. He was wonderful, giving us an extra special private show focusing on celestial navigation. I had been looking for something on this subject that was not too dry or technical when we were studying Medieval/Early Renaissance but hadn't any luck. This was perfect. Without ever having had a single formal lesson in astronomy, because I generally take the unschooling approach when it comes to science, my girls know more than I do. I was so proud of them.
Miss Hands-on, S, spent about an hour working on a demonstration loom, weaving. She has tried to do this on her own by stringing yarn across the back of a folding chair, and had some success, but was thrilled to use the real thing.
G flies into Washington to meet us tomorrow evening and we are all very excited to see him.
Gotta go finish some laundry...
Cape Cod
My cell phone died so we spent our last morning in Boston looking for a Nextel Authorized Dealer. For three frustrating days, I had been unable to have a decent conversation with my husband. He was busy helping his mother move her stepmother into a nursing home and get the house in order to facilitate a sale, in a miserable little town in central Florida where cell phone service is almost non-existent. When I finally got my phone problem straightened out, I still had to wait 8-10 hours for the new battery to completely charge, by which time we had arrived in Cape Cod.
Ah, the Cape, where it is entirely permissible to wear clothing covered with whales, kitties, and lighthouses; quilted purses are de rigueur; and there is only one hairstyle for women: a butchy boy cut, preferably white, with salt-and-pepper running a close second. Lots of places with cutesy names like Handkerchief Shoals, The Cream and Cone, and Sundae School; lots of nautical references with “Captain” being particularly overused; and lots of Olde Gift Shoppes.
We spent our first night at my aunt’s house in Harwich doing laundry and I got a little reading done while I sat out in the car, the only place I could get a phone signal, while I waited to hear from Sweet G, when he was in a position to get a signal. After a nasty exchange with my father that morning, I was desperate for a sympathetic ear. I picked up Little Children as an antidote to my suburban funk and managed to get a little way into the story, enjoying the dead-on characterizations, but waiting for something to happen. The phone at the house had not been turned on because it is only occupied in the summer, so I was forced to go another day without Internet service.
Now, before you go thinking that my family is the kind that owns grand summerhouses, let me set you straight. They are solidly middle class. S asked me if Aunt ML’s house was on the water. Never having been there I wasn’t sure, but my parents said, no, it wasn’t. Was it near the water? Not really. While there are some perfectly charming coastal New England villages with town greens, austere neo-classical public buildings, quaint white-steepled churches, and picturesque sailboat-filled harbors, this house wasn’t located in one. Even the Cape has suburban sprawl. This was your typical 70s split level in some nondescript neighborhood, a la the Brady Bunch. The girls wanted to know why you would want to live on the Cape if you weren’t anywhere near the water. Gosh kids, I don’t know.
S, G, and I left early the next morning, Mothers’ Day, and drove up to Plimoth Plantation. (By the way, Happy Mothers’ Day to you all, you really deserve it.) So far, S has pronounced this the hit of the trip (but insists we not rule out any future stops.) We stopped in at Hopamog’s homesite first, since, I reasoned, the Native Americans were there first, and also because there was a large school group that was visiting at the same time and I guessed, correctly, that they would probably hit the Pilgrim village first.
A Wampanoag girl named Carrie* gave us a great tour of their house, a Quonset hut-like building covered in bark, with three fires blazing inside and full-length benches thickly covered in deer and bear furs. The weather was rainy and cold, so we enjoyed the warmth of the house. Carrie told us that temperatures inside can reach 90 degrees in the winter and the Pilgrims were often shocked to see Wampanoag children jumping naked into the snow to cool off. The girls think we should build one of these on our island. I wonder if Code Enforcement would agree.
In the Pilgrim Village, we met Elizabeth Hopkins*, who was outside cleaning herring with another woman. A group of students were standing around watching and she asked if anyone would like to help. She was slightly startled when S cheerfully volunteered. S scaled the fish and then after Mistress Hopkins slit the fish open, dug inside and started pulling out the guts. That’s my girl!
*The re-enactors in the Pilgrim Village play the roles of actual residents from the year 1627, the year the contract with their financiers was up, and stay completely in character. The Native Americans are members of various local Wampanoag communities, not actors, and do not play any roles.
The other school kids gradually trickled away due to the inclement weather, leaving the entire place practically to ourselves. S asked everybody she met many questions and had some lengthy conversations with the characters. G didn’t say too much until we left, when she admitted that was the most fun yet. We thought it was pretty funny that the one-room houses were nearly identical in size and had furnishings similar to the setup we have back at home on the island.
Inside the Craft Center, we enjoyed talking with one of the costume designers and briefly watched the potter and cabinetmaker. The costume designer told us that in PBS’s upcoming Colonial House series, the participants secretly trained at Plimoth Plantation, and that their staff was responsible for building the living quarters. The show was co-produced by a British company, with their participation including costuming, but too few heavy outer garments were produced for the cold weather, so in a pinch, Plimoth costumers created some of the cloaks they used. Plimoth Plantation is about to open a new exhibit on a behind the scenes look at Colonial House and it, like everything else there, should be very good.
We drove over to the waterfront, saw the real location of the original settlement, Plymouth Rock, and toured the replica of the Mayflower. S decided that she wants to build a boat, a scale replica of a large sailing ship, big enough for her and her father to sail around in. Besides the Mayflower, she is also a big fan of Master and Commander. I know there are programs out there where you can learn boat building skills; I’ve got to look into it a little further.
We could’ve spent so much more time at both places, but we were due at a cousin’s house for a cookout that evening, so we raced back down the Cape.
Today we hit Salem, Massachusetts, stopping in at the House of the Seven Gables (and making me think I’ll give that book another try someday soon), having lunch with yet another cousin, and visiting the Salem Witch Museum. My cousin highly recommended the Peabody-Essex Museum for their outstanding collection related to the East India shipping trade but we were out of time, having to be in Connecticut this evening and it being almost rush hour, so we only had a quick look at the gift shop. This is definitely worth a stop next time we come up -- like maybe when S comes to stay with my cousin and her family while she works on her boat building apprenticeship.
Wait until S sees what’s in store tomorrow when we spend the day at Mystic Seaport…
Ah, the Cape, where it is entirely permissible to wear clothing covered with whales, kitties, and lighthouses; quilted purses are de rigueur; and there is only one hairstyle for women: a butchy boy cut, preferably white, with salt-and-pepper running a close second. Lots of places with cutesy names like Handkerchief Shoals, The Cream and Cone, and Sundae School; lots of nautical references with “Captain” being particularly overused; and lots of Olde Gift Shoppes.
We spent our first night at my aunt’s house in Harwich doing laundry and I got a little reading done while I sat out in the car, the only place I could get a phone signal, while I waited to hear from Sweet G, when he was in a position to get a signal. After a nasty exchange with my father that morning, I was desperate for a sympathetic ear. I picked up Little Children as an antidote to my suburban funk and managed to get a little way into the story, enjoying the dead-on characterizations, but waiting for something to happen. The phone at the house had not been turned on because it is only occupied in the summer, so I was forced to go another day without Internet service.
Now, before you go thinking that my family is the kind that owns grand summerhouses, let me set you straight. They are solidly middle class. S asked me if Aunt ML’s house was on the water. Never having been there I wasn’t sure, but my parents said, no, it wasn’t. Was it near the water? Not really. While there are some perfectly charming coastal New England villages with town greens, austere neo-classical public buildings, quaint white-steepled churches, and picturesque sailboat-filled harbors, this house wasn’t located in one. Even the Cape has suburban sprawl. This was your typical 70s split level in some nondescript neighborhood, a la the Brady Bunch. The girls wanted to know why you would want to live on the Cape if you weren’t anywhere near the water. Gosh kids, I don’t know.
S, G, and I left early the next morning, Mothers’ Day, and drove up to Plimoth Plantation. (By the way, Happy Mothers’ Day to you all, you really deserve it.) So far, S has pronounced this the hit of the trip (but insists we not rule out any future stops.) We stopped in at Hopamog’s homesite first, since, I reasoned, the Native Americans were there first, and also because there was a large school group that was visiting at the same time and I guessed, correctly, that they would probably hit the Pilgrim village first.
A Wampanoag girl named Carrie* gave us a great tour of their house, a Quonset hut-like building covered in bark, with three fires blazing inside and full-length benches thickly covered in deer and bear furs. The weather was rainy and cold, so we enjoyed the warmth of the house. Carrie told us that temperatures inside can reach 90 degrees in the winter and the Pilgrims were often shocked to see Wampanoag children jumping naked into the snow to cool off. The girls think we should build one of these on our island. I wonder if Code Enforcement would agree.
In the Pilgrim Village, we met Elizabeth Hopkins*, who was outside cleaning herring with another woman. A group of students were standing around watching and she asked if anyone would like to help. She was slightly startled when S cheerfully volunteered. S scaled the fish and then after Mistress Hopkins slit the fish open, dug inside and started pulling out the guts. That’s my girl!
*The re-enactors in the Pilgrim Village play the roles of actual residents from the year 1627, the year the contract with their financiers was up, and stay completely in character. The Native Americans are members of various local Wampanoag communities, not actors, and do not play any roles.
The other school kids gradually trickled away due to the inclement weather, leaving the entire place practically to ourselves. S asked everybody she met many questions and had some lengthy conversations with the characters. G didn’t say too much until we left, when she admitted that was the most fun yet. We thought it was pretty funny that the one-room houses were nearly identical in size and had furnishings similar to the setup we have back at home on the island.
Inside the Craft Center, we enjoyed talking with one of the costume designers and briefly watched the potter and cabinetmaker. The costume designer told us that in PBS’s upcoming Colonial House series, the participants secretly trained at Plimoth Plantation, and that their staff was responsible for building the living quarters. The show was co-produced by a British company, with their participation including costuming, but too few heavy outer garments were produced for the cold weather, so in a pinch, Plimoth costumers created some of the cloaks they used. Plimoth Plantation is about to open a new exhibit on a behind the scenes look at Colonial House and it, like everything else there, should be very good.
We drove over to the waterfront, saw the real location of the original settlement, Plymouth Rock, and toured the replica of the Mayflower. S decided that she wants to build a boat, a scale replica of a large sailing ship, big enough for her and her father to sail around in. Besides the Mayflower, she is also a big fan of Master and Commander. I know there are programs out there where you can learn boat building skills; I’ve got to look into it a little further.
We could’ve spent so much more time at both places, but we were due at a cousin’s house for a cookout that evening, so we raced back down the Cape.
Today we hit Salem, Massachusetts, stopping in at the House of the Seven Gables (and making me think I’ll give that book another try someday soon), having lunch with yet another cousin, and visiting the Salem Witch Museum. My cousin highly recommended the Peabody-Essex Museum for their outstanding collection related to the East India shipping trade but we were out of time, having to be in Connecticut this evening and it being almost rush hour, so we only had a quick look at the gift shop. This is definitely worth a stop next time we come up -- like maybe when S comes to stay with my cousin and her family while she works on her boat building apprenticeship.
Wait until S sees what’s in store tomorrow when we spend the day at Mystic Seaport…
Saturday, May 08, 2004
Boston
Wow, I had a really long post about Boston...and it's not here. Boo.
Basically, the first whole day we were here, we visited the Westerly Burying Ground on a tour led by my cousin, BA, who was searching for the graves of two local boys killed in the Civil War as part of a project she's researching. We spent over two hours fascinated by the carvings and epitaphs on the headstones, and were finally successful. Later that day we were given a tour of the neighborhood firestation that my other cousin, B's, husband works at.
The next day, yesterday, we took a picnic lunch up to the Arnold Arboretum with a cousin-in-law, R, also known as "Nature Boy." The "Ahbs" has a large collection of lilacs, and they were in bloom and lovely.
Today, Nature Boy and I took mine, his, and another cousin's child in town to walk the Freedom Trail. We got off to a slow start, and with a long lunch at Durgin Park, found ourselves out of time about three-fourths of the way through. The girls didn't mind that we only stood outside Paul Revere's house and the Old North Church, being that they had closed for the day, because they were having such a fun time simply spending time together.
I have loads of cousins, and they have all spawned loads more. You know how those Irish Catholics are. My cousins were my best friends growing up even though I generally only saw them once a year, at least until I was sent up to live with my aunt through the remainder of my highschool years. My kids have been having a ball with their multitudinous second cousins (12 on one block with more a few streets away) and I am so happy that they will probably end up being as close with them as we, their parents, are. Tonight they are having one more big sleepover before we head out tomorrow for the Cape.
I need to find a Nextel store before we leave though, because my cell phone is dead and I haven't been able to reach G, who is also apparently having connection problems. Must...have...Direct...Connect...
Basically, the first whole day we were here, we visited the Westerly Burying Ground on a tour led by my cousin, BA, who was searching for the graves of two local boys killed in the Civil War as part of a project she's researching. We spent over two hours fascinated by the carvings and epitaphs on the headstones, and were finally successful. Later that day we were given a tour of the neighborhood firestation that my other cousin, B's, husband works at.
The next day, yesterday, we took a picnic lunch up to the Arnold Arboretum with a cousin-in-law, R, also known as "Nature Boy." The "Ahbs" has a large collection of lilacs, and they were in bloom and lovely.
Today, Nature Boy and I took mine, his, and another cousin's child in town to walk the Freedom Trail. We got off to a slow start, and with a long lunch at Durgin Park, found ourselves out of time about three-fourths of the way through. The girls didn't mind that we only stood outside Paul Revere's house and the Old North Church, being that they had closed for the day, because they were having such a fun time simply spending time together.
I have loads of cousins, and they have all spawned loads more. You know how those Irish Catholics are. My cousins were my best friends growing up even though I generally only saw them once a year, at least until I was sent up to live with my aunt through the remainder of my highschool years. My kids have been having a ball with their multitudinous second cousins (12 on one block with more a few streets away) and I am so happy that they will probably end up being as close with them as we, their parents, are. Tonight they are having one more big sleepover before we head out tomorrow for the Cape.
I need to find a Nextel store before we leave though, because my cell phone is dead and I haven't been able to reach G, who is also apparently having connection problems. Must...have...Direct...Connect...
Monday, May 03, 2004
Philadelphia
The weather was worse today, raining, windy and c-c-c-cold, but my three little troupers and I decided to head on down to Independence Hall nonetheless. We took the same pictures as every other person who visits: in front of the Liberty Bell, in front of Independence Hall, but we were the silly looking ones with sandals and capris on. I will be posting those and a few others when I upgrade my picture host.
(I planned on upgrading last night, but the dial-up connection speed here is ridiculously slow, so I'll try again when we get to Boston, tomorrow.)
The girls were all excited to see the Liberty Bell, and S correctly answered three of the history questions our tourguide posed to the group (1. French and Indian War; 2. "Common Sense"; and 3. The Constitution.) I was a very proud Mama. L recognized George Washington's chair, with the famous rising sun, which we had seen earlier in a painting of the signing of the Constitution, as soon as we entered the room where the Declaration of Independence was signed. She said she remembered this place from "Liberty's Kids."
I guess it's working!
(I planned on upgrading last night, but the dial-up connection speed here is ridiculously slow, so I'll try again when we get to Boston, tomorrow.)
The girls were all excited to see the Liberty Bell, and S correctly answered three of the history questions our tourguide posed to the group (1. French and Indian War; 2. "Common Sense"; and 3. The Constitution.) I was a very proud Mama. L recognized George Washington's chair, with the famous rising sun, which we had seen earlier in a painting of the signing of the Constitution, as soon as we entered the room where the Declaration of Independence was signed. She said she remembered this place from "Liberty's Kids."
I guess it's working!
Sunday, May 02, 2004
Good Driving Music
Highway
Allman Brothers Band
Johnny Cash
Lynyrd Skynyrd
City
Nirvana
-------
Your mileage may vary.
Allman Brothers Band
Johnny Cash
Lynyrd Skynyrd
City
Nirvana
-------
Your mileage may vary.
Bitch, bitch, bitch
Why are the flags in your town flying at half staff?
What's your house phone number?
What's your house phone number?
I dunno.
That's response I keep getting.
What kind of trees are those, covered with the pink flowers?
What's the name of this lake?
How do you get to [insert name of any town or street within a five mile radius]?
Are there any decent restaurants around here that aren't chains?
Suburban somnambulists; sleepwalking their way through life. We all already knew this, but to see the dreary reality of it is nearly too much for me. Rush, rush, rush to the train for your hour-plus commute and come home to sleep, or, anesthetize yourself in front of a TV for a few hours before sleeping. They can tell you where their school is, their church is, their convenience store is (where you can always find a bounty of questionable looking doughnuts), but not much beyond that. What good are these people? Do they have anything positive to contribute?
Towns blur together. Remuddled buildings covered in aluminum or even worse, vinyl siding, stripped of any architectural details. Roads that guarantee my newly rebalanced tires are no more. Crabby looking people. Yeah, sorry for the generalization, and I'm more than likely projecting myself onto these cretins, but I suppose I would look like that too if I had to live here. Too many people. People all over the place. People who have inane conversations. People who eat way too many doughnuts. The real estate publications up here advertise for homes in Orlando. Perfect.
Maybe it's the weather.
Today is gray and drizzly. Quick self-diagnosis: Weather related dysfunction, perhaps? Or I'm addicted to sunshine. Either way, living here would make me suicidal -- or homicidal.
---------
Now this might lift my spirits.
---------
We opted to do laundry today, Philly tomorrow. Not sure yet if we're driving or spending hours on a train, but not driving and maybe reading for a few hours sounds OK to me. Naturally my parents will not be attending. Too much work to be chauferred around town for them. Much easier to ride the couch all day. My mother seems to have forgotten that this is not just meant to be a fun vacation, although we are certainly having fun, but was primarily planned to supplement and celebrate S and G's education for the year, and that her ticket to ride included babysitting services. There are always strings attached. Don't know if they will keep an eye on L, who is having a terrific time overloading on 500 channels, or I will take her along. We shall see.
What kind of trees are those, covered with the pink flowers?
What's the name of this lake?
How do you get to [insert name of any town or street within a five mile radius]?
Are there any decent restaurants around here that aren't chains?
Suburban somnambulists; sleepwalking their way through life. We all already knew this, but to see the dreary reality of it is nearly too much for me. Rush, rush, rush to the train for your hour-plus commute and come home to sleep, or, anesthetize yourself in front of a TV for a few hours before sleeping. They can tell you where their school is, their church is, their convenience store is (where you can always find a bounty of questionable looking doughnuts), but not much beyond that. What good are these people? Do they have anything positive to contribute?
Towns blur together. Remuddled buildings covered in aluminum or even worse, vinyl siding, stripped of any architectural details. Roads that guarantee my newly rebalanced tires are no more. Crabby looking people. Yeah, sorry for the generalization, and I'm more than likely projecting myself onto these cretins, but I suppose I would look like that too if I had to live here. Too many people. People all over the place. People who have inane conversations. People who eat way too many doughnuts. The real estate publications up here advertise for homes in Orlando. Perfect.
Maybe it's the weather.
Today is gray and drizzly. Quick self-diagnosis: Weather related dysfunction, perhaps? Or I'm addicted to sunshine. Either way, living here would make me suicidal -- or homicidal.
---------
Now this might lift my spirits.
---------
We opted to do laundry today, Philly tomorrow. Not sure yet if we're driving or spending hours on a train, but not driving and maybe reading for a few hours sounds OK to me. Naturally my parents will not be attending. Too much work to be chauferred around town for them. Much easier to ride the couch all day. My mother seems to have forgotten that this is not just meant to be a fun vacation, although we are certainly having fun, but was primarily planned to supplement and celebrate S and G's education for the year, and that her ticket to ride included babysitting services. There are always strings attached. Don't know if they will keep an eye on L, who is having a terrific time overloading on 500 channels, or I will take her along. We shall see.
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Williamsburg to NJ
It seems I have temporarily run out of space on my free picture host, Walagata. I suppose that means I need to pull out the old credit card and buy myself some more. But tonight, borrowing my brother's laptop, I haven't the means to upload any photos, larger account or not.
Williamsburg was a lot of fun. The final night we saw a performance called "The Grand Medley." a sort of 18th century vaudeville show. It was corny and funny, and we all had a very good time. S was singled out of the crowd and asked her name, which was a huge coincidence, because the name of the princess in the puppet segment of the show also happened to be named S (wink, wink.) I have now conclusively decided that my hard-to-type, G, must definitely be an Introvert, because she absolutely refused to play along with the juggler warming up the crowd. She simply shook her head repeatedly to his promptings to play ball with him. A chip off the old block she is. And S, is a complete history reenactor groupie, asking to have her picture taken with Patrick Henry, the Medley cast, and any other character she came in contact with.
L is fascinated with rocks and has been collecting them throughout the trip, tucking them into her pockets, suitcases, and my backpack. I found one she dropped on the bathroom floor that, at first glance, I mistook for a rotten tooth. I imagined my father getting ready for bed, taking out his plate and knocking out his last whole tooth. We had a big laugh when I showed it to him, and then and even bigger one when he convinced the girls that it was indeed his tooth and the next morning found a hundred dollar bill under his pillow from the Tooth Fairy. It was so valuable because it's an antique.
We lost, or ditched my parents a few times and that's when I noticed that most older people look alike. The women all seemed to dress like my mother and all had the same short white hair. It made finding her in a crowd very difficult.
On the way to New Jersey, we tried to hook up with Dy, in Fredericksburg, Virginia, but it didn't work out, so we'll give it another try on the return trip.
My brother has a condo in an old estate up on Lake Hopatcong in NJ, and we spent this morning looking around the property and the lake before S, G and I went off into NYC to visit The Cloisters, part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art specializing exclusively in medieval art. In addition to an amazing collection, the building itself is pieced together from remnants of old cloisters and other medieval architectural elements. There is so much to see there and just not enough time, so we rented the headphones and focused on the highlights of the collection. We took a cab from Penn Station to the museum and then the A train back to Penn station. While on the subway, we were treated to a real New York moment, when two black kids, one about 7 years old and his partner, about 18, got on the train, pulled out a small boom box, introduced themselves, and started dancing in the center of the car. The bigger one even flipped the little one over his head. In the train car. My little angels sat there slack-jawed, even after they had passed the hat.
Tomorrow we are planning to go down to Philadelphia, but my brother says we would have as long a train ride as we would driving. He would like to go with us, so we'll see what everyone is up for in the morning.
Williamsburg was a lot of fun. The final night we saw a performance called "The Grand Medley." a sort of 18th century vaudeville show. It was corny and funny, and we all had a very good time. S was singled out of the crowd and asked her name, which was a huge coincidence, because the name of the princess in the puppet segment of the show also happened to be named S (wink, wink.) I have now conclusively decided that my hard-to-type, G, must definitely be an Introvert, because she absolutely refused to play along with the juggler warming up the crowd. She simply shook her head repeatedly to his promptings to play ball with him. A chip off the old block she is. And S, is a complete history reenactor groupie, asking to have her picture taken with Patrick Henry, the Medley cast, and any other character she came in contact with.
L is fascinated with rocks and has been collecting them throughout the trip, tucking them into her pockets, suitcases, and my backpack. I found one she dropped on the bathroom floor that, at first glance, I mistook for a rotten tooth. I imagined my father getting ready for bed, taking out his plate and knocking out his last whole tooth. We had a big laugh when I showed it to him, and then and even bigger one when he convinced the girls that it was indeed his tooth and the next morning found a hundred dollar bill under his pillow from the Tooth Fairy. It was so valuable because it's an antique.
We lost, or ditched my parents a few times and that's when I noticed that most older people look alike. The women all seemed to dress like my mother and all had the same short white hair. It made finding her in a crowd very difficult.
On the way to New Jersey, we tried to hook up with Dy, in Fredericksburg, Virginia, but it didn't work out, so we'll give it another try on the return trip.
My brother has a condo in an old estate up on Lake Hopatcong in NJ, and we spent this morning looking around the property and the lake before S, G and I went off into NYC to visit The Cloisters, part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art specializing exclusively in medieval art. In addition to an amazing collection, the building itself is pieced together from remnants of old cloisters and other medieval architectural elements. There is so much to see there and just not enough time, so we rented the headphones and focused on the highlights of the collection. We took a cab from Penn Station to the museum and then the A train back to Penn station. While on the subway, we were treated to a real New York moment, when two black kids, one about 7 years old and his partner, about 18, got on the train, pulled out a small boom box, introduced themselves, and started dancing in the center of the car. The bigger one even flipped the little one over his head. In the train car. My little angels sat there slack-jawed, even after they had passed the hat.
Tomorrow we are planning to go down to Philadelphia, but my brother says we would have as long a train ride as we would driving. He would like to go with us, so we'll see what everyone is up for in the morning.
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